Page 77 of The Wolf Queen’s Curse

When I run my finger along the waistband of his trousers, he says, “Would you like those off, too?”

“Not yet. I’m taking my time, and right now, I’m appreciating this particular part of you.”

I run my fingertips over his stomach, touching a faint new scar there.

He gives a low chuckle. “Admiring your handiwork.”

“Mmm. I should say I regret it, and I would, if the man I stabbed was my husband, but sadly, he was a werewolf come to kidnap me and so he deserved it.”

“I suppose he did. Now it stands as a reminder not to try making my wife do anything she doesn’t want to do.”

“Unless she’s only saying that because she’s playing with you. But then you’ll know it. And there will be no stabbing involved.” I look at him from under my lashes. “Unless you want it.”

A soft chuckle. “From now on, I think I’ll do the stabbing.”

“I like your stabbing.” I keep exploring his chest, every divot and raised line. “There are a lot of scars.”

“Likely more to come. I hope that won’t mar your future viewing pleasure.”

“It won’t. As lovely as the package is, what I really see…” I rise until my face is above his. “Is what’s beneath it.”

His cheeks flush, and I tug him into bed with me. He deftly maneuvers until he’s under me, and then I lean down to kiss him.

“Is this where I’m allowed to say I love you?” I whisper.

His eyes burn, and he reaches up, pulling me down into a kiss. It’s long and slow, and my mind whirls and floats until I open my eyes and realize I’m looking up at Bishop, with him over me.

“I’m not done with my exploration,” I say, pushing at him lightly as he kisses my neck.

“Then you shouldn’t have said the magic words.”

“I didn’t. I asked whether it was all right to say them.”

“Too late.” His lips move to my ear. “You said the words, and now I must do something I have never done before. With anyone.”

“Never?”

He pulls back to look at me. “Never.”

“That is either intriguing or concerning. Possibly both.”

He chokes out a laugh. “Hopefully not concerning.”

“What are you going to do?”

He brushes a strand of hair from my face, the other hand cupping my cheek. “Make love to someone. More specifically, make love to my wife, but I feel as if I should be clear and use the more generic term.”

“You have never made love?”

“I came close once, in a forest, chasing the most delectable nymph, throwing her down and … Well, it was an act of love, certainly, but I don’t think it quite qualified as lovemaking.”

“So what does?”

“You ask a lot of questions.”

“You raise a lot of questions.”

He kisses me before I can ask another, and it’s another long, sweet kiss, his hands traveling down my sides and then back up to wrap in my hair before he lifts his head, face over mine.