Page 77 of A Lady’s Guide to Werewolves

“This is not for you. It’s not safe.”

“I’ll be the judge of that, thank you very much.”

“I think we have adequately proven that you are a terrible judge of your own danger.”

“That is not—” She choked on the rest of her denial because the Earl of Coventry reached down, scooped her up, and gently placed her over his shoulder. Gently—but firmly. Inexorably. As if it were a perfectly easy and normal thing to do. “Aidan!”

“Yes, Sorcha?” he said calmly while she dangled there.

“What the hell do you think you are doing?” She smacked him on the backside because it was all she could reach, and barely at that. She couldn’t turn in his grasp, not nearly enough to poke him in the eye.

“I don’t have time to argue with you right now.” He continued to stalk through the woods, leaving the path for a copse of hidden oaks and wild roses. Elderberry, the traitor, appeared to be chortling as he dipped and wheeled around them. “And if you mean to stalk a wolf, make sure he is not downwind from you.”

“I’ll keep that in mind next time,” she gritted out. His hand was on the back of her thighs and it was…distracting. “Now put me down.”

He shifted her weight and then slid her down his body. Slowly.

“I thought you didn’t have time to argue.”

“I wasn’t planning on arguing.” He kissed her, slow and deep, dominating every one of her senses. Was that a wolf trick? Or an Aidan trick? He crowded her, lowering her onto a soft bed of bluebell leaves, under a sprawling oak tree where not even the moon could find them. “Were you?”

He dug his fingers into the soft skin on the inside of her knees and pressed them open. Patiently, slowly. Deliberately. Everything inside her turned to liquid heat. She had to bite her lip on a whimper.

“Sorcha.”

“Wh-what?”

“Are you arguing?”

“No,” she gasped. She was not arguing this turn of events. She was barely able to form a coherent thought, never mind an argument.

“Good,” he breathed against the inside of her thighs before using his shoulders to push them wider apart. “I was so hoping you’d say that.”

She wasn’t saying anything at all. She was only able to moan as he dragged his mouth over her folds, a teasing whisper of a touch. She arched closer, and his big hands gripped her hips and kept her still, the oak tree at her back doing the rest.

The brush of lips turned to a long, hungry lick. And another. And another.

“I knew you’d taste like this,” he said. “Perfect.” She dug her fingers into his thick hair, and he groaned. “Use me, Sorcha,” he demanded. “Show me what you like.”

No one had ever asked that of her before.

She found she liked it. A lot.

He licked and sucked at her as if she were a feast made just for him. He used his tongue and his teeth, lightly. A swirl around her bud with the flat of his tongue, a flick with the stiffened peak. Another lick, deep and hungry, when she tightened her fingers on his hair. Smaller sips, deeper draughts. She clung to him as he created a pattern and rubbed against his mouth, trying to swallow her whimpers, her moans.

She might as well have tried to swim to Scotland.

The forest was hers now. She claimed it with every cry and gasp, every writhing of her hips, every moan. Her release built quickly, coiling heat in her quim and her thighs, cresting until they met somewhere under his tongue and she came apart.

“Again,” Aidan demanded.

“I can’t.”

He stilled, looking up at her, eyes molten. “Are you arguing?”

She shook her head. “I’ve never… Twice?”

“Twice,” he said with smug satisfaction. “And next time, if you let me, three and then four. As many times as you can handle. Until the only thing you can say is my name.”

She would have said his name right then, but he pushed a finger deep into her warmth and curled it, rubbing that little, elusive spot.

Not elusive to Aidan Carnahan, apparently.

He added another finger and she writhed against him, whimpering. Her second release was even more intense, until her legs were shaking and her heels dug into the earth. Even the oak tree trembled above. He grinned and wiped his chin on his sleeve, before helping her to her feet. She felt dazed, sated. In the best possible way.

“My turn,” she said.

But when she looked back up at Aidan, he was gone.

Without letting her touch him.

Again.

The rat bastard.