Her leg slid over the side of his, her heel brushing the back of his calf. A frisson of heat shot through him as he slipped his hand down her soft skin until he reached the curly hair between her legs. And stopped.
Her mouth suckled on his lower lip, and he groaned with ardent need. He claimed her, his fingers stroking her wet, ready flesh, his mouth nipping her lips with a gentle teasing. She attempted to take off the sweatshirt. He would have helped, but he was busily stroking her and making her writhe with pleasure. The sweatshirt rested above her breasts when she came, his mouth covering hers to muffle the cry of ecstasy.
She smelled divine, sex personified.
He climbed over her, between her, not entering her yet but pulling off the sweatshirt. He feasted his eyes on her breasts and then set his mouth on one—sucking hard and caressing the other at the same time with his hand.
Her fingernails raked through his hair and scalp, tightening on strands of his hair as her nipples became taut, sensitive peaks. He rubbed her mound with his erection, and she bent her knees and spread her legs, inviting him to enter.
Not yet.
The urgency throbbed within him to take her, to finish this, to fulfill the wolf’s need, the primal urge to claim, but he wanted it to last.
She didn’t make that easy as he kissed her again, and she inserted her tongue and stroked the insides of his mouth. His other head took charge, his cock pushing between her wet, slick folds, burrowing deeper until he couldn’t go any farther.
She reached up and flicked her fingernails over his taut nipples, and he let out an inhuman growl. She smiled. He kissed her again, licking and tangling his tongue with hers until he was close to the edge, trying to hang on, suspended, and then he came, striking it rich as the firestorm hit.
He hadn’t needed to dream about this to know she was the one for him. He couldn’t imagine suffering the dreams and waking to find she wasn’t with him.
He collapsed on top of her and she laughed. “I love you, you tired old wolf.”
He grinned at her but didn’t make any attempt to move off her after what she’d called him.
“You’re heavy.”
“You’re sexy. And I claim you for my own, forever and ever,” he said very seriously.
“Good, because I’m not letting you go.” She wrapped her arms around his neck. “You’re still heavy.”
He laughed and moved off her, then pulled her against him. “You’re beautiful,” he said, stroking her hair.
“You are, too. I didn’t know gray wolves could be that big.”
He chuckled. “I love you.”
“I love you, too, Tom. I didn’t think I ever could love a wolf or another man, whatever kind he was.” She cuddled against him, the two of them buried under the covers, snuggling.
He caressed her shoulder, loving just being able to touch her in this way. To lie together. To be together.
He had planned to sleep, but he couldn’t just yet, wanting to know more about her brother if she wasn’t too tired. He needed to know what he and his pack were up against when it came to her family. “Do you mind telling me more about your half brother?”
She sighed. “Sefton doesn’t see me as his sister. He claims my father couldn’t have mated with my mother because my father was already mated to his mother.”
“She was already dead, though. Right?”
“Yes. That didn’t matter to Sefton. I don’t think he would have cared if my father mated again, if his new mate had been a wolf and not a coyote.”
“So your uncle took him in?”
“Yeah. My father turned him over to my uncle to raise after Sefton tried to burn down the house.”
Tom blew out a harsh breath. “Do you think your uncle was angry he was saddled with raising your half brother?”
“Not that I ever saw. He raised Sefton like he was his own son. At least that’s the way it appeared to me whenever I saw them together. I think it was more that my uncle hated that both he and Sefton had trouble finding mates of their own because of their association with my mom and dad.”
“It couldn’t have been because of the way they were? That maybe it had nothing to do with your parents or you?”
Elizabeth didn’t say anything for a while as he stroked her silky hair.
“What about Bruin? He’s dead now, so no longer a problem where you’re concerned, but would he have sanctioned your parents’ murder?”
“He might have. I never saw him. I don’t know how he treated my uncle and half brother.”
It didn’t really make much of a difference, Tom thought. All that mattered was learning who was responsible for her parents’ death and everything concerning her parents’ murderers and their involvement with Elizabeth.
He wanted to know everything about her. He smiled at the thought that she was his mate now. “Tell me about your father.”
She laughed a little. “He was a character. Good-natured. Loving. He was a perfectionist, and when he showed me how to do some job, he’d go into long-winded detail, indicating exactly how I was to do it. When he was done, I’d ask if he could show me again. And he would. So instead of having three cast-iron pans to wash, I’d only get stuck with one.”
Tom chuckled.
She smiled. “It got to be a joke with us because he was like that with everything. Every time, he’d do the job again, digging a second hole in the garden to plant a tree, or whatever. Usually by the third time I asked him to demonstrate again, he’d smile and make me do it.”
“I would have liked him,” Tom said.
“Yeah, you would have. And my mother. She baked cinnamon rolls like Bertha does.” She sighed heavily.
Tom didn’t know what to say. He was afraid the memories were too sad for Elizabeth, but before he could attempt to change the subject, she said, “She didn’t take any guff from my father, wolf that he was.”
“That must be where you get it from.”
“Yeah,” she said dreamily. “Just you remember that.”
They snuggled for a long time, and when she fell asleep, he followed. A few hours later, he heard something in the living room—a scraping sound, he thought—that jarred him awake.
Tom quickly extricated himself from Elizabeth, not meaning to wake her, but she quickly sat up as he left the bed. He grabbed the rifle, hurried to the bedroom door, and yanked it open.