My Lycan Mate of Suicide Forest

"There's something that I need to tell you," Graeme said then, turning his vision from the white and purple petals still spiraling up toward the bright sky and back toward his mate. "But if this isn't a dream, then can I take you out of the hot water to somewhere cooler?"

"Are you serious?" she laughed in those enchanting chimes again. "What are you so worried about? Does this not feel like a healing hot spring to you?"

"You are so flushed and red…" his eyebrows were pinched in worry again. There was a light sheen of sweat on her forehead and pebbles of sweat that had formed above her top lip, but before he could continue his train of thought, she pulled him toward her by the neck and found his lips. His perfectly shaped full lips that moved expertly against hers, claiming her mouth and instantly seeking more as if they were only awaiting her invitation.

When she kissed him, that's when he was certain this wasn't a dream. The taste of her was so alive—so vivid and wrenching, the desire for her spiraled wildly down inside of him and he groaned, pulling her closer to create that delicious friction between them with only a layer of material in the way.

"Goddess, August," he groaned again.

"You're too worried about me. I'm fine here, and I want you. I want to hear that possessive growl you make when you want me, too," she rushed in a desperate whisper as she clawed her hands down the sculpted muscles of his back.

"I always want you," he whispered back, and then their lips were entangled again, tongues dancing, fighting for domination as he cupped her flushed face in his hands, fingers grasping the wet strands of her hair. It had been too many days since they were alone like this without something else urgent interfering.

The steam rose around them, obscuring the rest of the mystical wooded place from their position in the middle of the spring. They had quite literally become swallowed in the middle of their own world, but they were unaware of it.

"Your dress," Graeme growled in a moment when his lips pulled away from hers before finding them again. When her arms were not holding it down, her dress was still floating around her like a graceful white lily.

"Your pants," August countered, a grin spreading over her face. She freed his legs from her own and reached for his waistband as he gathered the white flower around her and pulled it over her head.

When they were both free from the material confines, Graeme paused, brushing his thumbs over her cheeks and watching the trails of water that followed. He wanted to appreciate the way her eyes danced right now for him, bright and vivid and desiring as the rest of her body underwater pulled him closer—her legs bracing his, curling around his thighs and locking behind his knees.

His lips found hers again, this time brushing against them softly—first along the top before he gently kissed the side of her mouth. Then he brushed his lips along her full bottom lip with its soft ridges that were so enticing to tug on with his teeth. He gently kissed the other side of her mouth, and she smiled softly, letting him worship her slowly like this.

She wanted to cherish every small movement, feeling him with her again, his skin against hers—his breath mingling with hers. When she tilted her head up for his lips to kiss along her jawline and then the mate mark on her neck, she felt that gravity deep within tug to be aligned with him again.

In the steaming water between them, her hands ran over the broad chest muscles and then the smaller ribbed muscles of his abs that formed a kind of enticing ladder, leading her down, down, down to the v at his waist that she loved so much and that made him shudder beneath her touch. And then finally she had him in her hands—that part of him that throbbed and reached, seeking to find her. Only her.

An encouraging groan broke through his lips as she ran her hand down his length and back up, and August watched as that tension lined his forehead again, but this time she was in control of it. That full bottom lip of his that curved perfectly over his beard dropped open, and then his eyes were watching her behind heavy lids, their darkness beneath silently pleading.

Feeling that release slowly building within him, gliding under her hand, August hummed in approval. He was vulnerable like this—open and raw and exposed in his desire for her—and yet she could sense his power coiling tighter beneath those perfectly sculpted muscles that lined every inch of him, his strength waiting to be released until finally his eyes turned from pleading and desperate to hungry.

Something predatory flashed in his eyes, sending a bolt of excitement shooting through her so severely that she gasped. A glimpse of the fierce wolf.

He wanted to devour her. Possess her. Make her his again. She could feel those urges tighten in his chest and his arms as he finally cupped her behind and slid into her. The gentle care with which he always approached her shed itself, and his chest rumbled with that possessive growl she had been waiting to hear.

He attacked her mouth, fierce and demanding as moans tore out of her, one after another, and he devoured them.

"Goddess Graeme, yes," she cried, clawing again at his back as her breasts rose above the water over and over again, red and flushed and glistening.

He had shed the fear of hurting her, instead relying on the rhythm of their beings that took over, guiding them in the sacred collision that broke every threshold—building with every fierce thrust of his that she met and cradled—until it crested, at once sending mirroring explosions of light behind their eyes.

They remained entangled like that, panting against each other, until August finally chuckled and rested her head on Graeme's shoulder.

"I like this place," he spoke deeply into her hair for her to chuckle again.

Around them, the steam gradually dissipated.. When August looked up, she caught the last of the petals disappearing into the sky.