Friday, June 22, 2018

Moon Promise by Carmen Fox

Kensi dreams of being an alpha werewolf. Her problem? She can’t shift. To make allies that will one day support her claim, she helps the Wild Pack search for a missing woman. Drake, the pack’s protector, proves to be one heck of a distraction, but when Kensi discovers a body, his story unravels.



Drake dragged me to my feet, kissing, caressing, and crowded me across the living room, through the hall, and into a bedroom. He closed the door with a swift kick.

Who would sneak up on us out here in the woods? Yet his need for privacy was a turn-on. He didn’t want to share me with anyone, and to hell with reason.

“You can still stop this.” I twisted out of his grasp and led him by the hand toward the bed.

The room was caught in a time loop. A teenager’s poster of a rebellious rocker vied for attention with a grown-up’s shelf of history books. A wooden box stood on his nightstand, its subtle earthy scent revealed it had been hand-carved recently. A sign, maybe, that Drake was good with his hands?

“I know this isn’t the most romantic of settings.” He swiped a couple of shirts and a book off his bed.

I pushed him onto the mattress and straddled him. “I strike you as the romantic type?”

“Romance comes in many flavors, princess.”

“Don’t call me princess.” I bent over and pushed a kiss onto his mouth. Hot. Fierce. Demanding.

Even though it was my kiss, the feel of his lips and the softness of his tongue obliterated my sass. For one brief moment in time and space, I gave myself to his touch.

But even this small concession irked. From somewhere, I gathered the strength to extricate myself. He was wily, all right, with his panty-melting eyes and his oh-so-agile tongue, but I wasn’t going to submit to him that easily. Or at all.

I cocked my head and winked. “How did you like that flavor?”

“Delicious. Let me get another taste.”

He pushed my buttoned-up jacket over my head and used my trapped arms to ease me back toward to him. The peppermint freshness that typically clung to him faded under his male scent—light, yet alive with vigor and intensity.

Could he smell me, too? Smell that I was ready for him?

Even though his lips remained soft, he was calling the shots. He switched between taking and giving, between bastard and gentleman. I’d been kissed more times than I’d care to remember, but not like this. Never like this.

He stroked my back, teased my spine, and with a swift flick, unclasped my bra.

Too much skill was in that motion. Too much practice. How many women had benefited from his dexterity before me? How many would once I was gone?

He nudged me, and I sat up. His gaze held a predatory glint, and my bare breasts had become his prey. Even though I craved his touch, I stayed back. Would he hold them like a teenager, uncertain of their purpose? Or attack them with a starving mouth, hurrying me toward my climax with eager flicks of his tongue?

He reached out, hesitated, and cupped my breasts like two prized trophies.

I flattened my breath. Waited. My wide-open heart beating down the seconds.

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