Entering her was like slipping into luxurious oil. Her head tipped back, and she said “Ummmmm…that’s good. I missed that,” to the ceiling.

He stroked her breasts, running his fingers over her firm nipples, marveling at the softness of her skin in contrast with her strength and stamina. She’d jumped three stories, and there wasn’t a mark on her—and he was certainly looking! Not a bruise, not a scratch. She healed almost as quickly as he did.

“You’re gorgeous,” he said.

“You’re just saying that to get laid,” she teased.

“In case you haven’t noticed, I am getting laid.”

She snorted and then began to rock back and forth. He noticed an odd, sudden reticence about her and wondered about it—then suddenly realized she had likely been on top when she crippled her first lover.

“For heaven’s sakes,” he said with mock disgust, “can’t you go any faster than that? Any harder? I’m about to fall asleep down here.”

She was so astonished she nearly fell off him. Then she made the connection and smirked. “Okey-dokey, dead guy. Here we go.”

They ruined the carpet. They didn’t care. Toward the end, she was screaming at the ceiling and he could feel his spine cracking—and didn’t care. Her legs were around his waist in a crushing grip, her arms around his neck, cutting off his air—and he wanted more. He told her so, insisted on it, demanded it, and then bit her ear. He could actually feel the temperature change within her as she reached orgasm, felt her uterus tightening around his shaft. That was enough to tip him dizzily over the edge.

They weren’t able to speak for several minutes until Janet finally managed, “Oh, cripes, I think that should be against the law.”

“It probably is, in at least three states.”

“My supper’s cold,” she complained, making no move to stand up and get the tray.

“So I’ve got a microwave. Why did I even cook it? I doubt you’d have minded it raw. A werewolf,” he mused, stroking her thigh. “Even after I saw the truth with my own eyes, I could hardly believe it.”

“That’s because you’re kind of a dumb-ass sometimes.”

“I have to take this from a foul-mouthed tart like you?”

She pounced on him and nibbled his throat. “I’m your foul-mouthed tart, so there.”

“Excellent.” He kissed her nose. “So…how do you feel about being an undead werewolf?”

She groaned. “Let’s talk about it in ten years, all right? Let me get used to the idea of not being pack anymore first.”

“It’s a date. Will they come after you?”

“I have no idea. No one’s ever voluntarily left before. I doubt the boss would really mind—he’s softened up since he got hitched—but I s’pose I should tell them I’m not dead.”