I dreamt that Raul was licking the back of my thigh—sucking on a spot that felt tender. The tension was building in my lower abdomen the longer he did it, my sex buzzing and pulsing to life, prompting me to squirm and press my pelvis into the cushiony surface beneath me.

In my dream, he murmured softly in another language as his mouth traveled upward, licking the underside of my ass cheek before latching onto another sensitive expanse of skin on my backside. By the time he moved on to licking and sucking the opposite cheek, I was slowly circling and pressing my pelvis into the mattress.

When his hands began gently kneading my fleshy globes, my breathing grew shallow. His mouth trailed kisses up my spine before licking a path to my shoulder, where another wounded area captured his tongue’s attention.

This time, a muffled whimper escaped me as his mouth latched onto that particularly raw spot. Raul paused to mumble something in English about being sorry and making it better, as the fingers massaging my ass rubbed lower, dipping between the cheeks to stroke and enter me where I was slippery wet and throbbing.

His masculine groan of approval reverberated against my shoulder as he sucked the smarting flesh in time with the movement of his fingers pumping in and out.

The sounds of my mewling and moaning became interspersed with my panted breaths as I was lost to the ever-tightening coiling sensation in my belly. But just as I strained for that precipice, rolling my pelvis faster and pressing my clit harder into the mattress with each successive rotation of my hips, the surface beneath me pulled away, leaving my body floating weightless in the air. Raul’s mouth relinquished my shoulder. His fingers withdrew, reminding me that sex dreams were the cruelest of teases—never living up to the real thing, and hardly ever culminating in a release.

But then I felt hot breath moving beneath me—warm kisses trailing from my belly button to my sex as Raul’s big hands ran up the back of my thighs, pulling them apart, squeezing my ass and drawing my weightless body downward until I felt the insides of my knees straddling his broad shoulders. Warm breath fanned my wet center; the tip of a tongue twirled and lashed at my clit. Fingers entered me and curled against my G-spot as Raul drew my fluttering little bud into his fevered mouth and sucked it like candy.

My upper body remained buoyant—suspended in midair somehow as if floating on water—as Raul’s lips and tongue devoured me without mercy. This was the best damn sex dream I’d ever had.

My hands fell to his head below for balance, and my fingers wound through his hair, unconsciously clutching and pulling on it as sensations overwhelmed me. I’d always been too self-conscious to try this position with anyone I’d been with before. Because it was crazy intimate being eaten out this way—Raul’s fingers making sloppy wet noises as they drove in and out, my juices gushing straight into his mouth and onto his stubble-roughened chin as he nursed my clit, humming against my sex in a way that stole my breath.

The pressure on my G-spot had me scared that I was going to soak his face when I came. Just when I thought I couldn’t possibly feel more exposed and vulnerable and consumed with the need to come, he eased a finger inside my ass.

My whole body was soon shaking, my stomach muscles clenching spastically as the dual penetration and G-spot stimulation combined with his insistent sucking reduced me to frantic gasping and panted shouts of ecstasy. My orgasm hit like a freight train as it rolled over me, and I handled it with all the ladylike dignity that a woman robbed of breath yet still compulsively wailing obscenities could manage.

Raul’s fingers withdrew, but he continued licking and sucking on my sensitive bits, grunting and growling as his shoulder muscles jumped and jerked with rapid, pulsing movements against the insides of my spread knees. I pictured him stroking his huge, beautiful erection, hard and fast, seeking his own relief. I wanted to tell him to put it inside me, despite how spent I was and how tender my insides felt, but he let out an extended groan and his shoulders ceased jerking a moment later, signaling his release.

I was lightheaded and dizzy and whimpering from sensitivity by the time Raul finished lapping every last drop of my orgasm from between my spread folds. I felt my body tumble as gravity reclaimed me, the mattress rising up to meet my back, my head flopping down onto the soft surface of a pillow.

Fingers combed through the hair at my crown, smiling lips pressed to my forehead, and I heard Raul apologize for waking me up, saying that he couldn’t rest without healing me first.

Waking me up?

Then he said something in an amused voice about making up for lost time, before murmuring, “You’re in so much trouble now, Bethy,” as exhaustion pulled me under into a peaceful state of sleep.

I was in the midst of another sex dream.

In this one, Raul’s tongue was thoroughly laving a sore spot on my breast. When his mouth moved on to my nipple, nipping it between his teeth before sucking away the sting, my body came alive with need.

I ached for him to lick and suck lower—like he’d done in the last sex dream he’d starred in. This time, I wanted to feel his hard cock breaching me, stretching me wide and filling the pulsating void between my thighs.

Then my phone went off.

I tried to ignore it and remain in the hot dream, but it was too late because the sucking stopped, and I felt my covers against my breasts instead. I could see light behind my closed eyelids.

Ugh. I swung my arm out toward the nightstand, blindly reaching for my phone. As my fingers located it, a warm, masculine hand fell atop mine, halting me.

“I got it, Bethy,” Raul’s deep voice floated over me as gently he extracted the phone from my sleepy, uncoordinated fingertips, silencing the irritating noise.

My breath caught and my heart leapt into my throat.

Raul hadn’t left. He’d actually spent the night!

I bolted upright in bed, rubbing the sleep from my eyes as they strained against the morning sunlight streaming in through my windows.

“You’re here. I can’t believe you stayed.” I was so beyond thrilled to discover Raul hadn’t left that I failed to filter myself—or restrain what was no doubt a freakishly dorky grin on my pillow-wrinkled face—as through squinted eyes I took in his gorgeous, tall presence standing beside my bed, dressed casually in jeans and a white T-shirt.

My grin broadened when I realized I could smell coffee. And pancakes. And eggs.

“I think I’m in love with you.” The words flew from my mouth, and I belatedly slapped my hand over it.

My eyes went wide as mortification sank in.

“Does that mean I can stay for breakfast?”

That smile of his would be my undoing.

“No. I mean, of course. I mean—I didn’t mean that last part like it came out. I just … really love eggs. And pancakes ... and coffee.” Oh, shut up, Bethany. “Would you excuse me, please?” I threw the covers aside and bolted for the bathroom, buck-naked.

I locked the door behind me and jumped in the shower, turning the water to its coldest setting.

I’d slept with Milena’s brother!

Scratch that; I’d fucked my best friend’s brother six ways from Sunday and back again, and I had loved every filthy second of it.

Shit, shit, shit.

I recalled having sex in the club. And then in Raul’s stretch Hummer. And then—oh, sweet baby Jesus, in my building’s elevator!

And he had bitten me—several times.

The memory of Raul’s werewolf confession—along with the unexplainable magical abilities he’d displayed the night before—came rushing back to me. I reached up to finger the spot on the side of my throat where he’d bitten me. It still felt tender. I glanced down at my body beneath the freezing, sobering shower spray and found a crescent-shaped pink mark where he had bitten my left breast at the club. There was another one on my inner thigh.

It had all really happened. I’d fucked a werewolf subspecies last night.

I moved on autopilot, washing quickly as my teeth began to chatter.

Don’t freak out. Keep it together. Everything’s okay.

As I toweled off, I realized there was also a bite mark on my ankle, my shoulder, and the back of my arm. And two on my ass and yet another on the back of my thigh.

Grabbing iodine solution and swabs from beneath the sink, I stood in front of the full-length mirror hanging on the back of the bathroom door and methodically set to work assessing and disinfecting the affected areas, my brain switching into physician mode.

Oddly, most of the bites looked like they were several weeks old, rather than mere hours. The new skin covering and surrounding them was the bright pink shade you see when an initial scab falls away. But the bite on my shoulder was deeper and still healing. On my neck, it appeared he’d bitten nearly the same spot twice—the bite marks overlapping and, like my shoulder, penetrating far deeper into the tissue than the ones on my thighs, breast, arm, and ass.

“Bethy?” Raul wrapped lightly on the other side of the door.

I jolted and dropped the iodine solution.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” I responded a little too zealously as I bent to mop up the spill I’d made. “Fine. Be right out, okay? I’m just … doing my hair.”

“Bethany, we need to talk.”

“Okay!” Why was I shouting?

“I’m really sorry for biting you last night ... so many times.” He mumbled the last part.

“It’s no big. These things happen.” Did they? What was I even saying?

“I can explain everything.”

“That’s okay. I’m good.” The notion that he might have an actual explanation for biting me so many times was somehow more terrifying.

“Most of the bite marks will be fully healed within a matter of days—I promise.”

Most. Not all. “It’s all good. My mom’s a great dermatologist. She’s got advanced laser treatments for—for this exact um … sort of thing.”

“Bethy, please? Just open the door.”

Crap, the door! I was no safer behind it. Raul didn’t even need for me to open it. I recalled the way he’d magically transported us from the hallway to the inside of my apartment last night—not to mention how he’d magically transported us from the club to the car.

I felt my psyche going into fight-or-flight mode. I had to find a way to get past Raul and out of my apartment before a full-blown panic attack set in. Think, Bethany, think.

“Be out in a minute!” I hollered back, snagging my pajamas from their hook on the wall adjacent to the shower and yanking the bottoms on with clumsy fingers and trembling limbs.

“Honey, I can hear you just fine. There’s no need to shout or panic. Everything’s going to be okay—I promise.”

“What? Who’s panicking?” I returned with an exaggerated, ridiculous laugh, before checking my high volume. I often did shout whenever I panicked. It was a habit I’d picked up from my mom. “I’m just getting dressed.”

“Baby, your heart rate’s sprinting a mile a minute, and I can smell your fear from out here. Please believe me that there’s nothing to be afraid of. I promise I won’t bite you again.”

I could’ve sworn I heard him append that promise with a quietly mumbled “today,” but I couldn’t be sure because I was already too busy trying to process his previous assertion that he could hear my heartbeat and smell my fear.

“I’m just anxious to get to work on time,” I further dissembled as my shaking fingers struggled with the final button of my pajama shirt.

“Thought you were on call this weekend?”

“Would you just back off me for a minute?” I snapped, forgetting to be cautious as annoyance superseded my sense of fear. “I need to be at the hospital this morning no later than eleven and available to work through the night and most of tomorrow—that’s what my on-call status means for this weekend.”

“All right, all right. Got it.” His heavy sigh carried through the door. “Relax. Take your time. I’ll just … be waiting for you.”

I braced my hands against the sink counter and took slow, deep breaths, trying to calm myself and clear my head. Everything would be fine—he’d said so. And he had promised not to bite me again. Today.

Jesus Christ, he had canine senses and could hear my heartbeat and smell my fear. I needed to get a grip—and quickly—before he poofed himself through the bathroom door.

I turned the water on, grabbed my ultrasonic toothbrush, and went to work cleaning my teeth and swishing with mouthwash an excessive number of times in order to buy myself time, while hoping the noise would help mask the sounds of my internal organs going into panic mode.

I just had to go out there and act natural—like the werewolf thing was no big deal. Then I’d thank him for the super-hot sex last night and excuse myself, saying I had to get to work.

Right. And that would be that, I mentally assured myself with a nod to my reflection in the mirror. I rinsed one final time, smoothed the wrinkles from my pajamas, and opened the door.

Raul was standing there, waiting. Blocking my exit.

He was so tall and built he filled the entire doorway. And I was thrown off-kilter the moment I saw him—and the concern lining his handsome face. He reached for me, and I took several steps back, my bare feet nearly slipping on the damp tile floor in my haste to keep distance between us.

Hurt flashed in his eyes, but he raised both palms in the air in a nonthreatening gesture. “Hey—s’okay, Bethy.” He backed up out of the doorway, allowing me space to pass. “I just want to talk to you. There’s no reason to be afraid.”

In truth, I was only partially concerned that he might hurt me because of the unknown factor his new species classification presented. I was more afraid that if he touched me, I was liable to shag him again, werewolf or not. There was a crazy animal magnetism thing happening between us that compelled me to toss sound judgment and sanity right out the window whenever I stared at his face for too long.

Or heard the sound of his voice. Or got close enough to smell him. Or touch him ...

I needed to keep my head on straight when I was around him.

When I still hesitated to move from the bathroom, he bit his lip and nodded solemnly at a spot on the floor. “Alright then. I’ll just go to the other room and wait for you there.” He turned and walked away without another word.

I stepped from the bathroom, my eyes following his retreating form—shamelessly eyeballing the way his fine ass filled his jeans and how the muscles of his broad back strained against the material of his T-shirt.

Closing my eyes and giving myself a mental shake, I counted to ten and followed after him, out of my bedroom and into the living room, where I found him standing next to my little dining table—that was dressed with a tablecloth and flowers and laden with delicious-looking food.

I stopped in my tracks. “Wow.”

He winced and rubbed the back of his neck. “Too much?”

Dear Lord, grant me the strength not to drop to my knees and blow this werewolf right where he stands.

I looked from the serving dishes, which were piled with sliced fruits, pastries, pancakes, bacon, and eggs, to Raul’s nervous yet hopeful brown eyes, and saw the neighborhood surfer boy I’d grown up with.

“Raul, I’m sorry. I overreacted. I’m still processing everything that’s happened.”

His smile was tentative as relief smoothed the worry lines on his face. “It’s understandable.”

“I really had a lot of fun … catching up with you last night.”

“Catching up?” His smile broadened, reaching his eyes. “Is that what we’re calling it?”

I felt my cheeks heat, and I couldn’t help but crack a smile.

He took a small step toward me. Then another. “I had a lot of fun, too.” He looked like he was about to say more, but then his demeanor shifted and he gestured to the table. “Could I interest you in some breakfast before it gets cold? I promise to sit on my side of the table and only bite the food.”

I rolled my eyes. “Ha ha, you’re so funny.” I shook my head and walked to the table, allowing him to pull a chair out for me. “It’s a little soon for biting jokes, don’t you think?” But as I said it, I was already grinning from ear to ear.

“Agreed,” he said with a chuckle, handing me a cloth napkin before setting to work piling food onto my plate. When he was done, he served and seated himself next to me at the table. “I really am sorry, Bethy.” His eyes were sincere. “I didn’t mean for things to happen the way they did last night.”

“It’s fine.” I bit my lip and rolled one shoulder, suddenly feeling shy. “I can’t believe you made all this,” I said as I began to dig in, wanting to change the subject—and regain some level of normalcy. “I’m always either eating out or grabbing something from the hospital cafeteria. I don’t even remember the last time I ate a home-cooked meal.”

He sucked air through his teeth. “Ahhh—well, you see, the thing is …” He paused to clear his throat. “I don’t get the opportunity to cook very much anymore, and since I feel so out of practice with it, I thought it’d be best this morning if—”

“This is all take-out?” I exclaimed in shock. “I mean, I figured the pastries probably were, but—”

“No. It’s all home-cooked, even the pastries. Just not by me.”

I took a bite of perfect scrambled eggs as I considered how best to decipher his words.

“I had a friend come over and cook while you were sleeping,” he further confessed. His smile was sheepish—but not as much as I’d expect, given the circumstances.

“A friend?” I asked as nonchalantly as possible. A stranger had been in my apartment? While I’d been asleep?

“One of my chefs,” he clarified after a beat, his posture and tone turning guarded.

Not a good sign. I took a sip of coffee and nearly choked on it as I realized he’d just said “chefs”—plural—and was reminded of my mafia suspicions. Did werewolves have their own crime syndicate, I wondered?

“Does this chef have a name?”

“Do you not like your food?” he evaded with a tight smile.

My pulse quickened despite my efforts to remain calm. “I love my food. I’d also love to know the name of the person who was in my home preparing it while I was unconscious.”

He sighed. “Look, Bethy—”

The sound of someone outside my apartment door, inserting a key into the lock, interrupted us. And nearly stopped my heart.

Only two people had a key to my apartment, and today wasn’t a cleaning day, which meant …

“Oh, good God.” My fork slipped from my hand and clattered to the hardwood floor. “Gregg’s at the door.”

I sensed the blood draining from my face, making me feel faint as it occurred to me I hadn’t thought of my fiancé even once since last night.

“Calm down.” Raul took my hand in his, clasping it atop the table. “It’s not Gregg. I promise. I had the locks changed last night.”

And just like that, things went from bad to so much fucking worse.