Page 56 of Hungry As Her Python

It had been weeks since we’d touched, and my body remembered every single detail.

Every thrust, every shiver, every pulse of magic that sparked between us.

The kettle whistled shrilly behind me, but neither of us moved.

Because tea could wait.

But Conrad?

Conrad wasn’t the kind of man you made wait when he kissed you like this.

And the truth was, I didn’t want to wait either.

Chapter Sixteen-Conrad

She smelled like sugar and magic and something I’d never been able to get enough of. I could taste her in the air, feel the thrum of her power like static against my skin.

Every damn time I got close, my Python rose up inside me with one single thought.

Mine.

And she was.

Even if she didn’t believe it yet.

I’d been patient—hell, for a Shifter like me, I’d been a saint.

But watching her move around her kitchen, robe clinging in all the right places, her magic still sparking faintly over her skin from the ritual earlier, yeah, I was about one deep breath away from forgetting every promise I’d made myself about giving her time.

“What’s rattling around that pretty head of yours, Sugar? You’re positively permeating pheromones,” I murmured, leaning in close enough to take a long, slow inhale.

Goddess, she smelled like warm lemon sugar and desire.

She tossed me a sidelong look, chin tilted.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“Damn straight, I would,” I growled, stepping in behind her before she could sidestep me.

Her body went still—except for that tiny tremor I felt when I let my arousal press against her lower body.

She knew exactly what she was doing to me.

My mind flashed back to the last time I’d been buried inside her, the way she’d clutched at me like I was the only thing tethering her to the earth.

I’d never forget that.

Never wanted to.

I dipped my head, brushing my lips over the warm, soft skin just below her ear.

She moaned—quiet, but enough to gut me—and my control frayed another inch.

My tongue flicked out, tasting her, before I nipped at her lobe and spun her to face me.

“I want to know everything about you, sweet Witch,” I told her, and meant it.

Not just her body—though, yeah, I wanted that too, every damn day—but the things she thought were too small or too silly to matter.