The shifter inside him was near the surface and riding the rush. If the basic human male’s instincts were to eat, fight and fuck, then the shifter male’s instincts for those were twice as strong. Nathan had managed to scratch eating off the list, but the other two were long overdue. There was adrenaline running through his blood, and fighting Sage wasn’t remotely an option.
But maybe fucking her was.
Delving his hands into the damp curls of her hair, he tugged her head back and pulled his mouth from hers.
He trailed slow kisses down her jawline. Exploring. Tasting. Feeling her heart beating in the pulse beneath his tongue.
“Nate…” she whispered, sounding almost drugged, and making no move to stop him now. “Is…
“Nate. Nathan. Larson. Sir. I get them all.” How was she still able to talk? Maybe this was a good time to try and get information out of her. “You’re a writer?”
While waiting for her to answer, he teased the wildly beating pulse in her neck again with is tongue.
“Oh…yes.” She made a soft, fluttery sigh. “Romance novels.”
But even as he moved his hand to touch her, he flashed back to last night and the way the musician had groped her. The way she’d flinched and drawn back.
He trailed his kisses lower, to the curve of her breast above the sleeveless cotton dress. Then he paused. Waited to see how she’d react. If she’d push him away, freeze up or…
The whimper she made was husky and needy, and her back arched just slightly to lift her breast higher toward his lips.
It was the only invitation he needed to tug down the dress and thick fabric of her bra and bare her to him. Her breast spilled free, so milky white and full. The strawberry-colored tip was already hardened.
Shit. If he’d had even the slightest bit of control left before, it had just disappeared.
