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Take Me

August tasted even better than Mercy had imagined he would. All of these weeks of being so close to him and longing for his touch, to feel his hands on her skin, to taste his lips, and finally, here he was, kissing her, his strong hands on her body as she leaned into the kiss.

In the back of her mind, a voice insisted that this was wrong, that she shouldn’t be doing this with a man she just met, especially when she truly didn’t know if there was someone else. What if she had a husband back in her old pack? What if she was in love with someone else?

But with August’s tongue tapping against hers and his hand on her waist, the other on the side of her face, Mercy knew she wasn’t going to be able to stop herself.

Her response to him was completely instinctual, like he was a raging fire and she was a moth, mesmerized by the dancing flicker before her. How could she tell her body not to lean into his? She may as well tell her heart to stop beating or her ears to stop hearing. She had no con
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