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"Offer you a drink, of course. What would you like?"
"Would a coffee be pushing the friendship?"
"One espresso coming up."
He walked over to a bar that was bigger than my entire bathroom back home, and grabbed one of the cups sitting beside the coffee-making machine. "Why are you here with Quinn?"
I shrugged. "It's business more than pleasure."
The machine hissed as he began pouring coffee into the cup. "So you are fucking him?"
There was no judgment in that question, just a statement of fact. Which was nice when compared to Quinn's uptight attitudes. I smiled. "Of course I am - why?"
"It just makes it all the more delicious when I steal you away from him." He walked across the room and handed me the cup. "Now, where were we?"
"Chatting," I said. "And drinking coffee."
"You're drinking coffee," he corrected, his voice slightly distracted as he ran one finger down my neck and across my shoulder.
Desire trembled through my veins, and the fires of need leapt into focus. I took a quick sip of coffee, but it didn't do a whole lot to ease the deep-seated ache. "It does take two to keep a conversation going."
"I've always found talking to be overrated."
"And I've always found one person being dressed while the other is naked somewhat unfair."
He grinned and stepped back, then unhurriedly began to strip. I sipped my coffee and enjoyed the show - and it was a good show. The man knew how to do a decent striptease. Once naked, he stepped between my legs, brushed my hair from my left shoulder, and lightly planted a kiss on it.
"I prefer the natural color of your hair," he murmured, his breath hot against my skin. "It's so much prettier."
"And yet you recognized me, despite the changes," I agreed huskily. "How?"
"An alpha always recognizes his chosen mate."
His words made my heart do crazy things. I barely even knew this wolf, and yet here he was, declaring his intent to make me his. It was thrilling, sexy, and just a little scary. "I'm not your mate."
"But you will be." His mouth replaced his breath on my shoulder, and slowly, languorously, he kissed his way toward my ear. When the sweet heat of his tongue delved inside, a helpless sound of pleasure escaped my lips.
He chuckled, a throaty sound as seductive and as arousing as his touch. His fingers trailed from my hips to my breasts, and lightly began to tease and pinch the engorged points. I squirmed, put my coffee on the table and forgot about it as every inch of my body vibrated with the hunger that flowed through my veins.
When I could stand no more, I wrapped my arms around his neck and pulled him close, so that my breasts were squashed against his chest. The beat of his heart was as wild as mine, and the heat of his desire a furnace that burned my skin, making me sweat. Want.
His mouth brushed mine, a tingling, tantalizing promise of what was to come, then he reached behind me. "Your coffee, madam," he said, offering me the cup.
I smiled and accepted it. "And what will you be doing while I drink it?"
"Oh, this and that."
His fingers slid into my moistness. I groaned, put the cup back down as I shifted to give him greater access. He caressed me, teased me, bringing me to the edge all too quickly. But he offered no release, withdrawing his touch, kissing me fiercely and thoroughly, until the threatening tremors had subsided. Then he offered me coffee and started all over again.
By the time I'd finished the rest of that cup, the coffee was cold and I burned. My heart was hammering so loudly its cadence seemed to fill the silence, and every fiber in my being quivered.
His hand slid up the inside of my spread thighs, his fingers grazing me yet again. I shuddered, thrusting into his touch, sure I was going to burst if he didn't get on with it. "Stop teasing," I moaned, when he did it a second time.
He chuckled, then wrapped his free hand around my neck and kissed me hard. As his mouth claimed mine, his fingers slid between us, pressing into my slickness, caressing, delving, until he'd slipped inside. Then his thumb pressed into my clit, and he began to stroke, inside and out. I shuddered, writhed, as the sweet pressure built and built, until it felt as if I was going to tear apart from the sheer force of pleasure.
Then everything did tear apart, and I was shuddering, writhing, moaning. The tremors hadn't even subsided when his hands tightened on my rump and he pulled me forward. His hardness speared me, and it felt so good I groaned.
He began to move, and thought became impossible. All I could do was move with him, savoring and enjoying the sensations flowing through me. But the calm control of his initial seduction quickly disappeared, replaced by urgency, need. His strokes became fierce, hungry thrusts that shook my entire body, his fingers bruising my hips as he held me close. I didn't care. The sweet pressure had begun to build again, and was quickly reaching boiling point.
