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The late spring air wasn't nearly chilly enough to shock Parker out of his intentions. Kayla's arm was strong yet small in his big hand as he led her along the sidewalk toward the parking lot. Her beautiful brown eyes grew wide, but she didn't ask him where they were going. Good thing, because he wasn't sure, himself.
It wasn't until he reached Ian's VW that he realized he had wanted to put Kayla inside it and climb after her and show her how good he could make her feel. But he didn't have a damn key. He tried the handle, but the van was locked.
"You didn't really think this through, did you?" Kayla asked, smirking with those luscious, bubble gum lips. "If I'm not a bad girl, you're not really a bad boy."
She was leaning against the side of the van, probably trying to project an uncaring demeanor. But he saw right through it. He saw the rapid pulse at the base of her neck and caught the faint scent of her desire in the air.
He stalked toward her, feeling every inch the predatory tiger that he was. "We don't need to be inside the van for me to do what I want to do to you."
He heard her sharp intake of breath, and then she muttered, "Fuck yes, finally."
Crowding her up against the side of the van, he captured her mouth with another kiss.
The first kiss, in the club, hadn't been nearly enough. This wouldn't be enough, either. No amount of kissing could ever get Kayla out of his head, out of his heart. And that was why he had tried to stay away all this time.
But the dancing—seeing her dancing with those two guys, knowing that she wanted to dance with him, had driven him nuts. She had tempted the tiger, and now the tiger was coming out to play.
Her mouth was sweet like bubble gum, and she tasted like the fruity cocktail she'd sipped in the club. He had watched her drink it, watched her pink lips encircle the straw. She was so hot, and she hadn't even been trying.
A growl of need rumbled through his chest, and she answered it with sexy little whimpers.
She kissed him back, opening her mouth to him. He brought one hand up to her jaw, cradling her or holding her in place, he wasn't sure which. He grabbed her ass with his other hand, tugging her closer. She wrapped one leg around his hip and grabbed his shoulders, stretching to meet him.
He pulled back from their kiss. "You want this?"
"Yes," she said. "But I don't know why. You are the biggest asshole I know—"
He took her mouth with his again, unable to put up with her name-calling. She tightened her fists in the fabric of his shirt. He wished she would tear it off of him, he wished they could feel each other's skin. They belonged together. He rubbed one whiskered cheek against the soft skin of her jaw. He wanted to mark her with his scent. He wanted to mark her with his teeth. The needy noises she was making drove him damn near crazy. He adjusted his grip on her ass so his palm met bare skin. Curious, he moved his hand around more. Was she even wearing underwear?
He quickly got his answer in the form of a single string. A thong. He hoped she wasn't too fond of it as he took the lacy fabric in his fist and yanked hard.
The fabric tore and he dropped it on the ground.
Now all she wore was a silky dress, small enough to be a nightgown.
He let go of her face and yanked up one of her legs, hitching it around his waist. He liked this—she was open for him. He could touch her anywhere, everywhere.
"You're sure?" he asked.
It took her a moment to answer, so he started to pull away.
She whimpered, tugged him closer. "Yes, please."
"I knew you were a good girl," he said, grinning against her cheek. "I knew you'd say please."
"Shut up and kiss me, asshole." She closed the distance between their mouths.
He angled his hand, seeking the soft folds of her pussy. She was so soft, so wet. He pressed a finger inside her and she gasped, then gave an exhaled "oh!" of surprise.
Before he could ask her if she liked it, she was kissing him again, harder, even more desperately than before.
His cock was heavy and hard, then grew harder still as she brought one of her hands down between them and gripped him through his pants. He wondered which one of them would come first. From the way she was moving, he didn't think she would last long. But from the way she held him, her hand moving up and down against his length, he knew he wouldn't last long, either.
It was more important than anything that he get her to come first. Whether or not she really thought him an asshole, whether or not she liked him, he had one goal and one goal only—make Kayla feel good. He’d make her come. Her pussy was wet and hot around his finger. He added a second finger—she moaned in approval.
With his free hand, he was still cupping her jaw to better control their kiss. She gasped, so he moved his hand down to her throat, felt her pulse racing. He wanted to roar with pleasure at the sensation of her skin beneath his fingers.
She leaned into his touch, still kissing him, and squeezed his cock with her fist. Fuck, that felt good, spikes of ecstasy rushing through his dick.
She seemed to like the pressure on her throat. Experimentally, he gripped her a little harder.
"Yes," she gasped.
So beautiful, with her caramel eyes on his, with his hand on her neck. Her pussy pulsed around his fingers. Using his thumb, he rubbed her clit. Those moans she made were music—his new favorite song.
"My little wolf," he said.
At his words, she came apart, her pussy spasming, her breathing shallow, her pulse racing beneath the hand he held tight on her throat.
She slid her hand up and down his cock, her movements erratic as she lost control. Letting go of her neck, he pressed his face into the hollow of her throat. He thrust his hips, leaning into her touch, her scent, until he came with a muffled growl.
His boxers were sticky, and the sweet scent of Kayla was all around him. He brought his forehead to hers, breathing hard.
Had that just happened? Kayla shuddered with the aftershocks of her orgasm, and he held her tighter. His little wolf, he'd said.
Shit.
Now that he'd given her pleasure, and he'd come, too, his good sense was returning to him.
This was exactly the situation he'd been trying to avoid. He couldn't entangle himself with her, couldn't drag her down. He was a beast from the swamps of regret, and she was bright, shiny, and full of goodness.
If he was a better man, he would have fled the RCC in January, as soon as she'd arrived.
"I should go," he said.
She blinked at him, a hazy, soft expression in her eyes. "Go?"
"Yeah."
She wriggled, and he realized his fingers were still inside of her. Could he get her off again? Probably. But this had been a mistake. Reluctantly, he pulled his fingers from her heat.
He stepped away from her, because otherwise he risked touching her again and starting all over. "I'll walk you back to the club."
"What are you talking about?" Then the sleepy, sexy haze in her eyes cleared. "Of course. This was just a game to you. See if you could get me out here, see how far I'd go into a hate-fuck with you."
"That's not it—I'm not safe for you, for anyone."
"Right," she said. "You're protecting me, is that it? How noble of you. Were you protecting me by ripping off my panties and sticking your fingers in my pussy? Wow, yeah, I feel so safe now."
"Dammit, Kayla, would you just listen?"
She jutted out her chin. Stubborn, beautiful woman. "Fine."
He opened his mouth, ready to tell her everything. But he couldn't find the words.
"That's what I thought," she said. "Fucking McFuckerson, this was a mistake. It won't happen again. And I can find my way back to the club. Go do...whatever it is you need to do."
He could grab her arms, whirl her back around to face him, kiss away the hurt in her voice. But he'd tried that, and look where it got them. Orgasms, and then more pain would follow. So he watched her walk all the way to the club entrance, then he went past the parking lot and out into the woods where he stripped off his clothes and became a tiger, hoping that the long run home would exhaust him past thinking.
*
IT DIDN'T.