It’s not as simple as a craving for blood. The wolf desires ownership, but I am the master here. And I want Bowie tochooseme. I don’t want to possess or force him.
His fingers find my chin and direct my head to face him. “What’s wrong?” he asks. “Tell me because I don’t understand.” Rather than draw back his hand, he reaches farther forward and clasps my nape. I wish he’d squeeze.
My mouth opens, but words elude me, as usual. I’m caught in the storm of his eyes. Thunder rumbles, shaking the ground beneath us, but nothing short of the apocalypse could break our connection in this moonstruck moment.
His gaze drops to my lips, his lashes a set of dark fans against his pale cheeks.
“I’m going to kiss you…” He meets my eyes again. “Unless you stop me.”
I couldn’t stop him if I wanted to, which I don’t, because I need his kiss more than air.
My heart flutters wildly under this onslaught of anticipation and yearning, this revelation thatBowiewants to kissme. His blue irises sparkle behind wide pupils; mine must be equally blown. I’m spinning with the force of my desire.
Waiting even a second longer is more than I can bear. I spring at him like an arrow shot from a bow and take his rose petal-pink lips with an urgency I hadn’t known myself capable.
Bowie gasps against my mouth and fervently returns the kiss. His lips part for me. I take his face into my hands and hold him captive for my exploration. His mouth is pleasantly cool like the rest of him, a welcome contrast to my burning heat. Soft and supple as the delicate skin of a fresh nectarine and just as sweet.
I don’t know which pounds louder: the rain against the barn or my heart in my chest.
Bowie rises from his spot without breaking the kiss, climbs over me, and straddles my thighs to sit in my lap. I tilt my face up for him as he takes over, his hand fisted in my hair. The delicious tug against my scalp sends a shuddering prickle down my spine.
I grab his waist to pull him closer, deliciously trapped between the wall at my back and his body at my front. His free hand strokes my ear, my hair, my throat until I feel as if I might vibrate out of my skin.
Running my tongue along the sharpened points of his fangs, I wonder how much pressure I’d need to exert to pierce it. Bowie pulls at my hair, a warning I heed only because he’s given me his tongue to suck instead of his fangs, so I do that instead.
This feeling of being wanted—being desired—ignites a warm, tingling rush of sensation I have no control over. It passes through me, settles over me, and wraps me in an embrace I would linger in forever.
Bowie moans as he leans back—out of reach of my seeking lips—to study my face.
I must look desperate. Kiss swollen and pouty, wondering why we’ve stopped. He graces me with an alluring smile. His fingers find my lips. I open and suck one into my mouth, causing his eyelids to flutter and nearly close. He tips his chin, and I marvel at the chiseled line of his jaw, his high cheekbones, his delicate brows.
I like the weight of him in my lap, how solid he feels in my hands, the way he looks at me as if I were precious.
“Your arm,” he says.
“My what?” I ask around his finger, which I donotwish to relinquish, but he pulls it from my mouth anyway.
“Your arm,” he repeats. “Let me heal it.”
Oh, that. I’d utterly forgotten. I feel no pain. “It’s fine. Kiss me.”
Bowie’s amused grin is so lovely it begs to be painted and hung in a museum for all to admire. “It’s most definitely not fine. It’s quite injured, in fact. And if I ever meet the beaver who did it, I shall have strong words for the creature.”
“I ate him.”
He blinks. “Oh. Well, I suppose your solution proved a more fitting punishment than mine would have been. Beavers probably care not for harsh words.”
“Bowie.”
“Hmm?”
“Kiss me.”
“It would be my pleasure—” He stops me from leaning in with a firm hand on my chest. “After we’ve taken care of your arm.”
Seeing as he isn’t likely to be swayed, I relent. “How?”
“A little blood, not much. Is that all right?”
