Her chest was heaving, and she was so wet even she could smell it on her. Flint clothed was hot. Flint naked could start fires. Every inch of him was defined. His abs had abs.
“Wow.”
“Right back at you.” Everything about him was making her short circuit. And now that they were naked, neither of them could step into the territory between them.
Flint dropped to his knees. He pressed his lips to her belly. Emma’s head tipped back, and as she gritted her teeth together, his touch melted her skin. His lips sent her power zipping around her body.
“You don’t have to . . .” Emma clenched her eyes shut. Her neck heated, and if her body was doing the normal thing, a blush was spreading down her cheeks to her chest.
“I don’t have to what, Emma?” he rumbled.
“Don’t you know?”
He pressed his lips farther down her stomach to the hollow between her torso and legs. “I clearly don’t have any idea what you’re talking about.” His kisses trailed closer to her apex.
“You don’t have to go down on me,” she blurted out. Her ex had thought it gross. He’d done it once, making a face the entire time until she’d faked an orgasm, and then he’d rolled over and pointed to his limp cock, waiting for her to return the favor. Which she did, like she always did.
Flint licked her clit, and her head flopped back, hitting the wall.
“Do you not like it, Emma?” He licked her again. “Because I like it. I like it so much. You’re not going to take my lunch away from me, are you? You’re not going to keep me from my dessert after we ran out of the restaurant?” He tossed Emma’s leg over his shoulder.
She clutched on the wall to keep her balance. But she didn’t need to; Flint held onto her tightly enough, holding all her weight up. Her fingertips trailed over the rough pine wainscoting. The way he commanded all of her attention with his touch overwhelmed her. Floating—every one of her senses vibrated with each flick of his tongue.
“Emma.” He huffed out her name in short, quick breaths.
Right, he had asked a question of her. “No, please don’t stop.”
“Good girl.” His hand trailed to her backside.
She reached for his head, and his thick, soft dark hair slid between her fingers.
He tilted his head to the side until she was pulling on his hair. “Fuck, Emma.” He gave her one last lick and stood.
Her hands fell slack at her side, her lips between her teeth. They stared at each other, not touching for a moment before he broke the invisible shield between the two of them. Flint lifted her into his arms, cradling her to his chest. He marched the few steps across the room, his steps wide and thudding.
She expected him to put her on the bed behind them. Instead, he flung a stack of books from his table to the floor and sat her on the edge. He held her chin while he devoured her mouth, then gave her lips a last kiss and pulled back.
With a coy smile, he wiggled his eyebrows at her. “Now I can finish my meal.” He put his large hand on her stomach and applied a light pressure.
Emma lowered to her elbows on the cherry wood table. Her breath was uneven. In this position, she could watch as he set about a job that she’d always thought of as unpleasant. In no way did Flint seem to not be enjoying what he was doing. A male challenged would be the best definition.
“Turn that fascinating brain of yours off, little apple,” he said between his nibbles. His warm breath on the inside of her leg set off a rhythm, and she focused on it. In and out, in and out, and the rest of her life faded away. It was only Flint. Only now. She ran her hand over her nipple. Flint had stopped.
She tried to lift her head. But he held her down and moved her hand back onto her breast. He returned his mouth to her clit and gripped the side of her hips. She shot off. Her back arched off the table. The orgasm hit her like none in her life ever had. She reached for the table, but the table was gone. Eyes open, she saw she was floating. Panic set in, and she plummeted but didn’t hit anything. Flint grabbed her out of the air, reflexes faster than any shifter she’d ever seen.
Never in her life had she had an orgasm good enough to float. Not with her human ex and not even with her old witch boyfriend. Although, more than once, she had cast a spell to make it look like she had floated to soothe his sensitive ego.
12
He snatched her out of the air. Holy hell, the witch had floated off the table. It should have scared the shit out of him. Right now, it didn’t. Maybe later. Later, he’d play it over and over and pull apart what it meant. Now he wanted to see her do it again. He wanted to be on top of her when it happened again and again. With his arm locked, he held her to his chest before slowly lowering her feet to the cabin floor.
“That was something. I didn’t realize that was a thing.” He kissed the top of her head. His cock had taken over as a fifth leg for his dining room table.
“What?”
He brushed her hair away from her face. “You’re already back in your head?” His hands looped around her back, his fingers trailing lightly up and down. The floating had scared the crap out of him but was sexy at the same time. He held her tighter to his chest. Their rapid heartbeats matched.
She had her head turned, her eyes closed. The female would be asleep in a heartbeat. He breathed in the apple cinnamon scent with his nose in her hair. When he opened his eyes, his back stiffened. Purple magical flames trailed from his hand—not hers. She’d drained him of every last bit of energy he had, drained him so far he’d thought he might need a nap. How could he have more energy already? She magnified his magic. The flames grew and sunk from him into her as his hands traced circles around her back. His wolf nipped at his own heels. The need to mount her, claim her, mate her pulsed at him. Mate her.
Mate her? Mating her wasn’t going to happen. He didn’t plan on mating anyone—ever. His parents had mated without being fated mates. And after he’d gained his powers, he’d told himself he wasn’t ever going to mate, even if he found his fated mate.
Fuck, Emma made him crazy, but even though she smelled so good, he would know if she was his fated mate. Every shifter child was told the stories of fated mates. After everything that happened with his dad, he didn’t want any more of it. He didn’t want to be a part of a lie. He didn’t want a love match mating or a fated one.
But he did want this woman, this witch. And while it would matter later, it didn’t matter now.
“Emma.” He picked her up. He couldn’t help himself. She made him want to protect her, guard her. This woman made him lose all control. The bed sat four strides away from his dining room table but had been leagues away after they’d started.
And as much as it confused him, he didn’t want to only fuck her. He wanted to mate her, and his insides started to tremble. They trembled the same way they had when his magic had unbound. His stomach squeezed. Mate her. Take her and keep her.
After laying her down, Flint stepped away from the bed. Emma sprawled on top of the quilt his grandmother had made him. His sister’s face flitted through his thoughts. What was he doing? This wasn’t some girl that had picked him up at a bar. Vivianne and Eloise had picked her out like they judged his cereal. Don’t eat the sugar-coated ones, they have no substance. And then they’d thrown a box of double-shredded wheat into his cart.
Vivianne hadn’t had an emergency. No, she’d seen Emma and wanted to push her and Flint together.
This was his grandmother’s quilt, not the tiny backseat of his truck. This was the kind of woman his family expected him to bring home and keep. And he wasn’t keeping any female.
He glanced down at Emma. Her hair lay over his pillow, her lips puffy from his harsh kisses. He’d done enough damage.
She turned her head and sniffed his quilt. “This is pretty.” She rolled to the side to move it out of the way. Shit, he couldn’t fuck a woman on his grandmother’s quilt, and he doubly couldn’t fuck a woman who knew enough not to fuck on his grandmother’s quilt. His feet stuck to the pine planks, paralyzed.
