Little Goat Mountain [m] eyetooth

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Ivory fur rolled his way and his own arm snaked out to gather her closer—her words meant to press the challenge out front, but his own mouth was already exploring the graceful arch of her neck, feathering kisses upon her until she pulled him for a more searing one.

Eivor was uncharted territory he had been wishing to explore further front he moment she had come up from behind him in the glen and whispered in his ear. The unspoken knowledge this was casual—supposedly, like how any of his dalliances began.

Arric had accused him once of being unable to handle casual—a certain bright-eyed silver wolf had all but proven that to be the truth.

—He’d been down this road far too many times. A shaky alliance between two packs was best not to be meddled with in such a way and he could practically feel Arlette’s angry glare on him.

But for now that was pushed aside. For now, what mattered was the lissome women in his arms, the way in which he could lose himself within her, and in that moment, the rest of the world could be placed on pause.

Trailing her jaw, his rumble was a low summons to her, offering one last gentle kiss to her before he flipped her roughly, his ministrations bruising now with teeth as he traveled the path of her spine and lower—the beginning of a precarious 'friendship.'