Because he wanted her to see where she would live, but he could not tell her that. Because he wanted her skin on his. “You know you were curious.”
“What are we going to do, Mateo?”
He ran a palm down her shoulder. “We’re going to finish the tour, and then we’re going to go find those books.” If her coven managed to steal the wolf from all shifters, that would be an immediate and dramatic end to the pack.
“We just call them the twins. We called them by their names even after the adoption. It gave the social worker fits.”
“And we rip the books out of their hands.”
“And?”
Then they’d live happily ever after…. In New York, while he worked ten plus hours a day, and she was completely cut off from her family, whom she’d lived with and never defied before this week.
He kissed her and closed the door to the attic.
“Mateo!”
He kept kissing her. “I should mention that shifters have very, very good ears. And even though there is no squeaking bed, the slightest noise will give us the same problem.”
“What?”
“Shhhhh.”
He spun her so her back was against the door and let his hands roam over her body, dreaming of the day when they would have endless privacy and time. He weighed her breasts and listened to her moan before rucking up her shirt to get his hands on skin that burned his palms. He slotted his hips to hers before his vision floated back to him. He ached for her children, but he’d made a much older promise not to get a woman pregnant to appease his great aunt and because that was a shitty thing to do to somebody.
He growled in frustration; it wasn’t like he was carrying a condom in his back pocket again. He hadn’t expected her to pop onto his land. They could go down to his bedroom, but that seemed a little on the nose. This was pushing it as it was. With a groan, he dropped to his knees.
“What are you?—”
Another flash came to him of the same position with a ring in his pocket, which he banished as he rucked up her skirt and pulled down the thick leggings. He lifted one of her feet to drape over his shoulder as he buried his lips in her folds.
She moaned loudly, and he told her to shush again, even as he feasted, immediately drunk on her wild scent.
He shaped his tongue to her, feeling more than hearing her respond.
Soon her supporting leg was trembling, and he pinned her hips to the wall with his hands, reveling in his strength as he sped up.
He didn’t want to. He wanted to draw this out, keeping her on edge for hours at a time until she forgot her own name and his. But they had minutes, and so he didn’t stop, even as he could feel her whole body start to tremble, and her hands landed in his hair and started to knead.
She keened wildly and came in a gush that was his new favorite dish in his life and always would be.
She slumped over him, her heart pounding, and he drew her into his arms until they were sitting on the floor with her in his lap.
When she brushed against him, she raised an eyebrow.
“Don’t worry about it,” he said through gritted teeth.
“It wasn’t exactly a worry,” she said as her hand dove between them, and he lost his breath. She looped her hand around his neck and then stiffened in his arms, staring into nothing.
“Cat? Patchouli? What?—”
Her pupils were swirling pools, and suddenly, he felt a different connection snap between them as she drew on the wolf.
He wanted to rip away from her, but his wolf wasn’t panicked. It didn’t feel violent; it felt powerful.
She slumped against him after a timeless minute where he lost his breath and sense of the room; all he could feel was the magic pulsing and pulsing.
“Catarina! Cat!”
