Page 14 of Baiting the Werewolf

He shakes off my hands and walks away again. Alright, I’m definitely missing something here.

I walk around him to block his way. “Are you still angry about it? I’m sorry. I should have trusted you. But you didn’t even tell me about the wolf visiting you. I thought you believed you were imagining me. Then I joined the Bureau, and then it was too dangerous to tell you. I’m sorry. Did I say I’m sorry? I’m really sorry.”

He breathes loudly, contemplating. His face still looks furious.

“Is it about the kiss? I get it. You’re definitely not the first person to kiss me drunk.” I laugh.

His eyes narrow. “Well, what a relief,” he huffs, sidestepping me as he stomps away.

Okay, what the actual fuck? I turn and block him again. I take a step forward, getting frustrated with the whole thing. He instinctively steps back, hitting the tree trunk behind him. “I honestly don't get it. Do you want me to be weird about the kiss? It was just a drunk kiss, Wes.”

He looks up like he's praying for patience. “Ugh, can you stop talking about it already?”

“About what? The kiss?” I smile at his indignant face. He looks too cute when he's angry to be taken seriously. I'm just glad he isn’t sad anymore.

He tries to slide away, so I brace my hands against the tree trunk on either side of his head. “Logan, let me go,” he says, anger lacing his words.

I press closer, in case he gets any bright ideas about ducking down to escape. His breath hitches the moment I move. “Not until you tell me why you’re angry with me,” I breathe out.

He doesn’t say anything. Just breathes loudly, his chest almost touching me with every breath, his sweet lavender scent surrounding me.

I tilt my head. “You know you're being weird, right? I know you're not prude enough to be this bothered by a kiss.”

He averts his eyes, avoiding looking at me again. He’s biting his lip like he does when he’s uncomfortable.

I laugh again. “Dude, chill. It’s not like it meant anything. I'll kiss you right now, and it would be nothing,” I say, matter-of-factly.

His eyes snap back to mine. “Do not kiss me,” he insists.

That makes me smile wider, and my eyes slide down to his mouth. Wes has very full, very soft-looking pink lips. I still remember how they felt against mine. “Why? Are you into me or something?” I ask. My eyes fixed on his mouth.

He swallows, the sound like a gunshot in the quiet forest. Then he sharply shakes his head.

That's all the permission I need. I don’t try to understand why I’m insisting on doing this in the first place. I close the gap between us.

Wes’s lips are just as soft and warm as they looked.

He stands there frozen while I coax him to open his mouth. I have this need to taste him again.

After a few seconds of brushing my lips over his, he responds. Softly at first, before pressing against me, trying to match my intensity.

My arm wraps around his waist so I can feel him against me. He gasps against my mouth.

When I finally slip my tongue inside, my body hums with satisfaction. He tastes sweet, sweeter than I would have expected.

I move a hand to his face and adjust him so I can get more.

I need more.

Deepening the kiss, I take my time exploring his mouth.

This feels natural. Something we should have been doing all along, just like cuddling on his couch and attempting new recipes while destroying Wes’s kitchen. I have no idea why we haven’t actually.

Wes moves to pull back. I groan and tug him closer, connecting our mouths again. I swallow his protests and whines. His soft hands move up my torso achingly slowly until they rest on my chest.

It feels nice. All of it feels nice.

Then Wes pushes me away. Firmer this time.