“Don’t call me that,” he rumbles, his lips brushing over my ear, hot exhale making me shiver. “Only my uncle uses my full name. I hate it.”
“Fine,” I snap, using annoyance to cover the effect he’s having on my body. “Manny. I’ll call you Manny.”
“No.” His voice is rough yet gentle. “Call me your wolf.”
“My wolf?” I try to keep my voice hard, but it quivers. “You’ve never wanted to be mine.”
Suddenly, Manny braces himself on his elbows, raised far enough to meet my eyes, his sharp gaze boring into mine.
“I’ve always wanted to be yours. Too much.”
I shake my head. This is a game. It has to be.
But I find myself repeating my earlier question, this time with a tinge of desperation. “What does that mean?”
“It’s not complicated, my infuriating little wood witch.” He cups my face with one hand, tracing the curve of my cheek with his thumb. “I want you. I want inside you. And I want you to want me.”
My body flushes with heat, every inch of me straining toward the wolf and his tempting words.
Words I’ve never admitted I’ve always wanted to hear.
7
MANNY
With fearstill coursing through my veins after Blossom’s plummet off a cliff, I can’t find it in me to evade the truth a moment longer.
I listen to the ragged cadence of her breath, her chest pressing into mine with each inhale. As much as I want to claim her mouth and kiss the hell out of her—make her want me—that’ll only drive the witch away.
And I don’t want to force Blossom.
I want her to choose me.
With a shift of my muscles, I flip us over, rolling onto my back so Blossom is straddling me.
Giving her every inch of the high ground.
Not that I mind how the core of her is only inches from my half-hard cock.
“As you come to terms with the fact that I want you,” I say, attempting a teasing tone, “I’d like it noted that I’ve confessed this in the middle of an apple orchard. I hope you take this as asign of submission. The amount of ammo available puts me at a great disadvantage.”
Blossom gazes down at me. “You’re joking.”
“I’m not.” Carefully, I lay my hands on her thighs. Kneading the thick muscles with my fingers and trying not to think about how they’d flex if she rode me.
Blossom sits up straight, crossing her arms over her chest. But she doesn’t climb off me, and I take that as a promising sign. As the beautiful, infuriating witch studies me, I pluck a few stray leaves off her cotton sleep shorts.
“So, this is a new thing?” she asks with narrow eyes. “You wanting me? You saw me clutching that scarecrow tight and were like,Damn, I wish I were the straw-filled doll?”
I snort and grin up at the sassy witch and fall for her a little more.
“No. I mean, don’t get me wrong; I’m definitely jealous of every inanimate object you’ve ever held tight against your boobs like that.” As I speak, I let one hand creep up to her rib cage and risk my thumb by brushing it over the lower curve of her breast. “But wanting you isn’t new.”
Her brow furrows in the most adorable scowl. “Explain.”
“Happy to.” Especially with her like his, astride me, as if I were her own personal mount, not protesting my sneaky, roving hands. “When you turned thirteen, you hit puberty. And you started to smell good.Reallygood.”
Likewarm apple pieandteenage fantasiesgood.
