Munro (Immortals After Dark #18) by Kresley Cole

            When Munro plucked at her nipples, she whipped her hips, threatening to bring him off! Her passion convinced him that she didn’t love her husband. Unless she was simply too overwhelmed by everything.

            Overwhelmed.

            Damn it! Munro needed to pull back. But how? Wasn’t like he’d waited nine hundred years for this. Could he possibly return from the razor’s edge yet again?

            Aye. He brushed his mouth to hers a last time. A shudder of loss racked him as he drew back.

            They spoke at the same time:

            “I canna do this.”

            “I can’t do this.”

            Her cherry-hued lips were kiss-swollen. She licked the bottom one as if she wanted another taste of him.

            His shaft was so hard he feared he’d spontaneously come. Lick those lips again, female. Bring me off.

            She murmured, “I feel like I’m in a stranger’s body. Little control over myself.”

            He managed a nod. “Same.”

            “I’m stronger than this.”

            Focused on her lips, he muttered, “I fucking am no’.” He briefly closed his eyes, then met her gaze. “I will be. I am. Kereny, I will be whatever you need.” He forced himself to stand, wincing in pain. “I can wait till you’re more comfortable, more rested.” I can! Eyes off her sweet mouth, Munro. Ignore your throbbing dick. “This is no’ the time for us. But it’s coming. Fate canna be stopped.”

            With the last bit of his restraint, he left the room and closed the door behind him. He collected the flask of whiskey that Loa had packed for him—a magical one, never to empty—and strode out to the terrace. A picturesque Transylvanian countryside greeted him.

            Swigging whiskey and sucking in gulps of cool night air did little to tame his arousal. Never had he felt such need, as if he would’ve plumbed the depths of madness before he ever reached the heights of release. His female was so bloody perfect for him, with an innate sensuality just begging to be explored.

            When he heard her crawl under the covers, he would’ve permanently given his right arm to join her there.

            His new phone pinged, drawing his attention. Old messages and texts continued to populate in a random patchwork of data.

            An email from the House of Witches had arrived, announcing the completed spell around Glenrial. The email had a terms-of-service contract attached. A five-hundred-page contract that he’d need to read.

            Just then, a dinosaur’s roar sounded, alerting him to a text from his ward Rónan.

            Rónan: Missing for weeks and you don’t head home? No. Cause you’re out honeymooning with your married time-traveling mate.

            The whole pack must have heard the story. Wanting to know more about how the lads were doing—and to get details about Will and Chloe—he dialed Rónan’s number. The lad didn’t pick up.

            Teenagers.

            Munro texted: Emergency. We’ll be back asap.

            Rónan: What if she doesn’t like us? I mean, I’m amazing, but Ben . . .

            They both were a handful in their own ways. Typical of his age, Rónan was moody and rebellious, and Ben was painfully shy with a hair-trigger beast.

            Munro replied: Kereny’s fair. If you treat her well, she’ll like you. Stay behind the walls of Glenrial. Warlocks might target you and Ben.

            Rónan: They can bring it. Learned some spells from my witch gf.

            He must know his words would chill Munro to the bone. Was this acting out? Munro needed to read a book or something. Behind the walls. That’s an order.

            Rónan: [Middle finger emoji]

            Thanks. I am number one. How’s Will?

            Head Case and Chloe are cool now. When Will had first discovered Chloe’s true species, he’d earned his nickname of Head Case in a nuclear way, treating her abysmally. BTW, give us 48 hours’ notice before you show at the lodge. Ltr.