Page 92 of Moonlight and Mischief
She pauses for a moment before continuing to list her proposal. Every time Hazel interrupts her and asks my opinion on something, I can see her seething.
After the second polite disagreement, Slate says, “I think we need to revisit this tomorrow. I’m not surewe will get much more accomplished today. It’s getting late.”
“If you insist,” Sienna says, bristling. “I’ll expect your call.” She addresses only Slate, clearly done with Hazel and I.
“Thank you, have a good evening,” Hazel says softly. Sienna tosses her hair and leads her wolves away.
“I think this calls for a celebration. Game night at our house?” Hazel says.
“After pack dinner,” Slate adds, taking her hand as we cross back to our side of the boundary.
“Let me check with Marigold, but I’m sure she’ll be happy,” I say, going to my mate as we reach our companions.
“Alright, let’s head home,” Slate says, raising his voice for our entire team. With sure steps, he leads the way up the hill and into the trees.
Marigold squeezes my hand, her body brushing against mine as we walk. It’ll take at least thirty or forty minutes to walk back, but the company is so pleasant, I wouldn’t mind if it was longer.
“How’d it go?” Marigold asks.
“Well, I think. It’s hard to tell,” I say, thinking. “Hazel and Slate kept Sienna off balance, so that was good.”
She grins at me viciously. “I hope they knocked her on her ass.”
Chuckling, I raise her arm and kiss her knuckles. “You’re a violent little thing.”
“I think you like it,” she purrs.
“I like everything about you,” I reply, my voice low. Her back muscles tense as she shivers lightly. Our steps have slowed, putting us at the back of the pack. Gently, I tug her to a halt.
“What?” She cocks her head, looking between me and our packmates disappearing between the trees.
“Nothing,” I say. Marigold wrinkles her nose. “When we get back, it’ll be dinner and then Hazel invited us over for a game night. If I have to wait hours to taste you, I’m going to lose my mind.”
“Oh,” she says, a faint blush staining her freckled cheeks.
She’s eager for my mouth, slipping her hands around my neck and up into my hair. Our kisses are playful and heady. My blood tingles and sparks, like she’s an electrical charge.
With little pushes, she walks me backwards until my back hits a tree. Her hands tug at my shoulders until I scoop her up under her thighs. With my arms busy lifting her, I’m at her mercy as she slips her cold fingers under the neckline of my shirt and trails her hot mouth down my throat.
She pauses on my circle of scars, the mark of her claim. I can feel her deep satisfaction through our bond.
“I want to take you home,” I breathe. Holding her tight, I push my back off the tree and spin until she’s pressed against it. Her eyes glow blue-green, her lush mouth open in surprise. I lean down, trailing my lips over her ear. “Or maybe I’ll fuck you up against this tree.”
“As appealing as that sounds, we should go, or we will miss dinner,” she says breathlessly.
“We can eat at home,” I reply, licking her throat. She shudders.
“But I want to go to game night,” she manages to say, the words uneven.
“Alright,” I say, ceasing my torture. Her feet lower to the leaves and I take a half-step back. Mild disappointment swirls between us, and I’m unclear if it’s mine or hers.
Hand in hand, we resume our walk.
“You know what would make game night better?” I ask.
“What?”
“If we got some pickles.”
She snorts, shoving me back. “You’re ridiculous.”
“What? They’re a good snack,” I jest. Her giggle is my favorite sound in the world.
“Okay, let’s go,” she grabs my hand and pulls me forward. Laughter echoes between us as we half-jog half-walk back for the pack dinner.
