Beast (Norseton Wolves #1) by Holley Trent

he watched her unbutton her dress in the faint light of the moon coming in through the window. Frozen there, with his knee propped on the edge and his palms pressed flat to the mattress, he stared openly. He could pretend to be a gentleman all he wanted, but he wasn’t one. He fucking stared.
    Stared at the faint outline of her nipples through her thin bra. Stared at the dark thatch between her legs, because she evidently hadn’t found a pair of panties to put on. She pulled an oversized, holey striped shirt over her head and climbed into the bed on the opposite side.
    “Well, get in. I can’t promise to stay on my side, and I’m not going to apologize if I stray.”
    Swallowing, he climbed in and let her pull up all the blankets she wanted. She curled into a little ball with her back turned to him, and in seconds, her breathing was slow and rhythmic, and her back rose and fell in sleep.
    He could probably slip away—go take that spot on the couch again. But he realized that she’d probably follow. He’d wake up to find her on top of his chest with that shirt hiked up over her ass, and the next thing he’d know, his dick would be in her, and he’d have no choice but to keep her—at least in his mind.
    Nope.
    Wasn’t going there.
    He fluffed his pillow under his head and closed his eyes.
    Wasn’t going there at all.
     

CHAPTER EIGHT
    Anton didn’t need an alarm clock to wake him up. He had tickling breath on his chest and a warm leg slung over his thigh that kept bumping his morning wood.
    He laid there, teeth clenched, staring at the ceiling and hoping she’d move.
    God , he hoped she moved. Her body was situated so close to his, her pussy pressed to his hip and her hard nipples stabbed against his ribs as she slept.
    What was a wolf to do?
    He turned his head enough to catch a glimpse of the digital alarm clock. Barely four. Too fucking early to get up . Not enough sleep. If he wanted to get any, he’d obviously have to move her.
    Hmm.
    How? Maybe if he rolled a bit, he could get her off of his numb right arm, and the rest of his body along with it. He shifted a bit to lift his left shoulder, and those bright eyes snapped open beside him.
    She lifted her head, and it seemed to take her a moment to find her bearings. Then she put her head back down and closed her eyes.
    “Christina—”
    “Too early to get up.”
    “I thought the same thing, but I can’t sleep like this.”
    “You don’t like it?”
    He drew in a long breath and picked up her right wrist. Laying her hand on his tortured cock, he asked, “What do you think?”
    “I-I think—” She freed her hand, only to take his wrist. She dropped his hand onto her ass and wriggled beneath it. “Touch me. Touch where my thighs meet.”
    Against his better judgment, he slipped his fingers between her legs and drew back a slick hand.
    Fuck. It took everything he had not to swirl it around and breach her with a fingertip, just to try her on for size.
    “Dreaming of you,” she said coyly.
    “You were? What was I doing in your dream?”
    “Want me to show you?”
    His moral fiber shouted an internal, halfhearted No , but through his lips came, “Yes.”
    She shifted so she was between his parted thighs and slipped one small hand down the front of his sweatpants.
    He hissed when her fingertips skimmed over his cock head and reached for her wrist.
    She pushed his hand away. “No. I’m going to show you.” With shaking hands, she tugged down his waistband and worked his dick out of his pants. Her mouth opened and closed wordlessly, and she looked down at the thing, as if now that she’d freed it, she didn’t know what she was expected to do with it.
    He certainly didn’t expect anything. In fact, he hoped she’d get her wits back in check and settle back down to sleep. The erection would eventually go away on its own.
    Probably.
    Gods. He squeezed his eyelids shut as her soft palm pressed onto the head.
    “I was holding you,” she said.