Page 61 of A Lady’s Guide to Werewolves

The rhythm created a kind of orchestra inside her body, a call-and-response that flooded her with warmth and a need that swirled and spiked higher and higher, waves of sensation and his rough-tender voice demanding, praising her. “Come for me,” he urged. “Let go. Just let go.”

She was helpless against the tide of it, the thrust of his fingers, the rubbing of her bud, the heat of his mouth, and, finally, the building tension that left her shivering and whimpering as it moved through her, claiming her. She came with a near-soundless gasp, riding his hand.

Aidan eased away from her breast with a soft kiss, slanting another across her mouth. “Beautiful.”

He lowered her dress and eased her back down to the floor. She nuzzled against his warm chest, his hair tickling her nose. He was hard against her hip, but when she reached for him, a tap at the window made them pause. Aidan tensed, and if he had been in wolf form, his hackles would have risen. He turned, keeping his body between her and the intrusion.

A snowy owl perched on the sill outside, eyes bright and liquid.

Aidan’s stance relaxed. “One of yours, I presume?”

Sorcha sighed. “Yes.”

“Trouble?”

“No, curiosity.” Sorcha marched forward, sent the owl a calming image of a clear, starry sky—nothing to worry about. And then she twitched the curtain closed. “They like to know where I am.” She turned back to him. “Especially after today. But right now I am here with you.” Just as soon as her legs stopped feeling so deliciously wobbly.

“You need to rest.”

“I’m fine.” Better than fine. She felt soft and warm, like melted beeswax. And she wanted to feel the rest of him, to taste the salty sweetness of him. Wanted to hear his breath turn ragged in her ear. Needed to.

“Curses can take some time to truly fade. Especially a wolf curse on a human witch.” He stroked his thumb over her cheekbone. She nearly purred like one of Aesop’s kittens. “Don’t push yourself.”

“I’m not—” Her argument might have sounded more believable if she had not also been struggling against a yawn that threatened to split her face.

“Let’s get you back to bed for a rest.”

“I don’t want to sleep. I want…” She paused. “You don’t want to continue this?”

“Sorcha,” he said quietly, fingers cradling her throat, stilling her suddenly nervous flutters. His tone was hard, his jaw hard, his body hard. But his touch was soft. “Hear me, songbird. When I take you, and you take me, I am going to need you to be very, very well rested. Understand?”

She swallowed. “Yes.”

“Good girl.”