He’d faced death squads in Rotten Row. He’d had witches put their sizzling fingers up to his temple ready to kill him. He’d been cut open with a dozen sword swipes from fae and dead-talker bad guys. He’d had drugged out shifters, in wolf form, tear chunks out of his arms, legs and once his abdomen. He knew what pain was. He knew how to battle the enemy. He’d grown strong on all fronts because of the hellhole he lived in called Five Bridges. What he didn’t have either the will or the strength to do, was to let go of the woman in his arms. His lips were pinned to hers, his tongue plunging in and out. She even tasted familiar, which seemed impossible. He ran his hands down her back and felt her tremble beneath his touch. He could recall the dreamglide now in perfect detail, how just hours ago he’d been buried inside her, watching passion move in erotic waves over her creamy, freckled skin. He could hear her moans and see how he leaned down to kiss her cheek. He’d shifted his position and given her a solid rock of his hips to which her whole body had rolled with pleasure.
