Page 41 of Rocky Top

And God, I wanted to wreck her back.

Wanted her marked. Wanted her scent buried in my sheets. On my skin. In my fuckin’ soul.

My wolf was damn near foamin’ at the mouth.

Claim her.

Not yet.

I couldn’t, not without her knowin’ what I was. What claimin’ her really meant. What that bite would do.

But I let myself havethis.

Her body archin’ into mine. Her breath hitchin’. Her mouth partin’ as I kissed down her throat, my hands slidin’ up under the lace edge of her bra.

“Tell me to stop,” I rasped against her neck. “Say the word and I’ll stop.”

She didn’t.

I went straight for the kill. My fingers deep in her pussy, I growled, “Birdie, I’m gonna fuck you right here on this desk.” It was a promise.

Then—

Knock knock knock.

Fuck.

“Rocky! You’re late for the 1:30 Smoky Ridge tour. Chopper’s waitin’!”

I froze, breathin’ heavy.

Birdie gasped, eyes wide, lips kiss-swollen.

I backed up, fists clenched at my sides. If I didn’t, I’d forget where I ended and she began.

“Jesus. We’re gonna have to finish this later.” I brought her juices to my tongue. I couldn’t help myself.

Her jaw hung open as she watched me lick.

Damn, she tasted like sweet tea and surrender.

Like a risk I was already willin’ to take.

“Don’t threaten me with a good time.”

“Fuck,” I muttered. “Timings a bitch.”

Birdie laughed breathlessly, cheeks flushed.

I was on her like white on rice, brushed her hair back, kissed her slow and deep. One last taste.

“You’re dangerous, woman,” I murmured.

That night, I walked her to the door like a man marchin’ himself to the gallows.

Birdie was smilin’, tuckin’ her hair behind one ear like that kiss in my office hadn’t just turned my blood to molten fuckin’ steel. She was tryin’ to play it cool. I could see it in the way she avoided meetin’ my eyes for more than a second. But I could smell her desire.

Sweet.

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