Page 85 of Taken By the Pack

That’s all I need.

I grab her hand, pushing open the door, and the second we’re inside, I spin her, pressing her back against it. Her breath hitches, eyes darkening, and then my mouth crashes into hers.

She tastes like tequila and heat, like last night still lingers on her lips—and fuck, I want more.

Her hands grip my shirt, pulling me closer.

“Not sore?” I murmur against her jaw, kissing down her neck.

She shakes her head, breathless. “No. Please.”

That little plea undoes me.

I lift her in one smooth motion, hands gripping her thighs as she locks around me, and I carry her straight to the bedroom. Clothes hit the floor in a blur—her hoodie, my shirt, her underwear, everything.

Then it’s just skin and heat.

I lower her onto the bed, covering her with my body, and the second our mouths meet again, she’s gasping, arching, fingers digging into my back.

The way she moves, the way she gasps my name, the way she takes me like she needs this just as badly as I do.

It’s not just sex—it’s something else, something deeper, something that twists inside me and refuses to let go.

And fuck, it’s perfect.

She comes undone beneath me, body trembling, and I follow, groaning her name against her skin.

For a second, we just lie there, tangled and breathing hard, her fingers still dragging lazy circles along my spine.

Then she exhales, voice rough. “Okay.”

I press a kiss to her shoulder. “Yeah?”

She huffs a breathless laugh. “That was… wow.”

I grin against her skin. “Amazing?”

“Yeah,” she says, stretching beneath me. “That.”

I press another kiss to her jaw before pushing up on my elbows. “Shower? Still want company?”

She tilts her head back, considering. “Absolutely.”

I pull her up, and we stumble toward the tiny bathroom, still tangled together. The second the water’s on, she steps under the weak stream, sighing as the warm droplets hit her skin.

I lean against the sink, watching her.

“Indeed, the water pressure sucks,” I note, amused.

“Told you,” she says, smirking. Then, a challenge. “Make it up to me.”

I do.

I step in, hands skimming down her waist, fingers teasing against slick, wet skin. She shivers under my touch—not from the cold, but from me.

I turn her, pressing her against the cool tiles, my mouth trailing along her neck, her shoulder, the curve of her back. She gasps as I grip her hips, pressing closer.

And like the universe knows how much I want her, It’s happening all over again.

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