But I don’t want that.

Something in me craves Zoey’s control. She’s dominating me, and I’ve never had a more erotic experience in my life.

Nothing has ever felt so intimate.

“What do I want?”

Hell, I need to answer her. She demands it. I struggle to form thoughts and make them into words.

“My-my dick. You want to suck it.”

At first, she doesn’t respond. Her head only moves lower, and I brace myself for another tormenting bite. But then she places a soft kiss in the middle of my chest, and her grip on my wrists releases.

“That’s a good werewolf,” Zoey murmurs, her voice husky, her breath teasing the coarse hair on my chest.

I wonder if she minds that I’m not smooth, like some male model or the werewolves on a CW show.

The way her fingers flex in it, the way her nose traces through it, the way her lips press trails of kisses in it, make me think she doesn’t mind my fuzz in the slightest.

Then, her mouth is level with my cock, and thinking becomes impossible.

I’ve seen calluses on Zoey’s fingers—results from her DIY projects. But when she touches me, her skin is warm silk.

She slips off the couch, kneeling on the floor. Her breasts press into my thighs, tempting me. I want to cup them. The brief handful I got earlier in the shop was over too soon.

When she rides me, I promise myself.

Zoey grips the base of me so I stand erect.

Then, the erotic torment begins.

Her tongue drags up my entire length before flicking the tip. A bead of pre-cum seeps out, and I watch Zoey deliberately lick the drop.

It’s possible that I’m bleeding—the nails of my fingers are digging so hard into my palms.

She then sets my dick on her full bottom lip and proceeds to work her way down. Zoey doesn’t draw in every inch immediately. Instead, she pulls me in, bit by bit, every centimeter of my cock receiving an introduction to her mouth. She bathes me with her tongue, tightens her lips for a second of suction, then gives the gentlest of warnings with a light tease of teeth.

My breathing becomes frantic. Lust boils my brain. The couch groans as I grip the frame, needing something to hold on to. Something to keep me from tangling my hands in Zoey’s hair and holding her to me so she has no choice but to finish blowing my mind.

Then, the wet heat of her mouth disappears, and I mutter a cursing protest.

“Warner?” The seductress aspect of her voice is muted, and she’s back to curious. Honestly, I don’t know which side of her I find more intoxicating.

“Yeah?” I try to keep the desperation from my response.