Page 12 of The Art of Avoiding Your Soulmate

“Do you do this often?” I asked, my voice breathless as I pulled back.

“No.” His grip tightened on the backs of my thighs. “Do you?”

“Never.”

His eyes grew hot.

His chest rumbled with satisfaction.

And his lips met mine again.

This time, his tongue met the seam of my lips, and I opened for him.

His chest rumbled again, louder, as our tongues collided.

Holy hell, he tasted incredible.

I wanted more of him.

I needed more of him.

My wolf whispered something, but I didn’t hear it.

My tongue moved with his, hot and desperate.

And despite the desperation, it was fun. Way more fun than I would’ve expected.

We kissed for ages, the kiss hot and heady.

Until his hand on the back of my thigh slid up to my ass, and I arched slightly.

The motion rocked me against his erection—and I loved that.

I needed that.

I felt myself rumbling a little too, almost like I was purring at the sensation.

Our mouths moved together, our tongues dancing and warring.

Bauther used his grip on my ass to rock me against him.

I paused and sucked in a breath, but he didn’t stop kissing me.

His tongue stroked mine, confident and sure.

I moved my hips—and gasped at the feel of it.

Of him.

I wanted his clothes gone.

Mine, too.

I managed to get his shirt off of him before his lips and tongue found my throat. He kissed, licked, and sucked the sensitive skin as I moved again.

He moved me, too.

Again, and again.