Master of Smoke by Angela Knight

the shirt off over her head and dropped it heedlessly on the floor.
    Then he simply gazed at her. Her breasts were lovely handfuls, pale and round, cupped in thin lace and black silk. Bra , his memory whispered, and he wondered how he knew that.
    His attention zeroed in on her nipples. They jutted beneath the silk, the rosy shadow of her areoles peeking past the delicate web of black lace.
    David looked up to find her watching him with a trace of anxiety in those big dark eyes. As if she was afraid he wouldn’t adore the sight of her.
    “You are beautiful,” he told her. Pitiful words, he instantly decided, and tried again. “Your skin is so pale, like fresh, sweet cream.”
    “I’ve been so busy I haven’t had time to lie out in the sun,” she said, as if his words were a criticism. “And they say it’s not good for you, since it can cause ...”
    He slid his hands up and cupped her breasts, and she stuttered to a stop, those gorgeous eyes huge, eating light.
    “Your eyes are so dark. Like a moonless night in a deep forest.”
    “I’ve always wished they were blue. Like yours.” She stared into his face as if he’d hypnotized her. “You know, when you feel strong emotion, they almost ... glow. And the pupils do that slit thing. Like a ...”
    David thumbed one nipple, and she apparently forgot what she was going to say, her head tipping back to show him the elegant line of her slender neck framed in the gleaming darkness of her hair. A pulse throbbed there, rapidly thumping, and he had to put his lips against it, feel its leaping bound. He tongued it, tasting her skin, trace of salt, female perfume, and the tinge of wild musk that was her wolf.
    Fluffy .
    He smiled against her throat, remembering the whimsical name. What did she look like when she changed? He wanted to see her, imagined her regal strength, her silken fur. She’d be as beautiful in that form as she was now.
    He was purring again, but he didn’t bother trying to stop.
     
    David purred, a deep rhythmic rumble Eva could feel against her rib cage as he pulled her close. Her eyes drifted closed so she could concentrate on the kisses he was stringing down the curve of her throat. His warm lips felt impossibly soft, especially compared to the hard strength of the rest of him.
    She wanted to see him naked again. Sliding a hand down his hard body, Eva grabbed handfuls of shirt and tugged upward. He lifted his brawny arms, and she managed to drag the tight shirt off. It hit the floor with a soft thump as she went for the snap of those tight, tight jeans.
    He sucked his breath in as she started unzipping them, revealing his cock, which had somehow managed to get hard despite the skintight denim. Its head was a lovely dark rose, with a pearlescent drop of arousal trembling on the curve. Eva thought about tasting it, but she really had to get his poor dick out of those murderous jeans.
    The zipper hissed in complaint as she pulled it down. His big hands joined hers when she started dragging at his waistband.
    “Good God,” Eva muttered, tugging, “I’ve worn panty hose that weren’t this tight. No wonder you bitched.”
    “You have no idea,” he growled, wiggling in a way that seemed so out of character she had to stifle a giggle.
    David finally planted his butt on the carpet while she tugged and jerked, trying to work the skin-tight jeans down his muscled legs. The fabric clung like a determined—and very jealous—lover. Eva started giggling helplessly. When they had to stop tugging to pull off his shoes, David joined her, first with deep chuckles, then in booming laughter that made her giggle harder.
    But when they finally got him naked, Eva’s laughter died a very quick death. She stared at him as he sprawled on the floor like a pasha, all long legs, his cock curved over his tight belly. His biceps bulged as he braced back on his elbows, and his hair fell around his shoulders like a river of ebony silk striped in silver. He wasn’t going