He raised an eyebrow, hands settling on my hips but not guiding, just resting. Letting me. “Bossy tonight?”
“Always.”
I leaned down, nipped his lower lip, then sat up and sank down onto him slow, taking him inch by inch. We both groaned, him from the tightness, me from how full he made me feel.
I started rocking, hands on his chest for leverage, setting a pace that was teasing at first. Up and down, grinding my clit against him on every drop. His forearms flexed as he gripped the sheets, holding back, and that sight alone had me speeding up. Finneas Kingsley, CEO, Lycan King, flat on his back and wrecked by five-foot-three of petite blonde. I stored that image away forever.
“Like that?” Cocky as hell, rolling my hips in a circle.
His jaw tightened, eyes dark. “Keep going.” No demands. Just encouragement. The control freak letting me run the show and loving every second of it.
I bounced harder, leaning forward, bracing on his shoulders. One of his hands came up to cup my breast, thumb flicking across my nipple, sparks shooting straight to my core. The room filled with the sounds of us, my moans mixing with his grunts.
“Fuck, Andrea,” he muttered, hips bucking up to meet me, but still letting me lead. His other hand slid to my ass, squeezing, helping the rhythm without taking over.
I chased it, grinding down hard, and it hit fast, waves crashing through me, pussy clenching around his cock. He thrust up once, twice, then came with a low curse, spilling inside me.
I collapsed forward onto his chest, both of us laughing softly in the dark.
Later. Much later. I was lying in the dark with my head on his chest and his arm heavy around my waist, tracing patterns on his skin. The room was quiet, but not the hollow empty quiet I usually hated. This was warm, full.
“What does this mean?” I asked. “For us. For work.”
“Whatever you want it to mean.”
“That’s a non-answer.”
“Then I’ll give you a real one.” He shifted, pulling me closer. “I want to be with you. I don’t need a label or a plan. We take it one day at a time. No pressure.”
“And at the office?”
“At the office you’re my assistant and I’m your boss and nobody needs to know anything until you want them to.”
“So we just pretend? Walk around the floor like we didn’t just...”
“Like we didn’t just what?”
I pinched his side. “You know what.”
“I want to hear you say it.”
“Absolutely not.”
His chest shook under my cheek with a laugh. An actual laugh, low and quiet and rumbling, and my heart did a thing I wasn’t prepared for because I’d never heard Finneas Kingsley laugh like that. Not the controlled almost-smile, not the jaw twitch. A real laugh, and I caused it, and I wanted to cause it again every day for the rest of my life, which was a terrifying thought to have about a man I’d technically been dating for less than four hours.
“One day at a time,” I said.
“If that’s what you need.”
I pressed my face into his chest. His heartbeat was slow now, calm under my cheek, and his hand moved from my waist to my hair, fingers combing through it. Gentle. It reminded me of the nights on the porch when Fin would press his head against my hand and I’d stroke his fur until I fell asleep. Same person, same touch, different form. The thought should have been weird but it wasn’t, just felt like closing a circle.
“One day at a time,” I said again. “I can do that.”
He kissed my forehead. I closed my eyes.
I fell asleep against him and for the first time in two years my house didn’t feel empty.
But I was already in over my head and I knew it. He was asleep beside me, arm around my waist, breathing deep and even, and I was lying in the dark thinking that “one day at a time” sounded reasonable when I said it but now I was in my bed with a wolf king, his hand in my hair, his heartbeat under my ear. One day at a time wasn’t going to cut it. Not with him, not with this.
