Page 116 of A Lady’s Guide to Werewolves

But even feeling peevish as she did, she had to give herself a moment to enjoy the sight of him. The moon was bright enough to silver his bare chest, casting the ridges of muscles into light and shadow. His hair was wet, tousling at his nape.

He turned his head, gold eyes pinning her instantly. “Sorcha?”

“You took too long,” she informed him.

“And it made you cross?”

“Yes,” she admitted, halting at the river’s edge. The grass was thick, spotted with white flowers. “I don’t know why.”

“I know why,” he said softly, before closing the distance between them and tugging her into the river. She landed against him, the cold water swirling around them, seeping into her gown. She gasped. “We should get this off you,” he murmured as the beads on her hem glittered under the ripples. “Before it gets ruined.”

He pulled the ties at the back, pushing the embroidered fabric over her shoulders, past her elbows and down her body before lifting her out of it. It landed on the banks. He followed with her stays, her chemise, peeling them from her as if she were a gift created just for him. His touch was bold and possessive as he stroked over her skin, and also reverent. He pressed his palms to her spine, her breasts against his chest, nipples pebbling.

He stepped back into the deeper water. “Too cold?” he asked, dipping his head to suck each nipple into his hot, wet mouth. She moaned, heat streaking down her thighs, sparking between her legs. “Sorcha,” he reprimanded. “Answer me. Too cold?”

She shook her head. He was warm enough that, after a quick shiver, she felt as languid as if she had spent an hour in the hot tide pools of Haven. The water was so clear she could see the stones, the reflection of the moon, a sprinkling of bright stars.

And the fact that he was naked.

“Everyone is rejoicing and you decided to take a bath?”

“I was covered in blood.” He said it calmly, but she saw the way his jaw clenched.

And the way he maneuvered them away from the moonlight, into the shadows under a weeping willow.

“You’re getting cross again,” he pointed out, dragging his mouth along her jaw, nipping at her.

She was, even though it was a hazy sort of cross, as his lips were on her throat now and it made her whimper. “You can smell it on me when I’m cross?”

“No, songbird, you’re digging your little claws into me.”

She let go of his arms, which she had been clutching.

“I didn’t say I didn’t like it,” he scolded. He cupped her bottom and lifted her up. She wrapped her legs around him, ankles crossing. “So, what is it, songbird? Tell me.”

It was extremely difficult to answer with his hard cock pressing against her. She squirmed and he swore, his hold tightening. The heat was already pooling inside her core. Her intimate muscles fluttered in delicious anticipation. She bit his jaw softly in retaliation. His arm tightened around her, his other closing around her hair, tugging her head to the side. Just a bit. Just a hint of the Alpha.

She wanted more than a hint. She did not know how to convince him of that, the stubborn, stubborn man. “You’re still hiding from me.”

“I’m as naked as can be, love.”

“That’s not what I mean, and you know it.”

“I’m right here.” He rubbed his cock between her lips and over her bud.

This was a conversation they needed to have.

But perhaps not while she was wantonly rubbing against the ridge of his erection.

The moon could wait. Because she was not convinced she could.

The kiss was more than a kiss—it was a challenge, an agreement. A laying down of weapons. A memory of what his hands could do and how he made her body respond. Of what they could do to each other. A promise of what they could do, again and again.

It was so much more than mouths meeting and breaths mingling, and, at the same time, that would have been enough. Almost too much. It was incendiary, and Sorcha could feel Aidan’s wolf pulling at his tether, something wild and primal responding in her. He slanted his lips over hers, again and again, nipping, licking, a hum of pleasure. She kissed him back until that hum turned to a growl, writhed against him until he laid her down in the soft grass. He ran his palm up her legs, over her breasts, eyes flaring. “You are so beautiful.”

The moonlight touched her, and maybe it was enough, even if he would not let it touch him, because his eyes flared again, sharper, hotter. So intense that she squirmed and gasped, and he was barely touching her. “Aidan, please.”

He prowled over her body, dragging open-mouthed kisses along her inner thigh, her belly, under her breast. Tasting, nibbling, worshipping. She reached for him, stroking along his shaft, gripping it tight until he jerked in her grasp. She grinned and did it again. Moisture beaded in response, and she wiggled down until she could close her lips around the head, swirling her tongue over the tip. He tasted like the river, like salt and the forest. Like Aidan.