Jodi Redford - The Seven Year Witch

If there was one thing guaranteed to shred him to pieces, it was a woman’s tears. Having that woman be Clarissa only made it a thousand times more terrible. “Clarissa…”

Without saying another word, she rushed past him and hurried toward the rear hallway. Even her strongest holding spell wouldn’t have kept him from chasing after her.

He caught up with Clarissa before she could duck out the door or into the ladies’ restroom. Not that either location would have deterred him. He tugged her into his arms, the ferocity of her expression revealing just how much she hated showing the vulnerability hidden beneath that legendary icy exterior she’d perfected. Tucking her against his chest, he nuzzled her forehead. “Rissa, I’m sorry.”

She stiffened. “Please don’t call me that. I—it’s very inappropriate.”

“Hush.” Unable to help himself, he followed the delicate, silky arch of her eyebrow with his lips. She trembled and sighed, making both man and wolf silently growl in triumph at her tiny show of capitulation. Holding her this close was both heaven and hell, a heady torment that teased every single one of his heightened senses. She smelled luscious and feminine, a delicious main course he could easily feast on all day and night. His hands slid down the slopes of her shoulders, a not entirely unconscious marking of his territory.

Her breath stuttered in her throat. “This isn’t the place to be doing this.” She must have caught her slip of words because she jerked her gaze up to his. “I mean we shouldn’t be doing this at all .”

Tuning out her weak protest, he traced her mouth with the pad of his thumb. “That’s where you’re wrong. Right now, I need to kiss you more than I need to breathe. I wanna taste you. Eat you up.” Make you mine . The thought sprang full born from the most primal part of him, where wolf overruled man.

Clarissa’s eyes widened, but she didn’t draw back as his head descended. Their lips met, clung briefly, before he gave in to the fierce hunger burning low in the pit of his gut. Intent on making his possessiveness—and his desire—known, he nudged the hard ridge of his erection between her thighs. “Feel that, baby? That’s what you fuckin’ do to me.”

He filled his palms with her ass and squeezed, deliberately rolling his hips against hers. Yeah, he was dry humping her against a wall right outside the damn restrooms. But if the frequency of her gasps were any indication, she was enjoying the hell out of it just as much as he was.

His tongue slicked past the nonresistant barrier of her lips, and he relished the soft, breathy moan that escaped Clarissa. She was even more intoxicating than he remembered. Her magic shimmered around them, mingling with his energy and creating a charged buzz that tingled across his skin. He broke off the kiss, his breath ragged against her cheek. “Come home with me.”

She licked her lips. “That would be an epically bad idea.”

“Why?”

“Because we both know where it would lead.”

He ducked his head and nibbled a path along her jaw before exploring the soft hollow behind her ear with the tip of his tongue. “If you’re referrin’ to you tied to my bed, then yeah, damn straight.”

Her shallow exhale whispered against the side of his face. “Th-that’s not what I…” She swallowed. “You want to tie me to your bed?”

“More than you could imagine. God knows I’ve imagined it more often than I can count.” He released the tempting swells of her ass and glided his palms up along her hips, taking his time to properly enjoy her lush curves. “You’d be spread-eagled, your whole body tremblin’ and your nipples unbearably tight.”

“W-why would I be trembling?”

He grinned against her neck. “Don’t you also want to know why your nipples are tight?”

“I figured you’d get around to telling me, regardless.”

“Aw, shug, am I that predictable?” Yeah, he was. No way in hell he could temper the urge to tell her everything he wanted to do to her. In precise, Technicolor detail. “You’re tremblin’ because I’m eating your pussy. Lickin’ you inside and out, nice and slow. Savoring you.”

Her pulse skittered beneath his lips. “Logan, please—”

“Yeah, those are exactly the words you keep repeatin’ while my tongue is workin’ your clit and your sweet honey is filling my mouth.” He groaned and shifted, resting his forehead against hers. The fantasy had him hard as granite and desperate to sink into her softness. “Christ. Have mercy on me, Rissa. Say you’ll come home with me.”

A massive, epically bad idea.

The inconvenient fact that the Miata was currently cruising toward Tybee was the only thing that stalled Clarissa from banging her forehead against the steering wheel. There could only be one explanation for why she was giving in to this insanity. Having only a week left to live was severely messing with her reasoning powers.

Then again, her shortened lifespan might have a hidden benefit. If this thing between her and Logan spiraled into an enormous disaster—as she suspected it would—she wouldn’t be around long to bemoan her stupidity.

She glanced in the rearview mirror and noticed Logan’s Harley still tailed close behind. No doubt he was afraid to let her out of sight, in case she decided to make a break for it. Thanks to the wind, his white T-shirt was plastered to his torso, which only made her all the more hyperaware of just how breathtakingly gorgeous he was. While she’d been pinned between the wall and Logan’s delectable body, she hadn’t failed to notice how unbelievably good all those rippling muscles had felt rubbing against her, everywhere. It also hadn’t passed her inspection how one particular muscle of Logan’s had been beyond raging hard and possessed a wicked talent for making her forget all else during their bump-and-grind session.

It wasn’t like she’d never seen Logan’s cock before. For goddess’s sake, the werewolf went out of his way to show off that particular pride and joy every chance he got. But seeing wasn’t the same as feeling. And he’d definitely made sure she felt every inch of that bad boy, up close and personal.

Smothering a groan, she shifted in her seat. This is what she got for abstaining from sex the past two and a half years. Her trusty stash of vibrators was no substitute for the hot, steely length of a hard cock sliding deep inside—

A blaring horn intruded on her private fantasies, and she jumped. Jerking her gaze to the passenger-side mirror, she spied a scowling driver sitting in a white Taurus busy making obscene gestures in her direction. It took a second to realize the driver’s rudeness stemmed from the fact that she’d just blown a red light. Her heartbeat racing at the near miss, she returned her attention to the road, determined not to put her life—or anyone else’s—at risk because of her own stupidity.

The irony of that thought didn’t escape her, but she chose to ignore it in favor of staying alert for the remainder of the drive.

Five minutes later, she pulled into Logan’s driveway. She barely had time to shift into park before Logan’s Harley roared up beside her. He must have been driving like a total maniac to have caught up with her so fast. Bemused, she watched him rip his helmet off and storm to her side of the car.

“Were you tryin’ to get yourself fuckin’ killed back there?”

She should have been pissed as hell at being shouted at by her familiar, much less having him yell at her like she was no better than a child who deserved a good scolding after taking a box of crayons to the living-room walls. But the truth was she deserved his fury. “N-no. I wasn’t paying attention. It was utterly moronic of me.”