Truth or Wolf: A Small Town Shifter Romantic Comedy (Wolf Brothers Book 1)

Chapter 18

Eighteen

You’re either predator or you’re prey, remember? And you sure as shit don’t want to be prey.

— ANGELA KNIGHT

Iwanted to be angry.

I was determined not to waste a nanosecond more on what Ford Boone thought about me.

Mostly, though, I was hurt and sad and confused by… Well, there had been quite a few shocks and revelations in my life this month.

I had opened Aunt Sally’s safety deposit box.

Except she wasn’t my aunt. She was my birth mother. I had been stunned by the birth certificate tucked inside the metal box.

Fortunately, the banker who retrieved the box for me had also provided me with a private room in which to sit and go through the things that Aunt Sally had considered important enough to hide in a fireproof, theftproof, fifty-dollar-a-month metal box. I had been in that box.

Right on top of everything rested a piece of pink construction paper the size of a paperback novel with two baby footprints inked on it in blue beneath my name and birth date. This shocking piece of news had been followed by various pieces of legal paperwork wherein Aunt Sally had transferred custody of me to my parents.

My parents had admitted the truth when I’d called them. They’d adopted me when I’d been two days old.

When I’d asked who my bio dad had been, they hadn’t known. Aunt Sally hadn’t shared that secret with them. She’d said that he had not been a nice man or a good man and we were all better off without him in our lives.

That hadn’t been the full extent of Aunt Sally’s secret keeping, however.

Aunt Sally had been a shifter herself. She’d explained this in a handwritten letter addressed to me.

My dear Alice,

If you are reading this, I am dead. That sounds very dramatic, so I suppose I should start over except that it is true.

If you are reading this, I am dead and never got around to telling you that we are a little more related than you believed. I am your birth mother. Your parents adopted you at my request.

At some point, if you spend much time in Moonlight Valley, I expect you will learn that the town has some rather unusual residents. These include werewolves.

At this point, I had to pause in my letter reading to indulge in panic, followed by some scientific deduction. I had a BIRTH mother? Who was Aunt Sally? I had no idea how I felt about that. And then there was the rest of her letter, the part where she mentioned werewolves.

Includeimplied…what? That there were other unusual people living in Moonlight Valley? Did we have vampires? Witches? A summer camp for supernatural beings? Aunt Sally was light on details.

I am a shifter myself, although of the feline rather than the lupine variety. That makes you half shifter, which is likely not enough to change your form, but I have made sure that you can live under the radar by adopting you out.

My brain threatened to shut down. This was… I was… A CAT? I glared at my hand, willing it to turn into a paw.

Nothing happened.

Of course it didn’t.

People did not turn into cats.

Werewolves, yes. Which sort of torpedoed my shapeshifting is impossible argument. I didn’t know what to think. I needed to make a list. I needed to test this hypothesis that I could maybe, probably not, but maybe shift into a cat. And also: under the radar of whom? I had so many questions. In light of the fact that Aunt Sally had waited until after she was dead and buried to volunteer any information, I was nothing but questions.

I was also emotional, upset, angry, and full of doubts. She should have told me when she could have answered my questions. When we could have tried to work on a relationship that was more than my crashing at her place during the summers.

My questions did not diminish after I finished emptying the lockbox. Aunt Sally had, indeed, literally left me a ton of silver (which was in a separate bank vault and required an armored car to transport).

She had also not been misled in the matter of cryptocurrency by Pastor Phee. I was, indeed, several million dollars richer.

And angry. Very angry.

All I could do was accept her money. There was no time left to do anything else, to ask questions, to try to get to know the woman who had, apparently, given birth to me. I had never had the chance to get to know her well or to tell her I loved her.

That ship had sailed, crossed the River Styx, and disappeared into the underworld.

Fine.

I’d called Ford after spending the day at the bank right up until it closed. Inheriting a fortune and a secret turned out to be exhausting. I was wrung out and needed to hear his voice, hence the phone call.

In which I had announced point blank that I loved him. My feelings had been brewing for a while, but spending the day thinking about Aunt Sally had clarified them.

She was dead, and I would never get another chance to talk with her. Ford was very much not dead, but I did not want to risk things happening that might end our relationship before I’d had a chance to share my feelings with him. There was no time to waste.

Ergo, I’d called him and told him I was in love with him. He’d responded by saying nothing. Perhaps he would write me a terse love letter in thirty or sixty years, telling me he’d secretly been a monk consecrated to sexual abstinence or afflicted with syphilis or…

Something.

I was looking for a reason why he’d listened to me profess my love for him and then met that confession with nothing.

It had been ridiculous to fall in love so fast and so hard. He probably thought I was a deranged stalker. Maybe I was insane. Maybe it was a family trait. After all, we’d all thought that Aunt Sally was a loveable if slightly weird old cat lady. And it turned out that we’d been right, although not in any way I could have anticipated.

She’d turned into a cat, and I was related to her. Maybe I could shift into a cat, or maybe I couldn’t. Maybe my biological father had been a lion or a panther or a door-to-door salesman (although clearly he had been a colossal dick). I would never know.

My parents had come out to Texas the next day to devise a plan for a ton of silver and my even weightier emotions. They’d been impressed with Aunt Sally’s business acumen, although I had kept the actual source of her investment advice to myself.

My daddy had left on Sunday, off on another business trip. Before he’d headed to the airport, he’d told me I was his daughter and he loved me. He was proud of me for taking charge of my life. Tears were shed. We hugged. He left in a rush because his flight time had been moved up and he did not yet have TSA precheck.

My parents were not perfect. I’d known this for years, and I’d loved them anyhow. After all, they loved me and I was decidedly imperfect.

I texted Ford on Sunday. He left my message unread. The crack in my heart split wider than the Grand Canyon.

On Monday I alternated between crying and texting Sanye to thank her for taking care of my cats and covering my shifts at Vanity Fur Salon. I also checked my phone compulsively for some kind of communication from Ford, but there was nothing.

By Tuesday evening, Momma and I were both anxious to get back to our lives. Momma had some serious hustle, and she was in one of those predatory MLMs where you sold cosmetics to your friends, your neighbors, and random Facebook groups. It had been such a good year for her that she was only a few major sales away from landing her second purple Cadillac.

Since I’d come into money, I dutifully bought one of everything she was selling and then drove her to the airport, which was also a convenient opportunity to ask the obvious questions: Do you know who my bio dad is? Why did you all keep it a secret? Did you know that Aunt Sally was a cat?

Momma looked at me weird when I asked this last one. “Like one of those people who identify with animals? A furry or a therian?”

“Not…really?”

Should I tell her I might be a cat shifter? How ridiculous did that sound? Was there a chance that she already knew?

I wished I could ask Ford for advice on how to break the news, although he’d also made it clear that he wasn’t supposed to run around telling people he was a werewolf.

Just in case I really was a cat shifter and there was a Cat Council (although cats seemed more like they would have a Supreme Dictator), I decided to be careful.

Momma had gone back to her texting. One of her neighbors needed to restock her beauty supplies ASAP because her Pekinese had gotten into them and there was not much left. Momma smelled a massive opportunity.

“Aunt Sally believed she could turn into a cat,” I said after Momma had done some more tapping and smirking. Was that vague enough? I waited for some enormous divine cat paw to come down from the sky and smush me.

A mile and a minute later, I decided I was probably free and clear. Momma carefully turned her phone off and tucked it inside her handbag.

“Your Aunt Sally was an interesting lady,” she said. “I’m sure she did believe that.”

Her tone made it clear that while she did not wish to speak ill of the dead, she also was convinced that Aunt Sally had been nuts.

For the rest of the drive, we stuck with my adoption and not the possibility that Aunt Sally had actually shucked her human skin and run around Moonlight Valley in furry form.

Momma reassured me that adopting me had been one of the best things that had ever happened in her life. She’d wanted a baby girl and she’d got the very best one.

Then she switched to quizzing me about my Nashville business plans and offering unsolicited advice about franchising and growing my nonexistent business into a national conglomerate.

That was a little more pressure than I would have liked, but that was Momma for you. She hadn’t earned pink Cadillacs by not pursuing her goals with the ruthless tenacity of the Mongol horde conquering China.

When I finally drove into Moonlight Valley, it was late. So late that I decided not to bother Alessandro by barging into his house—he needed his beauty sleep—and instead kept right on driving until I was at the Little Love Den.

The moon was almost full, and Aunt Sally’s yard was lit up like a Walmart parking lot. I staggered inside, dropped my overnight bag by the door, and realized I had no next step. What did I do with myself now?

The cats were nowhere to be seen. Ford had added cat doors to the front and back of the house, so perhaps they were out tomcatting around. What if they’re shifters too?

That was a horrifying thought, so I promptly vanished it. Mostly.

Okay, so I also made a mental note to schedule a quick trip to the vet to make sure I was owned by four perfectly normal cats and not something more supernatural.

I pulled on my favorite sleep shirt—an oversized T-shirt with a silk-screened firefly announcing I’m LIT from its butt—and a pair of boho knee socks that normally made me feel like I was living my very own Jane Austen movie, then climbed up into the cute little loft.

Except, now that I was tucked up in bed and should have passed right out after the long, long drive up from Texas, my brain would not shut off. The unexpected money bonanza, the dragon-worthy silver hoard, and my new status as a crypto queen—those weren’t what kept me awake.

The truth was, my brain was filled to the brim with Ford thoughts.

During the nine-hour drive, I’d decided somewhere between the Texas border and the middle of Arkansas that I would hunt down Ford. On our first phone call, he’d said he missed me and he’d offered to fly out to support me. And then he’d blown me off on our second phone call despite my big love confession.

Had I misunderstood him? Misinterpreted his interest? My head obligingly replayed a montage of the pivotal moments in our relationship—every touch, every word, every hot look—on a never-ending loop. I thought he’d made me promises.

When we argue, that’s me listening to you and you listening right back.

I’d never not pay attention to you.

You’re the most interesting person I’ve ever met.

When we make love…

Did we not speak the same kind of English? Was this a love language mistranslation? I was so confused.

The bed shook underneath the weight of multiple cats. They all must have come home from their midnight sexcapades.

Paws jabbed into my thigh, my kidney, my belly. I had enough time to protect my boobs with my hands before Emperor Meowpatine stood on my chest, his yellow eyes boring into my face.

“Hey, kitty.” I reached out to scratch behind his ears.

You should mark him, hooman.

Holy moly… What…

He is a bad dog, Genghis Khat announced, popping up by my shoulder. We do not need a dog in our territory.

“He’s a wolf,” I said weakly.

WHEN HAD MY CATS LEARNED TO TALK?!

We could always talk, Oedipuss announced as he sat on my feet.

I waited for Barack Obameow to chime in, but apparently he had not bothered to come home yet. Or couldn’t be bothered. Perhaps he was off dealing with important matters of cat statesmanship in the woods.

You were not worthy, Emperor Meowpatine summed up.

That was the story of my life. But…wait. If I could hear the cats in my head, did that mean that I could shift? Or was it just further proof that I’d end up an eighty-year-old woman with twenty cats?

You could try, Emperor Meowpatine sniffed. But we are the best at being cats.

I had no idea how one shifted. Was there a manual? A checklist? WHY had Aunt Sally never written this down? My life had never needed an ordered list more.

You should make breakfast. Genghis Khat butted my face with his head. Up.

I gave up trying to figure out my DNA and my life and got up. After I’d fed the cats breakfast (at midnight, but I was not going to argue with talking cats), I grabbed my car keys and the keys to Ford’s mountain love nest. I debated finding pants, but in my opinion, after midnight was a pants-optional time zone.

Driving up the mountain in the dark was more motivational than I’d expected. Despite the important conversations my parents and I had had and the issues we had semi-resolved, I did not like the dark.

Given that I possessed no time machine and could not go back to my childhood and erase that long, dark weekend I’d spent alone, I was quite certain I would never like the dark.

The near-full moon, the silver clouds scudding across the sky, the happy twinkle of ancient stars and planets—those I liked just fine. It was the dark, no-light air around me that made me nervous. Once I spotted the turnoff that led to Ford’s place, I felt marginally better.

I felt angrier, however, when I pulled up in front of his cabin and realized there were lights on inside. Smoke rose from the chimney, blotting out the starlight as it drifted across the sky.

He did not get to have a romantic fireplace fire without me.

No sirree.

I got out of my car, slammed the door, and stomped toward the cabin. By the time I was face-to-face with Ford’s front door, I was livid.

I didn’t bother with knocking—he did not deserve my courtesy. The locked handle was not a problem either, since he’d handed over the keys to this particular castle.

“Little wolf! Little wolf! Let me in!” I jammed the key into the lock, twisting it more forcefully than necessary. It did not budge.

It flew open.

In fact, the door not only swung open, it took my key (and the hand that was attached to the key) with it.

What the…I growled, head whipping up, ready to give the door a piece of my mind. I had a lot to say, but all the words drained out of me faster than water from a bathtub because standing there in front of me was a sleepy, peeved Ford Boone wearing unbuttoned blue jeans and black boxer briefs.

The man did not need locks or doors. His nearly naked muscled body was so distracting that I stood there, mouth open and about to burn up from the heat flashing through me.

Dear God…I loved his body. It was beautiful. It demanded worshipping. With my mouth, my tongue, my fingers. Numerous other parts of my body volunteered for the job. I needed to wrap myself around him and drink in his presence. He was my safe spot, my reassurance, my anchor.

“Alice?” His forehead puckered in a cute little wrinkle of consternation and disbelief. He had not expected to find me on the other side of his door. Like a sexy burglar fantasy or sexy Santa Claus. Sexy something. Whatever.

It was not my fault I could think about only sex.

I blamed Ford’s boxer briefs.

And their contents.

And, oh heck, Ford himself.

“I am not happy!” I bellowed at him.

My words bounced off the trees, echoing loudly all around us. There was some ominous rustling noises from the shadows; I’d scared the local wildlife. Too bad for it, because I needed to defend my mental honor. Showing up pantsless in the middle of the night and trying to break into his cabin seemed like something only a deranged person would do. Or a horny one.

Ford’s eyebrows drew together. He looked upset.

“Ford Boone, I…”

I should have planned what I was going to say on the drive up here, but I’d been too busy trying not to run off the road. He needed streetlights. Spotlights. Something. This was all his fault. I poked him in the middle of his rock-hard abs.

“What was that for?” He made a grab for my finger, but maybe I had inherited catlike reflexes after all because my hand was already safely back on my hips.

I tapped my foot and glared at him. “I’m super pissed off at you!”

“You’re mad at me?”

“Yes! I needed you and you were here, not there, and then I told you that I loved you and you…” Finishing that sentence felt a bit too much like willing Ford’s nonsentiments for me into existence. I stopped and tried to poke him in the stomach again.

Since he had wolflike reflexes, he anticipated this second attack and wrapped his big paw around my finger, tugging me forward and into his cabin-lair. He kicked the door shut and banded a hard arm around my waist before I could sink to the floor in a sad, sorrowing puddle and continue my pity party.

“Listen—”

“I’m beyond mad at you.” I thrashed in his arms. Since I’d abandoned all dignity along with my pants, I might as well go all in on the melodrama. Plus, it felt like something a movie heroine might do.

“I thought we were twelve-month partners. That we were in this together, that you wanted me and would be there for me when I needed you. But when I told you that I loved you, you wanted to stick a pin in it and revisit it later.”

This was not a one-hundred-percent-accurate quote of what Ford had said to me, but it certainly summarized what I had heard.

Ford added a second arm around my middle and held on. My back was pressed against his front, so this meant my butt was cradling his penis. Which was hard.

I couldn’t decide whether I was insulted or flattered or concerned that his physiological response to anger and confrontation was a massive hard-on. I flailed some more.

“Alice—”

“You are an asshole!” My plan crystallized: I would hurt Ford Boone. Hurt him as much as he’d hurt me when he’d dismissed my true-love confession.

“Calm down,” he growled into my ear.

“Don’t you tell me to CALM DOWN!”

That was fuel on my fire.

“Now,” he growl-snapped, lifting me off my feet and carrying me across the cabin’s floor.

I thrashed harder, pushing at his arm and wriggling. “Never ever!”

With one firm movement he flipped me around and sent me sailing backward. I had a second to be concerned about my landing, but then my back connected with a firm mattress.

Ford followed, coming down on top of me and caging me between his body and the bed. His hands pinned my wrists over my head, his weight holding me in place.

Not willing to concede the fight, I bucked. Ford muttered roughly, his breathing ragged. I was not exactly put together myself. I glared up at him, willing him to read my mind. I was so pissed off.

As oxygen started to make its way back into my brain cells over the sea of red clogging my vision, I realized Ford appeared to be as mad as I was. His eyes were pure amber, his wolf peering out at me.

Then his gaze shifted lower, his eyes catching on my lips. For a brief second he looked distracted, then his expression changed, crumpling into fury, hunger, and outright lust.

“Alice…” he whispered.

The anger eased up inside me. He looked all confident and predatory, but he sounded as lost and confused as I was. We were equals in that.

“I’m so mad at you,” I repeated, as if we were in a fairy tale where saying the phrase three times would turn it into a magical incantation.

I did not want to have happy feelings for Ford; he had bruised my heart badly and I was close to angry-crying. Or sad-crying. Everything was all mixed up inside me.

His eyes shifted up, and he frowned. Then winced. He let go of my wrists and cupped my face, his thumbs swiping away a tear that had not gotten the memo that I was a strong, badass woman who did not cry over a man.

“Don’t stay mad, Alice. Don’t cry. Please don’t do that.”

He brushed his lips over my cheek, pressed a kiss against the corner of my eyebrow. A kiss on my forehead. Another, slower kiss between my eyebrows. The corner of my mouth. My jaw. My neck. He nuzzled my neck over and over, kissing it, nipping gently.

This was good, better than talking. Or being sad. Mad. Since he’d ceded control of my wrists, I cradled his face between my palms. I loved the rasp of his stubble-covered jaw, the soft warmth of his skin against mine.

Even better was the feel of his mouth when I kissed him. I was not waiting any longer. I was doing. Making my intentions clear.

I was here for Ford Boone.

His hands slid from my cheeks, down my throat to my shoulders, lower still until the hem of my oversized T-shirt was bunched up in his grasp. He tugged and I nodded, answering his unspoken question without breaking our kiss.

Not kissing Ford would have been a crime. I loved his mouth, loved how intently he kissed me back. Instead of being two separate people, we were slowly melting into each other and becoming one.

Force? Alord? The portmanteaus sounded unpoetic, but who needed rational, elegant thought?

Ford’s stripping my T-shirt off me did not significantly impact our kissathon. I heard him toss it somewhere, but I did not care.

He pushed his jeans down and sent them off to keep my poor, lonely T-shirt company. Maybe they’d create an entire baby wardrobe, frolicking together on the floor of Ford’s cabin.

Excited by our near nudity, I pushed at his chest until he rolled over, taking me with him. I straddled him in my knee socks and panties.

“You,” he groaned hoarsely. I decided he was as gobsmacked by our chemistry as I was, and I loved that. His excited gaze bounced between my throat and my breasts.

“Me,” I agreed happily. “And you. Together. Now. Or at least now-ish and hopefully in the next five minutes.”

Ford’s eyes flashed amber. Part of him was clearly thinking about it, probably the part that directed him to run his fingers over my thighs and into the back of my panties.

We should stop kissing for explanations. That would be the mature, adult thing to do.

I knew this. But I wanted kisses—Ford’s kisses—because my brain said they were essential.

My heart was already on board with the Kiss Ford plan, fluttering faster than a firefly’s flash. Instead of lup-dup, lup-dup, it beat out this man, this man. Ford was an amazing kisser.

My hips, however, thought we should discover what else he was good at. I rocked my core against the center of his black boxer briefs.

That felt so good I did it again.

His big, thick penis pressed against me, protesting the layers of cotton trying to keep us apart. Someone (me) made a weird hiccup of need. I slid down him again. Back up. Over and over.

Grind.

Slide.

Multiple times.

It was so much better than riding that ridiculous waterslide he and his brothers had built. But maybe we could do this on the slide?

I spared my new erotic fantasy a millisecond before I lost myself in rocking against Ford. I’d research later. Figure out my hot hypothesis when I wasn’t about to?—

To—

Ford groaned as I ground against him, a tiny heartbeat springing to life between my legs. His fingers gripped my hips, guiding me, suggesting a sexy rhythm.

My fingers dug into his shoulders, like we were making sure we were good and stuck together. Like maybe, if we could get through this, do this together, then we’d be stuck together afterward. Could hold onto this moment forever.

Our shared history suggested that as soon as I’d had my orgasm, Ford would retreat. He would tell me the time wasn’t right or he didn’t want to rush this. The sex light would go from green to red; he’d put up a big ole no trespassing sign.

I wouldn’t disrespect his boundaries, but I also couldn’t keep on making overtures only to be shot down. It hurt. My heart hurt.

Therefore, despite the heartbeat now thundering between my legs, the orgasm that was so, so close, and the delicious, sexy expanse of Ford spread out beneath me, I pulled away.

I dismounted and settled on the bed beside him. I probably needed to put the entire state of Tennessee between us. Possibly the continent. Or a galaxy.

Because for a hot moment, I stared at him. He was gorgeous, and mostly naked, and very, very into me. His penis tented the front of his boxer briefs, begging for my touch.

“Hold on…hold on a minute,” I said to his boxer briefs. I laid the palm of my hand over his beautiful, arrogant mouth.

“Hush,” he whispered, the word tickling my skin. “Let me have tonight, Alice. Please. Just tonight.”

Only tonight?I knew I should have follow-up questions, but he’d sexed them right out of my brain.

Right now, all that mattered was that I needed him and he needed me right back. We both needed this.

With him, I could be myself. I wasn’t too strange or too nerdy, too weird or too needy. We fit together, smoothing out each other’s rough edges and filling in each other’s holes. Which sounded far, far dirtier than anything we’d done yet. There was still time.

So there was only one answer to Ford’s not-question. Only one thing, one person, I wanted to be doing right now. “Yes, Ford.”

He tucked his fingers into the waistband of my panties and tugged them down. I lifted my butt and then my legs to help him out, shivering from the intensity of what he made me feel. My own fingers got busy, grasping his boxer briefs and shoving them down until he took over, toeing them off.

This was the first time I’d seen Ford fully naked. I’d ogled his arms and his chest, his back and his glorious, amazing butt. I’d spent quality time admiring his hands, his feet, and his face.

I’d never had the full picture though, and I was greedy. Also, amazed. Hot. On fire.

I shifted down so I could see all of him. Ford did not disappoint, not in the penis department, not at all. “You are something,” I told him.

“Something good?”

“Something,” I repeated. “Amazing comes to mind. Bad, as well. Like dirty bad, hard bad, deliciously bad.”

He laughed roughly, then rolled, switching our positions. It did seem only fair to take turns being on top. I had always wanted an equal relationship.

His muscular thigh pressed up against my center, sending bright sparks of pleasure through me. I arched, seeking more. More was good. More was best.

Ford, that bastard, laughed again and started kissing and biting his way down my body. My big, bad wolf was eating me up, and I loved it.

I loved it so much I was about to be selfish. I should’ve been touching him and talking dirty. Letting him know how much I appreciated his attentions. It turned out, however, that feeling what he made me feel was a full-time job and I had no bandwidth left to be doing anything else.

He kissed his way down my stomach and over my hip. Along the crease of my thigh, and then…

He went south of the Mason-Dixon line, headed down yonder, and I couldn’t stand the tension any longer. I hollered about him not rushing on my account, he laughed, and then he bent his head and kissed me right there, his mouth on my center, his tongue making wicked, wicked forays where I was wet and slick and positively shaking with my need for him.

My head fell back on his pillow, and I exhaled a huge, relieved, pent-up sigh, probably from holding my breath while wondering if he’d put me off again. And then all that released tension built right back up again because Ford was kissing me, paying me every attention, his thumbs opening me up so his mouth could pay me homage. There were no words for what he made me feel.

I lifted my hips, squeezing my butt muscles tight as I chased after the pleasure, rocking against his rough-gentle lips, chasing the sensation of his stubble-roughened jaw right there, right where I wanted him most.

When I came, it felt like I was riding the Slingshot, launched out of my body and into the air as pleasure rushed through me. There was heat and bliss, all that delicious tension snapping and setting me freer than free.

Ford lifted off me.

The sound of a condom wrapper tearing open barely penetrated the symphony of joy humming through me.

For a brief moment, I was alone.

Empty.

Waiting (which I did not do patiently, not ever).

Then he was back.

I opened my arms for him, wanting to lose myself in his embrace. That did not make a whole lot of sense, but it was his fault I’d come so hard. He did not get logical thinking.

Ford lowered himself over me, his sheathed penis rubbing against my slick, sensitized folds. He was so beautiful that my heart hurt.

“I need you.” He kissed me, hard and fast, as he nudged at my entrance. “May I? Can I have you? Just for tonight.”

That last was not a question, but I answered it anyhow.

“You can have me forever. Yes.” I wrapped my arms around his broad, muscled back. I could explore lower like this, wrap my legs around his lean hips and squeeze his butt. I could make him feel as good as he’d made me feel, show him how much he meant to me, and not only in bed.

As soon as he pushed inside me, my plan to not be selfish went up in smoke. He was… Ford was… Oh my God. I blasphemed shamelessly, greedy whimpers falling out of my mouth.

Ford moved deliberately, his body driving into mine, pushing deeper, staking a claim. He buried his face in my throat with a groan, his teeth scraping erotically over the tender skin there.

“What are you doing?” I demanded. This was not like me, to be so out of control.

“We’re making love.” Ford’s eyes met mine, open, watchful, laid bare, and I knew he meant that we. I knew he loved me, even if he wouldn’t say the words. He cared about me. He loved me.

I was not so stingy with my own words. “I love you. I love you. I love you so much,” I chanted, wrapping my legs around his hips and my arms around his neck.

I pulled him as close as I could, hoping my words would penetrate the emotional armor he wore and make their way into his heart. Make him want to say the words back to me. Make him tell me the truth.

Ford didn’t say anything. He kissed me instead, driving into my body with hard, sure strokes. I moaned, making sounds I hadn’t known a human mouth could make because he undid me so.

His eyes went over amber, holding mine, and the intensity of his gaze almost pushed me over the edge.

“Alice, I…” he whispered my name. Stopped. Tried again.

I would have sworn his teeth lengthened, but it felt right. Looked right. Ford wasn’t soft, wasn’t completely human, and I loved all of him.

He didn’t say anything else, just continued his erotic domination of my body, pushing into me, making space for himself. There was a Ford-shaped space between my legs, up north in my heart, and always in my head. He fit into me, and I loved it.

“I love you,” I whispered again because I could never say it enough. “Your wolf, too.”

He cursed, tensing and growling in rougher, deeper tones than I’d ever heard before. I was certain his wolf had heard me and that the wolf loved me back. He buried his face against my neck, his teeth nipping, biting the tender skin there. An erotic pleasure stabbed through me and I yelled his name, coming even harder than before. This time, he came with me.

I wrapped myself around him, holding onto him, and he held me back, like we’d both finally come home and knew it.