Page 11 of Dark

Mine.

Suddenly we were biting everywhere. Throats. Arms. My teeth grazed the tops of her breasts. Hayden released a shuddering sigh. Through the fog, part of my mind tried to claw back to the surface, screamed to stop.

But by then it was too late. I was lit up like a Christmas tree. Every nerve ending roared, crying out for more. And I hated myself for it. Hayden bent to lick my neck. I let out a strangled groan, swollen and leaking in the confines of my jeans.

“Hayden,” I rasped, the part of me grasping at human thought, anything but the lizard-brain drive to mate slamming into my skull with every one of her heartbeats, screaming how effed-up this was.

And still I fondled her hair where it was knotted in my fist. My tongue slowly traced the deep red bite mark I’d just left at the base of her throat, her heart thrumming obediently in time with mine. Even as I knew this was wrong. That we couldn’t. Not like this.

Big shocker: werewolves were way into oral. The fun kind, obviously, but also, just plain biting. Our teeth looked human, but let’s just say you had to be careful not to get your freak on if you were making out with a girl who wasn’t a were. My brother Dallas learned that one the hard way.

Biting came in all forms. We bit when we were turned on. We bit when we were pissed off. We bit to claim territory, establish dominance, and force submission.

And claim mates.

Hayden shivered in my arms, grinding against my erection.

“Yeah, time out.” Releasing her, I staggered back.

Because no way in hell were we getting horizontal. Not like this. Not when she was amped up, had no idea what she was doing, and her real self, her human self, couldn’t consent.

She started for me, eyes hooded.

I bared my teeth. “Come any closer and I’ll bite you for real.”

Which couldn’t happen. Neither of us could take another hit like that or we were going to be down on the rubber mat with Hayden riding me until I passed out and she couldn’t walk straight for a week.

In answer, she reached down to unzip her skirt.

Shit. And yeah, I couldn’t deny certain parts of me were saluting the idea so hard I was surprised I had blood left to come up with a counterargument, the physical need to mate sharp enough that I’d broken out in a cold sweat. There had to be a way to get Hayden upstairs to my stash of silver handcuffs using, like, freaking oven mitts and bubble wrap because I’d never laid a hand on a woman, and hell if I was going to start with her.

“Look,” I rasped. “Why don’t we—”

She snarled, lunging for me, her wolf apparently unable to decide if it wanted to turn me into hamburger or make me into her boy toy. And my sick bastard of a wolf was right there, rattling its cage, howling to join the party, threats to get turned into Hayden Crowe’s personal Happy Meal be damned. I leaped out of the way, but she was faster, and even as I tried to find a way to pin her arms without hurting her, I felt the bite just above my left pec.

Instinct took over like a punch to the head. The room swam in a maelstrom of blue, ochre and gray, my wolf eyes unable to perceive the full spectrum of color my human ones could even though my vision in that form was a hundred times sharper, rendering my glasses useless. Not that it mattered. Because by the time that thought vaguely registered, I was forcing her down to the floor, feeling my shirt come up over my head. And I didn’t give a damn about any of it.

Hayden Crowe and I had claimed each other. And we were both completely screwed.

3

Hayden

BACK WHEN I WORKED AT DARK, Ethan and I had a safe word. Which, yes, was all sorts of weird considering:

1) We not only weren’t getting kinky, we’d never even kissed.

2) When Ellie caught me reading Fifty Shades on my phone, she completely flipped out and spilled Mexican Coke all over my favorite Killers tee, and

3) When Ethan smirked and said, “You gonna tie me up, Anastasia?” I actually considered hiding in the supply closet behind the napkins and paper to-go cups for the rest of my shift.

Because, yeah, I totally never pictured the two of us making out in front of the espresso machines. Or arranging a freak iced-caramel-mocha accident that required us to clean each other off using only our tongues.

It turned out after you spent enough time handing off cappuccinos and bumping elbows with someone trying to get that last slice of banana-nut bread out of the pastry case, it was possible to develop a serious problem with boundaries. Think swiped phones and cheesy 80’s ballads added to playlists. (You should have seen his expression when Nine Inch Nails abruptly switched over to Careless Whisper while he was in the middle of a pour.)

This was followed by the trading out of the sleeve of Thin Mints in my lunch for Saltines. And seriously, even if you didn’t have sisters, what guy couldn’t read the signs when the female of the species began hoarding chocolate once a month?#UglyCry. He may or may not have totally chased down a Girl Scout. And then there was the notebook.

1) You should never throw iced coffee on anyone in the workplace.