Page 101 of The Wolf Prince

Not a spark.

A wave.

The lights flare. The air shimmers. Something on my nightstand crashes to the floor. Neither of us looks.

My breath catches. His does too. Grimm goes utterly still, his glowing eyes locked with mine as though this moment means something far beyond what I understand.

“Grimm?”

His hand finds mine. Our fingers lace together. Tight. Almost desperate. For one impossible heartbeat, I swear I hear a Wolf growl.

My Wolf.

The thought flickers at the edge of my mind.

Impossible. Isn't it?

Then Grimm lowers his head.

His lips brush mine once. Twice. A stolen little touch that somehow feels more intimate than everything that came before it.

“Agatha,” he whispers against my mouth.

There is so much longing in my name that my heart turns over.

I don't understand him.

I don't understand the magic.

I don't understand why some part of me feels like I've known this man far longer than I have.

But I understand the way he's looking at me.

And I understand the way I feel when he does.

Wanted.

Chosen.

Maybe even cherished.

I tighten my fingers around his.

“Take me, Grimm. Now.”

His mouth claims mine.

Deep.

Hungry.

Possessive.

And when he moves, pushing his thick, glorious cock deeper, he draws another gasp from my lips, and his answering growl vibrates through both of us.

There it is again. That impossible familiarity. That wildness I know I've felt before.

I almost catch it. Almost understand.