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That means I’m free to see how compatible I am with Ze’ev, right?

He can’t be mad about that.

Who am I kidding?

“I can take care of it myself,” I say, feeling flustered and worried that I’m talking myself into a mess all at the same time. “I’m not going to ask you to leave again.”

Even if I have conflicted feelings about the Outcast, I don’t want to do anything that’ll wind up with him getting killed.

And I can’t very well let my body melt from the inside just because I’m self-conscious.

The need building in my core is too strong. I have been asking Ze’ev to leave, but he remains rooted on his knees by the bed. The position is both vulnerable and insanely attractive.

“Fine, then I’ll just take care of it,” I grumble.

If he insists on staying, then he’ll just have to watch.

This is literally a life-or-death situation.

No big deal. Just an orgasm.

Surely Ze’ev has seen a woman have one of those.

Or maybe not, if he’s been out in the woods most of his life.

Then this should be an education for him.

As I close my eyes and reach my hand between my legs, Ze’ev grabs my wrist.

My eyes flash open, and I absorb his hungry gaze.

He takes both my wrists and pulls my arms above my head, sending my damp clothing stretching over my abdomen, revealing skin.

He climbs over me, careful not to disturb the ring of furs around us, and holds me in place.

“You’re going to get us in trouble,” I tell him as he stares me down.

He raises a brow as if daring me to tell him to leave again.

I already said I wouldn’t.

He takes that for the invitation it is as he releases me, then cups my thigh. He pulls my leg out so that it rests against the outside of his hip.

Then he does the same with the other, leaving him nestled between my legs.

I can hardly breathe as I go still underneath him.

He doesn’t write me more notes in this position. Now his body does the talking.

It’s not at all what Godric does to me, but Ze’ev leads as he grinds his hips against mine, making me suck in a breath.

He’s fully clothed, as am I, but the delicious pressure is more than enough to make my eyes roll back into my head.

Ze’ev takes that as encouragement and peels down my wet shirt, revealing my nipple. He runs his tongue over it, and my back arches.

Our bodies speak a new language, one that keeps my growing body temperature at bay while simultaneously building a taut ball of need deep in my core.

“More,” I press as he continues to grind against me. I can feel his erection now, one that is thick and perfectly rigid.