Page 34 of Hot Monster Summer

His smile returns, predatory and hungry.

His hand slides higher, caressing my calf and the back of my knee; his touch is electric, even through the steamy water. My voice is embarrassingly breathy when I speak again. “And what does a wolf mate get that a pack member doesn’t?”

His smile is slow, dangerous in the most delicious way. “Everything.”

Before I can process that, he’s moving, water surging around us as he closes the distance. But instead of kissing me as I expect, he nuzzles into my neck, inhaling deeply. The sensation of his face against that sensitive spot makes me shiver.

“Your scent,” he growls against my skin. “Drives me wild.”

His large and strong hands find my waist beneath the water, lifting me effortlessly until I’m perched on his thighs, our faces level. This close, I can see the different shades of amber in his eyes, the perfect curve of his mouth, and the droplets of water clinging to his eyelashes.

“Wolf ways begin with scent,” he explains, his voice a rumble I feel against my chest. “Then taste.”

His tongue—hotter than human—traces the curve of my neck, and I moan at the sensation. It’s different from Oren’s gentleexploration or Caspian’s cool silkiness—something primal and raw in Kaelen’s touch sets my nerve endings on fire.

“Then what?” I breathe, tilting my head to give him better access.

“Then claiming,” he growls against my throat, the vibration of his voice sending shivers down to my toes. His hands tighten on my waist, pulling me closer until I can feel the hard press of him against my inner thigh. “If you allow it.”

His teeth—sharp but carefully controlled—graze my shoulder, and I moan embarrassingly loud, the sound echoing in the cave. The sensation is electric, a dangerous edge of pain that heightens the pleasure.

“So responsive,” he murmurs approvingly. “You’re the perfect mate.”

“Still not your mate,” I remind him, though the protest sounds weak even to my ears.

His laugh is a hot rush of air against my wet skin. “Tonight you are.” One hand slides up my ribcage to cup my breast, thumb brushing across my nipple in a touch so deliberately light it’s almost cruel. “Tonight, you’ll know what it means to be claimed by the wolf.”

Any clever retort I might have made dissolves into a moan as his mouth replaces his hand, hot and demanding on my breast. His tongue circles my nipple before he takes it between his teeth, applying just enough pressure to make me arch against him, seeking more of that exquisite edge between pleasure and pain.

The water swirls around us as he shifts, lifting me higher until I’m practically straddling him, the hard length of him pressing insistently against me. His hands cup my ass, supporting my weight effortlessly as his mouth continues its torturous attention to my breasts.

“Kaelen,” I pant, threading my fingers through his wet hair, half-wanting to pull him away, half-wanting to press him closer.

He growls in response; the sound vibrates through my chest. “Say it again.”

“Kaelen,” I repeat, my voice breathy and desperate even to my own ears.

“Mine,” he rumbles, finally capturing my mouth with his.

The kiss is a pure claim. His tongue invades, his teeth nip at my lower lip, and his grip on me is almost bruising in its intensity. He tastes wild, like pine and smoke and something untamable. I kiss him back with equal fervor, meeting his aggression with my own, biting his lip hard enough to make him growl again.

“You’re fierce,” he approves when we break apart, both breathing hard. “That’s good.”

His hands shift, one supporting my back while the other slides between us, finding the slick heat between my thighs with unerring accuracy. The first touch of his fingers makes me cry out, oversensitive and desperate.

“So slick,” he murmurs, satisfaction evident in his voice.

“Shut up and touch me again,” I say, trying to grind against his hand.

He laughs, a deep rumble that vibrates through me. “Demanding little thing. I like that.”

His fingers circle my clit with maddening precision, building pressure without giving me the direct contact I crave. Every time I try to shift to get more friction, he anticipates the movement, keeping me on the edge of pleasure without pushing me over.

“Please,” I finally whimper, abandoning pride in favor of release.

“Please what?” he asks, his voice rough with desire but his control absolute.

“Please… make me come,” I pant, clutching his shoulders for support.

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