VANE
The Princess may not know it, but I'm seconds away from claiming those luscious lips—lips that opened a fraction in a gasp of shock when I stepped out of the steaming bathroom hours ago.
When I emerged from the long soak, my skin still humming from the heat, only to find her standing in the center of my room, the world outside the heavy oak doors ceased to exist.
All I could see was the way the morning light caught her hair; all I could feel was the primal, roaring need of my wolf, Lakh, who is currently pacing the cage of my ribs with a ferocity that threatens to break me.
I want to touch her. The thought is an ache. I want to reach out, to wrap my hands around the delicate curve of her waist, and pull her flush against the damp heat of my skin until there isn't a sliver of air left between us.
I want to sink into her, to bury my face in the crook of her neck and breathe in that scent of hers until my lungs are heavy with it.
