Free The Moon, the Madness, and the Magic by Eliza March

He should warn her what being with him would mean to her safety.
    Rourke lifted the tiny pieces of her bathing suit top back into place. Breathing harder than he could ever remember doing from a simple make-out session, he nuzzled her ear. With his rough edges buffered for a second, he whispered, “If we do this, you need to know I get rough, really rough.”

    * * * *

    Celeste leaned into the warm breath against her neck. With her eyes closed, enjoying the feel of his coarse beard rubbing against her, lightly abrading her skin, she barely registered his warning. The warning was unclear, and his lips felt too good kissing her neck to have her caring.
    She asked anyway. “Rough, like punching me, slapping me around?”
    “No. Hell, no.” He pulled back and stared at her. “Nothing like that.”
    “Oh, okay.”
    A wry smile tripped over his lips. “Maybe a little spanking now and then, but nothing violent like bruising. Unless you’re easily marked?”
    The hard-ass had a dimple. Her insides melted. “No, not so easily. But maybe you should be more specific.” Celeste didn’t know what else to say. She didn’t want him to stop, so instead, she said nothing more. She wanted to kiss that dimple and slide her lips to his mouth, but she didn’t move, waiting for him to explain what rough meant to him.
    Wolves had fangs and bit. She expected rough.
    When he spoke again, his hands traced a path down her shoulders, and his voice sounded thick with arousal. “I like my sex hard and fast—well, not all that fast.”
    When he reached her wrist, he stroked her pulse, suddenly more gentle than the tough guy image he’d portrayed all along. “You are so delicate, so very—” He stopped touching her.
    She cut him off quickly before he changed his mind. “Don’t stop. I’m much sturdier than I look. I want this, Rourke. Don’t try to scare me off or bail on me now.”
    “Make sure this is how you want it.”
    He was warning her, giving her this one chance to bolt.
    “I think I can handle anything you like.”
    “You’re a spitfire, aren’t you?” He chuckled. “Don’t be so sure about the anything part.”
    “If you like it, I’m sure it has to be good.” Taking his hand, she picked up her towel as she climbed out of the hot tub to lead him to her room. “Come.” She didn’t miss the crooked grin he sent at her.

    * * * *

    Come? Damn straight! Rourke had every intention of doing just that, multiple times. Even if his attachment to her made his mind wary, his cock would follow her into hell right now if she asked. For all he knew, between the demon in his head and the damn divining rod in his shorts, that’s exactly where he was headed.
    The water beaded up on her skin and glowed with radiant light. “Which room?” he asked.
    “That one, with the door ajar.”
    He needed her too much to wait. “Good, then I can do this.” He scooped her up in his arms, noting she weighed practically nothing as he carried her inside the room and kicked the door shut behind him. Only pausing long enough to locate the bed, he realized all the rooms were set up the same.
    Thank God her bed was exactly where his was, because that was as far as his cock’s patience would let him go. The thing had a mind of its own and kept straining beneath his trunks to get out and touch her ass.
    Rourke practically threw her on the bed and stood over her like a guard. “Take off your top. Slowly.” His demand resounded in the room.
    While she untied the strings to her bathing suit with painfully slow intent, he never took his eyes from hers. Instead, he pushed down his trunks, springing his cock from the pressure of the material, and let out a sigh of relief.
    He hadn’t thought about what he was doing until her eyes dropped to his groin and opened wide. When he glanced down, he winced. He looked back up at her, carefully watching the expression on her face. He could almost read her calculating mind evaluating his length and girth.