Hair of the Dog Read Free Page B

what she saw within him.
    Ivy brushed away the shirt he offered. With the strength of
a decent welterweight boxer, she shoved him up against the stainless steel
refrigerator. Grant gasped when the cold metal made contact with his flesh,
which was nearly on fire with need for her.
    She pressed a firm hand on his chest, holding him in place
with superhuman strength. He wanted to tell Ivy that her warmth and softness
and perfumed scent held him hostage, that there was no need for manhandling.
But that would be highly inappropriate, partly due to his position in the
community. Mostly because she was not for him.
    “I think we should take a moment to think this through,”
Grant said. His cock thickened, betraying his words of protest, betraying his
anguished vow to his late wife.
    Ivy snarled her reply into his ear, which would have
possibly terrified the average man. Not him. Her primal growl warmed his blood
and clouded his head. The throaty sound made his thoughts of his wife
disappear, along with any shred of common sense he once had.
    She tucked her face into the crook of his neck and inhaled
deeply before dragging her tongue from his chin to his ear by way of his jaw.
He quaked in response. Apparently liking the taste of him, Ivy’s tongue darted
along his neck and chest, sampling Grant, stopping occasionally to nip at his
flesh, causing him to squirm.
    The word “stop” stuck in his throat, right behind “don’t”
and “no”. When the words bubbled from his mouth, they spilled out in a jumble.
“No. Don’t. Stop,” he said between heaving breaths.
    “No,” she purred. “I won’t.” Her nails raked the length of
his torso.
    Grant recoiled from the painful pleasure. Ivy’s body writhed
against him, her taut nipples pressing into his flesh, her leg twining with his
like she might climb him. He fought the impulse to dig his fingers into the
softness of her hips and breasts, same as he fought the prickly head-to-toe
heat. His hair and nails itched and ached from the urge to shift.
    Ivy skimmed her nails lightly down his chest, past his
abdomen, and stroked his stiff cock through the flimsy fabric of the apron. She
moaned. He groaned. Her other hand pulled the apron strings, letting the
barrier fall to the kitchen floor. Without the apron, Ivy freely rubbed his
erection as Grant leaned helplessly against the kitchen appliance. He had
enough on his plate just remaining human.
    “What if I…what if I make a pot of coffee and we talk this
out?” he stammered.
    Ivy shimmied down his body, crouching, stroking the length
of his shaft with one hand while rubbing the head of his cock with her other.
Grant squeezed his eyes shut. His balls tightened and his eyes stung like he’d
been on a bender. Opening his eyes, he fought to focus.
    No, no, no, don’t stop, his mind called out to
hers when she ceased rubbing his helmeted head. Yes, yes, yes. He
changed his tune when her lips closed in around the tip, only the tip. Her
tongue swirled, tracing circles around the ridge as Ivy continued gently
stroking, twisting and squeezing his length, coaxing his climax from his body.
    “We shouldn’t—” he choked out in a strangled gasp.
    Ivy mumbled something that vibrated along his cock. He
guessed her garbled reply was a negative as she drew his entire length slowly
into her mouth. Her lips hugged and stroked every inch. Ivy sucked and
swallowed. Her hands and mouth worked in tandem to pleasure him. Grant felt
each toe-curling trick she performed. Her moans reverberated up and down his
cock.
    Grant couldn’t stop himself from palming her face with one
hand as he gave over to his desire. His climax built strong and steadily at her
mercy. The fingers of his other hand combed through her hair. He rolled his
hips forward one last time, hating himself, but loving the touch of a woman.
Not just any woman, but an enchanted being he had no business dallying with.
Groaning, he came amidst a rush of heat and guilt.
    With a whimper,