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I lifted her, one arm under her thighs cradling her weight, the other crushing her to my chest. She was light. Fragile. Mine.

She took my face between her palms and dragged my mouth back down. Her open-mouthed kisses were hungry. She bit my lower lip again, harder this time, and my grip on her tightened, my fingers denting the soft flesh of her ass. A shudder ripped through me. Yes. More.

I carried her to the bedroom door, shouldered it open, and walked her back onto the wide bed, built for my bulk. I set her down at the edge. Her flannel shirt gaped open wider, revealing the smooth curve of her collarbone, the rapid flutter of her pulse.

I braced one arm beside her head and lowered my weight, and her back curved up to meet me. My knee pressed between hers, parting them. She arched into me, offering the long line of her throat.

I buried my face in the curve where her neck met her shoulder, inhaling greedily. Rain, woodsmoke, the heady musk of her arousal—thick, green, intoxicating. My tongue swept up her throat, tasting salt and warmth, before I bit down, not hard enough to mark, but enough to claim. She gasped, a sharp, sweet sound, her back bowing.

The flannel shirt suddenly felt like an insult. I hooked my claws into the collar and ripped it open, buttons scattering across the floorboards. She lay beneath me in just her plain cotton bralette and leggings, the fabric doing nothing to hide the peaked outline beneath.

“I haven’t... in years,” I rasped against her skin. “Careful. Gotta be careful. Fingers... claws... tell me if... anything...”

Her nails scored hot lines down my spine, through the thin cotton of my shirt. She surged up, hips grinding against mine. Her teeth found my earlobe, biting down.

“Stop. Talking.”

Her hands plunged under my shirt. Fingertips, then palms, scored hot trails across my abdomen, up my ribs, dragging the damp cotton up my back. I helped her, working the last two buttons free with fingers that wouldn’t cooperate, then yanked it over my head.

Her hands spread over my chest, fingers digging through the thick pelt to the sensitive skin beneath. A full-body tremor went through me.

My senses screamed: Heat. Scent. Touch. It was too much. Just enough.

“Okay?” Her voice was a rasp against my collarbone. She scraped her nails down the centerline of my chest, following the thick ridge of fur.

I groaned. Yes. Gods, yes. More. My hands found her waist, pulling her flush against me. I felt the pebbled points of her nipples through the thin cotton, the frantic hammer of her pulse under my palms. Her skin was fever-hot.

I covered her, my greater weight pressing her deep into the mattress. Fur met skin—rough against smooth, warm against hot. She wrapped her legs around my hips, heels digging into my lower back, urging me down. Her hands fisted in the fur at my nape, pulling me deeper into the kiss, her hips rolling against mine in a deliberate, instinctive rhythm that made my vision white out. I braced on my forearms, my body sinking into the cradle of her hips.

My mouth found the hollow of her throat. Licked. Suckled hard, soaking in the taste of her. She writhed beneath me, a desperate, wordless sound tearing from her. I kissed lower, tracing the edge of cotton with my lips and teeth.

I unhooked the front clasp with a claw held carefully flat—a small, ridiculous triumph—and the fabric fell open. She let out a startled laugh that turned into a gasp when I lowered my head and closed my mouth over her.

Her hands fisted in the fur on my head, pulling, guiding me lower. Demanding.

I nuzzled into her navel, the smooth skin like warm silk against my muzzle. Licked a slow circle around it. She arched, a choked gasp escaping her. Hot. Sweet. I breathed her in, the scent of her desire thickening, intoxicating. I needed more. All.

My claws caught in the waistband of her leggings. I curled them carefully back, using knuckles instead of tips, and dragged the leggings down, taking her plain cotton underwear with them. Exposing her. She was bare, glistening, utterly unashamed. Beautiful. My breath hitched. Go slow. Be gentle. The frantic pulse between her legs beckoned hard.

I lowered my head. Pressed a single, reverent kiss to the inside of her thigh. Inhaled her essence, rich and verdant and familiar, yet utterly foreign. Her legs trembled. My tongue swept up, a long, slow stroke over heated, swollen flesh. She cried out, hips bucking hard against my mouth. A shudder I felt in my teeth. Yes.

I groaned, the sound muffled, vibrating against her core. Taste. More. I settled in, licking, sucking, circling the hard bud that made her gasp and curse my name. Her hands fisted in my fur, hips moving wildly, shamelessly seeking. The world narrowed to her scent, her taste, the desperate sounds spilling from her lips—my name, pleas, demands. More.

“Yes! Right there—” Her voice broke into a keening wail as her body arched off the bed.

I held her hips down, relentless, feeling the exquisite tremors start deep within her, watching the flush spread across her chest as she shattered. She screamed, a raw, glorious sound that echoed in the room. I rode out her climax with her, drinking down every pulse, every shudder, the taste of her breaking apart on my tongue. Before the last tremor faded, I surged up her body. Her eyes fluttered open, dazed and triumphant.

I kissed her deeply, hard. Let her taste herself on my tongue, thick and musky. She kissed me back feverishly, hands tearing at the fly of my pants, snagging in the denim. Helping her, I shoved them down just enough, freeing myself. Hard against the coarse fur of my thigh. Wet already.

With trembling hands, I notched myself against her entrance. The broad crown parted her—slow, careful, the resistance exactly what I’d feared. She sucked in a breath.

I froze. “Hazel⁠—”

Her heel pressed against my lower back. “Just—slow. Slow is good.”

I moved in increments. She stretched around me by fractions. When I was finally seated deep, she made a small, wondering sound that broke something open in my chest.

“Still good?” The words came out strained, incredulous.