Page 73 of This Is Not True Love’s Kiss

Aoife gave me a look as if to say, “Yes, and?”

I waved a hand. “That’s nonsense. I understand this werewolf is charming and handsome⁠—”

“Extremely handsome,” she cut in.

“But,” I continued, “this is bordering on ridiculous. It’s not real. It’s entertaining, sure, but it’s sensationalized.”

“I think you’re just intimidated by this werewolf.”

“Intimidated?”

Her eyes flashed with a challenge. “It must be hard knowing there’s men out there who can simply lean on a doorway with their arm flexed and make a woman lose all her senses. Make her go feral for him.” She gave an innocent shrug. “You could never.”

Was she . . . flirting with me? Aoife liked to irk me, argue with me, and lately, talk to me, but flirt with me? This was new entirely. And I fucking loved it. It was also clearly an invitation, one I would gladly accept.

I gestured toward a door behind me. “Should we give it a try, then?”

Aoife smiled broadly like I’d just walked into a trap, and stood.

I took that as a yes, standing as well and striding toward the door. I opened it, revealing a small, dark closet.

Aoife joined me, peering up at me and waiting for my next move.

I thought about the ridiculous scene we’d just read. It had been a long time since I’d flirted with a woman, wooed a woman, but I was more than up to the challenge.

I stepped forward, just like the werewolf had in the book, and Aoife took a step backward, her back pressing against the frame of the door.

She was still smiling, still had that challenge flashing in her eyes as I lifted my arm and braced it over her head.

Her smile faltered, and I didn’t miss the sharp inhale of breath she took as I caged her with my body, tipping my head down as she gazed up at me.

All the challenge had left her eyes, which widened, her perfect plump lips opened in surprise as she gaped at me.

“You know,” I said, “I think I might’ve been wrong. This seems to be very effective, after all.”

She snapped out of her daze, reaching out a hand to push me away, but her palm met my hard chest, and I didn’t budge, too intoxicated by this moment, by her, to move.

“What happens next?” I asked, voice low and rough.

“What?” Aoife blinked.

“In the book? After the werewolf cages her, makes her swoon, what happens?”

“I—well—” She stumbled over her words, and I had to hold back my smile.

This might have been the first time I’d ever seen the warrior queen flustered.

“He kisses her,” she said finally.

“Really?” I said, feigning surprise. I’d read ahead and knew exactly what had happened. “So was it more like this?” I pressed a gentle kiss against Aoife’s lips, quick, chaste, and then I pulled away.

She scowled at me but didn’t move from her position.

“Mm, no, then? I guess I’ll have to try again.”

I cupped Aoife’s jaw, and her breath hitched as I wound my other hand around the back of her neck and tugged her mouth up toward mine. This time, I was not gentle. Nor was I chaste. I kissed her hard, kissed her until her body melted right against mine. I kissed her like a man starved, and that wasn’t far from the truth. I’d been starved of her for over two years, hadn’t even realized how badly I wanted this until far too late. I prodded her mouth open with mine, and she whimpered as my tongue slipped inside.

Her hands skimmed up my chest and wound around my neck, our tongues tangling and driving me wild with need. I pushed her up against the frame while devouring her with my mouth. I wanted my mouth everywhere on her body. I wanted to strip her down right here, to fuck her until we were both so tired neither of us could argue about anything.