Page 64 of The Serpent and the Silver Wolf

Aimee’s breath came in shallow bursts, her body humming with adrenaline. She felt the warmth of his body beneath her, the solid press of his chest rising and falling under her hands.

“What Haven did you say you were from, again?” He whispered as his hands slid up her back.

Her skin tingled where his fingers grazed her beneath the fabric of her loose training shirt.

“I didn’t,” she murmured, shifting her weight and settling deeper into his lap.

That’s when she felt it, hard and thick beneath the deceptively simple material of his uniform. Apparently, she wasn’t the only one turned on by a good fight.

A jolt of heat shot through her in response.

She should’ve pulled back—should’ve said something to defuse the moment—instead, her body moved faster than her thoughts, the need curling low in her belly louder than reason.

She leaned in, each inch narrowing the distance between them. “But if you remain tense…there are other ways to clear the mind.”

Her words dropped like a challenge, and his entire body locked beneath her.

Strain rippled across him, taut and electrified.

Then: “And you, mysterious woman…” His voice was controlled, but something darker laced the edges now, rich and warm. “Are you still tense?”

Her hands traced upward, fingers exploring the ridges of muscle beneath his tunic. Heat radiated off him in waves, each contour sharper than the last, sculpted and solid beneath her touch. When she reached the edge of his mask, she hesitated, letting her nails drag just lightly enough to draw a shiver.

Her mouth hovered near his. “What if I said yes?”

Aimee’s pulse thundered.

In answer, his hands moved, settling firmly around the swell of her ass as his fingers sank into her flesh, dragging her against him.

Then came the sound—a low, guttural growl, deep in his throat, vibrating through her as much as it echoed in the space between them. His hips lifted, grinding into her with the hard shape of his cock, dragging against the aching seam between her thighs. Heat licked up her spine, spreading outward in pulses, and a broken sound escaped her lips before she could swallow it down.

Gods, she was already close. Too close.

What am I doing? Aimee wondered, watching herself from the edge of bliss as she boldly slid her fingers beneath the mask.

He didn’t stop her, but his posture shifted, just enough to feel it. A subtle pause in the steady rhythm of breath between them.

Her fingers froze.

She knew better. He wouldn’t wear a mask without reason. Peeling it away now to reveal his face felt like stepping across a line she had no right to cross.

So she shut her eyes. And kept going, tugging the thin material down.

And when his hand closed around her wrist, there was no force in it. Then his fingers slid between hers, and in that quiet answer, she leaned in, bridging the space between them.

He hovered unmoving against her lips. One heartbeat. Then another. Then his mouth brushed hers, barely there, but enough for her to feel the shape of it.

She met it slowly, lips parting to catch his lower lip between her teeth, teasing before letting go.

That did it.

His hand fisted in her hair, pulling her in as his mouth crashed over hers this time, deep and hungry. Her hips rolled in response, and he answered—cock rocking slow and thick along her soaked center.

She gasped, and he swallowed it whole, hand curling tighter at her neck.

Stars above—why were there still clothes between them? She ground harder, chasing the pressure, but it wasn’t enough. Not even close.

One of her hands snaked down between them, fingers searching for the opening to his pants, desperate to release him. Her other hand braced against the ground, steadying her body, her lips locked with his, unwilling to release his lips or open her eyes.