Page 58 of Hexy Beast

Even then, I’m not sure it will be enough.

Darius lets go of my belt loops, sliding his hands around to the front of my jeans, resting his fingertips on the top button as he shifts his kissing efforts from my mouth to the line of my jaw to that sensitive spot just behind my earlobe that makes my whole body go from oh-that-feels-so-good to the-rest-of-the-world-doesn’t-exist-while-you’re-doing-that. His mouth should be studied by science—but not until I’m done with it. That should happen in about six lifetimes.

I feel the dull side of a sharp edge against my bare skin above my waistband as he’s kissing his way down the side of my neck.

“Don’t move,” he says against my skin.

That results in you know exactly what—my immediate movement. I lean back, putting just enough space between us for me to look down at our bodies. What I see makes my very minimal ab muscles tense. Nothing about him has changed except for one long, hard, pointy thing.

“Is that a claw, or are you just happy to see me?” I tease, unable to look away from the claw extending from his pointer finger.

I should probably be more freaked out than turned on, but when do I act as expected? I don’t.

So instead of panic making my stomach tight, it’s wanton desire, hot and needy and so desperate to see where this is going. He is a werewolf, after all, and I’m the one who told him to let his wolf loose.

He flinches and drops his gaze to the cave’s floor. “I won’t hurt you.”

“I know that.” When he doesn’t say anything, I cup his face and force him to look me in the eyes. “Darius, I know that. So what do you want to do? I might be into it. I just need you to let me in and tell me what you’re thinking.”

“I want to take your clothes off.”

“Using your claws?” I ask, my voice breathy with anticipation.

He holds up his finger with the six-inch razor-sharp claw extending from it. “Just the one.”

“So the idea is that you shred the only jeans I have, my favorite pair of underwear, the sweater that my uncle Amon knitted for me, and the most boring bra I own before we have the best sex of our lives?”

His pupils are dilated with lust, and I swear I can feel a hint of his wolf rubbing up against my skin. He nods one single time.

“Guess it’s a good thing I’m a witch and can magick up a new outfit.”

Is it wrong to say that he gives me a wolfish grin before dropping his hand and hooking his claw around my jeans? Because, really, it’s the only way I can think to describe such a dangerous, tempting smile.

“Don’t suppose you can poof a red velvet cape into existence?”

I can’t help but chuckle. “Are we going to enact your Little Red Riding Hood fantasy?”

“Someday, but not tonight,” he says with a demanding, rough edge to his tone. “I have other plans for you.”

He tugs the denim waistband, and my top button pops off. That’s followed by the sound of the material ripping as he slices in one parallel motion to my zipper like the tough denim is as solid as warm butter. He squats down and follows the line of my inseam with the point of his claw, then repeats it with the other side, leaving only the three inches of still-sewn-together denim covering my crotch intact.

Darius hesitates.

I’d be lying if I say I’m not holding my breath at this moment—but maybe not for the reasons you’re thinking. Honestly, I’ve done a lot kinkier shit than this, but I’m not sure Darius has. I don’t think he’s ever let himself just go with his wants before. The man has stuffed so many vital parts of himself down deep and refused to accept them as being a part of who he is that I’m not sure he’s ready for that.

Darius’s jaw is clamped shut so tight it could be a bank vault, and his whole body is rigid with the effort to control whatever is about to happen. Part of me just wants to snip the material for him with a snap of magic, but I can’t.

It has to be his call, because only he gets to decide who Darius Aetos really is.

He runs the back of his claw up the inside of my thigh so deliberately that I have to fist my hands to keep from arching my hips in encouragement. The tip of his claw slides behind the denim covering my pussy. I bite my bottom lip hard enough to hurt to stop myself from saying all the dirty encouragement I can come up with—and I can think of a lot. And as if being quiet and still isn’t hard enough already, Darius tugs the material taut and then pauses and looks up at me.

The lust in his eyes sucks all the oxygen out of the cave, and if I weren’t about ten seconds from begging him to just do it and me already, I probably would be gasping for air.

“Yes?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper, as if he’s afraid of losing control if he’s at regular volume.

I nod because it’s all I can do at this moment.

One side of his mouth goes up in a sexy grin, and then he slices through the last seam holding my jeans together.