Page 123 of The Alpha's Fallen Spell
“Just love?” she teases, her hands sliding down to rest on my chest. “Because I’m feeling significantly more than love right now.”
The heat in her voice makes my wolf rumble with satisfaction. Even after three years, the attraction between us hasn’t dimmed. If anything, it has grown stronger, deeper, more complex.
“Much more than love,” I agree, my voice rough with desire. “Which reminds me—Alex is handling the evening rush, so we have no responsibilities until tomorrow.”
“Is that so?” Her smile turns wicked. “And what did you have in mind for our evening alone?”
“Everything,” I whisper, and her breath catches.
The café below us bustles with activity, but up here on the terrace, we may as well be alone in the world. The setting sun casts everything in gold, making Fiona’s dark hair gleam and turning her eyes the color of storm clouds shot through with lightning.
“I love you,” I tell her, the words carrying the weight of three years of marriage, of battles fought side by side, of a life built together from nothing. “I love the woman you were when I found you, and I love the woman you’ve become. I love your strength and your kindness and the way you make coffee taste like magic.”
Tears gather in her eyes, but she’s smiling. “I love you, too. More than I thought possible. More than I knew how to express when we first met.”
“You express it perfectly,” I assure her, brushing away a tear that has escaped down her cheek. “Every day, in a thousand small ways. The way you save me the last blueberry muffin. The way you trace the mating mark when you think I’m sleeping. The way you argue with me about strategy when I’m being too cautious.”
She laughs at that last one. “Someone has to keep you from being overly protective.”
“Someone has to keep me grounded,” I correct her. “Someone has to remind me that the world has beauty worth protecting, not just threats worth fighting.”
The intensity in my voice seems to affect her, because she rises on her toes to kiss me again. This time there’s no teasing,no gentle buildup. It’s claiming and desperate and full of three years’ worth of love and desire.
When she pulls away, she’s breathing hard.
“Inside,” she says, her voice husky with want. “Now.”
I don’t need to be asked twice.
Our house sits just beyond the café grounds, a cozy structure that Fiona designed with the same attention to detail she brings to everything else. We barely make it through the front door before I have her pressed against the wall, my mouth on her throat, her legs wrapped around my waist.
“Bedroom,” she manages between gasps.
“Too far,” I growl, already working at the buttons of her shirt.
“Erik—”
“I need you.” My voice is raw with desire. “Right here, right now. I need to feel you, to know you’re real, you’re mine.”
Her response is to pull my head down for another searing kiss.
Her back hits the wall again with a soft thud, and I catch her gasp against my mouth. One of my hands cups her jaw, tilting her head up so I can kiss her deeper—filthy, hungry, possessive. I taste the need on her tongue and groan against it, my lips moving with hers as if I’ve craved her forever. Maybe I have.
My other hand slides down her side, firm against her waist, gripping her tight like I’m scared she’ll vanish. But Fiona doesn’t go anywhere. She clutches the front of my shirt, pulling me closer, giving me her mouth like she wants to be devoured.
“Been missing me, have you?” I murmur against her lips.
She laughs breathlessly. “You know I have.” She drags her fingers up into my hair and whispers, “I’ve been waiting for you to come home and wind me up.”
A growl rumbles in my chest. I grab her thighs, lifting her off the floor, and she wraps herself around me without hesitation. I slam her back against the wall yet again, this time harder,rougher, and she moans—high and breathy and unfiltered. It shreds my control.
I tear my mouth from hers, panting, and kiss my way down her jaw, over the column of her throat. She arches into me like a flame seeking oxygen, and I give her all of it. I bite lightly at her pulse, just enough to hear her whimper. She tastes like heat and trust. Like she’s mine.
“Erik,” she gasps.
“I’ve got you,” I growl. “I want to hear you moan, Fiona. I want to hear every sound you make when I have my cock inside you.”
I carry her across the room, her legs still locked around me, and drop to my knees with her on the plush living room rug. She lets out a shocked laugh, but it melts into a moan when I push her shoulders to the floor and cover her body with mine. My hands are already under her shirt, dragging the fabric up, exposing skin I can map with my eyes closed.
