That’s all the instruction Warner requires. He stands, with me clutched against him, and strides toward a back room. After tossing me onto a wonderfully cushy bed, Warner flips on the light and stares down at me.

I rise up to my knees and open my arms, beckoning him closer. He obeys, and for a few minutes, we let our heat and passion spill into a kiss. At some point, he unclasps the hooks of my bra, letting the material drop to the floor. Then, nothing is between us.

My nerve endings tingle as Warner’s body presses flush against mine, and I want to rub myself all over him. More than that, I want to feel connected to him. Have him inside me.

“Condom,” I command when I break off our kiss.

He leans over to open a drawer in his bedside table and pulls out one of those tiny three-packs found in any gas station. I pluck it out of his hand and check the expiration date hasn’t passed before tearing the container open.

Once the latex is free, I shuffle back on the bed. “Lie down. I’m going to put this on you.”

Warner reclines on the mattress, his moves as smooth as a predator’s. His eyes stay trained on my hands, arm wrapping around my waist, as if to make sure I won’t run on him.

I might enjoy him hunting me down.

The rubber isn’t hard to slide on with him standing at attention. Once he’s properly equipped, I mount his hips.

“Do you want to be inside me?” I ask, voice husky.

Warner’s response is a tense nod and a tight grip on my hips. Still, he doesn’t try to direct me. The werewolf follows my lead, and I reward him for it with another searing kiss.

Reaching between us, I wrap my hand around him, loving the heat that seeps through the latex. Warner will never let me be cold. It’s impossible for him.

Still, I shiver as I sink onto him, but purely from pleasure.

“Zoey …” Warner groans my name, and I watch with glee as the muscles in his neck strain. The werewolf stares at me with heavy-lidded eyes, his breaths escaping in short bursts.

This is what I crave, the sight I tried to picture at night when I touched myself. But nothing is as good as the real thing. My imagination couldn’t conjure up the sturdy feel of his body between my legs or the rasp of his chest hair against my palms. My brain wasn’t able to form the salt and musky scent of him or the exact pitch of his growls. Until a few days ago, I didn’t even consider that he would growl.

And I never could have imagined the expression Warner would have when we finally joined together. The mixture of lust and need and worship rocks me.