Free What a Werewolf Wants (San Francisco Wolf Pack) by Kristin Miller

in his body seized as he crushed his mouth to hers. She whimpered into the kiss, coiling her arms around his neck as she pressed her chest against his.
    Good God, the woman was on fire.
    Fighting the desire to take her now, in the closet, on the bench, and against the wall, Ryder grasped her hips with both hands. Lifted her right up. And then brought her back down so that she straddled him. One leg on either side of his. The scent of her arousal struck him, and he groaned.
    He was getting her wet—in every way—and it only fueled his desire.
    Cupping her face in his hands, he stroked his thumbs over her cheeks. Tilted her head. And plunged his tongue past her lips.
    This time she moaned, full-bodied and deep, and then melted right into his arms. Her mouth opened wide, granting him everything. Tiny little movements over his lap had him gasping for air. She was damp. Mewing into his mouth. Wound tight with want. Aching for pleasure and blissful release.
    He’d give her all of those things and more, if she’d let him.
    Unable to hold back, his hands shot to her breasts as he claimed her mouth. Her lips tasted like wine and rain, a drugging combination. He sucked on her bottom lip, savoring the flavor of her. Kneaded her breasts in his hands. Moved beneath her, giving her the pressure she needed between her legs.
    Ryder kissed her neck. Licked her slowly. Tasting her. Feeling her tremble under his tongue.
    She moaned, dropping her head back.
    Tunneling a finger beneath her sweater, he hooked onto her tank top strap. “Why don’t we take this off?”
    She grinned into another wet kiss. “I did lose the race fair and square.”
    He dropped down to kiss her breasts over her sweater as she shrugged the rest of the way out of his coat.
    “I wasn’t going to make you go through with it,” he said, raw need pulsing through him. “I just wanted to see if you would.”
    Grinning, she jerked her sweater over her head and flung it to the recesses of the closet. Her hair fell over her shoulders, stunning him.
    “You’ve got the sexiest fucking mouth, you know that?” Raking his fingers through her hair, he gripped the back of her neck to hold her in place.
    “And you haven’t even seen everything I can do with it yet.” A tantalizing grin turned up one of the corners.
    As his cock twitched, he dragged her mouth to his and thrust his tongue deep inside. This time, she collided against him, meeting him stroke for eager stroke. Her hand dipped between their bodies—what little room there was—and cupped him. She sucked in a clipped breath, frozen for half a second, and then started to roll over his hips.
    Scorching heat exploded through his body at the thought of what was to come.
    Now.
    Sliding the wet shirt off his body, he threw it to the floor. Dug his fingers through her hair and possessed her mouth again. Couldn’t get enough. Would never get enough. He popped the button on his pants. And then hers. All eight of those goddamn annoying buttons. She giggled and then helped him along, slinking out of her tank top and bra.
    Pressing against her, he moaned, relishing the feel as rock-hard bare flesh met perfectly unblemished porcelain skin.
    “You’re wet,” she said, brushing her hands up and down his back. “You were soaked through.”
    His fingers dived between her legs and slid along the ridge of her cotton panties. “You are, too.”
    She twitched from the initial contact, but as he swirled his fingers outside the cloth and kissed her, matching the movement with his tongue, she loosened. Relaxed into his touch. And when her hips started to rock against his hand, he dived beneath the ridge and touched the slickest, softest bare skin.
    Mine.
    The primal need to take her here and now reared up inside him.
    Dropping her head back with a whimper, she clung to his shoulders. He teased and swirled her pleasure spot, drawing the orgasm out of her. As he drove his fingers inside her core, she reared up and whimpered, biting