Page 102 of Pack Baby for the Silver Foxes

“That’s a lot for a bedroom,” she whispered.

“Yes.”

My thumb brushed her jaw. “Your robe is terrible.”

She blinked.

Lincoln laughed.

Mary’s mouth opened in outrage, and I kissed her before she could use it.

She made a small, surprised sound against me. Then her hand came up to my shirt and held on. She tasted of mint toothpaste and our matching scents. Something we still hadn’t discussed.

Mary trembled when I slid my hand to the back of her neck. Lincoln came up behind her. Mary reached back blindly and found his wrist.

“There you are,” he murmured.

“Smug,” she whispered against my mouth.

“Accurate,” he said.

Her laugh broke into a gasp when his hand settled at her waist.

I drew back enough to see her face. Her eyes were bright, pupils wide, but clear. No fever haze. No pain twisting through the scent.

“Tell us what you want,” I said.

Her throat moved. “I want...” She stopped, cheeks flushing.

Lincoln pressed his mouth to her hair. “No rush.”

“There’s quite a lot of rush, actually.”

“Then start small,” I said.

She looked at my mouth. “Kiss me again.”

I kissed her until her weight shifted forward, until her fingers tightened in my shirt, until the scent of her slick turned sweet and warm enough that Lincoln’s breath changed at her back.

“You’re both very calm about this,” she said.

“We’re not.”

“You look calm.”

Lincoln’s mouth moved against her shoulder. “He’s counting.”

“Counting what?”

“Reasons to go slowly,” Lincoln said. “He’s on about four.”

“Three,” I said.

His hand slid over her stomach and Mary went still.

I broke the kiss at once.

Lincoln’s hand stopped too. “Too much?”