Rygan frowned, wondering how the hell she’d gone past him unnoticed.

“Don’t beat yourself up,” the woman said without turning to him. “Not a lot of people can hear me coming.”

That pissed him off; he wasn’t just anyone, and he would have heard her, if he’d paid attention. No one snuck past him. Ever.

Although, come to think of it, it was the second time she had. He hadn’t heard her approach before she’d spoken, the previous day. Ouch. His pride took a dent at that realization.

“Good evening,” he said.

It hit him that these were the first words they’d ever exchanged.

Fuck. He was fascinated with the woman and they had never even talked. For a minute, he wondered if she could be part siren, or if she just overused some seductive potion, but as he walked towards her, her scent became stronger at each step, and what he smelled was feline, natural, and feminine. She’d just come back from a run: he could detect her usual blend of wood and spices, as well as rain and sweat. A tantalizing mixture that made him want to lick her from head to toe.

He hadn’t seen her for over forty-eight hours and, honestly, he’d thought that his memory might have overplayed her charms - and the effect she had on him.

No such chance.

“Ace, right?”

“Daunte is one of only three people in the world who calls me Ace,” she replied. “It’s Aisling. At least that doesn’t make me sound like a jock.”

“Aisling is a mouthful, sweetheart,” he drawled. “What shall I call you?”

She rolled her eyes at that.

“Despite the admittedly noticeable Southern accent, I’m not going to fall for any sort of line you could possibly come up with, so spare us both, Rygan. Call me Ace if you must. It shouldn’t matter much, as you’re going to stay out of my way.”

He should, but he knew there was a pretty good chance he wouldn’t.

“How do you know my name? I don’t believe I introduced myself.”

Rye wasn’t particularly vain, but he knew females liked what they saw. Ace was acting like he wasn’t even there. But she’d asked Daunte about him, obviously, and he wanted to hear her say it, admit that she’d been curious.

“Rygan Wayland, six foot four, age thirty-one,” she recited. “Second son of our good King, and Alpha of the Wyvern pride.”

Grabbing a pack of raspberries and some yogurt, she closed the fridge with her foot and walked to the breakfast table.

“That puts me at a disadvantage. I know nothing about you.”

Aisling tilted her head left and smirked. “That would be because only one of us happens to have a fan page.”

He groaned, but conceded her point.

“It’s not like I want one.” He generally didn’t find it necessary to justify anything about himself, but that damn fan page was the exception. “Coveney set up a pride website to help stay in touch with other shifters, and, apparently, there was a lot of hits on my profile. He figured we might as well cash in on the traffic.”

She had the decency to at least try to stifle her smile.

“And the half-naked shots?”

“Our calendar made us half a million. And it’s not just me in it. Daunte does it, too. You’d do it, too, to feed a pride.”

So, yeah, he sounded petulant as fuck.

“It’s all for the greater good,” she replied, nodding, but still smirking.

He didn’t mind all that much; sassing or not, god knew she had a beautiful smile.

“Yogurt?”

Normally, the answer would have been no, because he happened to have balls, but what she called yogurt was basically a spoonful of the stuff, put on top of a humongous meringue, and covered in fresh berries, so he nodded, watching her closely as she moved. Listening, too; she was right. She didn’t make a noise; not when she stepped, anyway. The old cupboards betrayed her, but otherwise, the woman was incredibly quiet.

“You’re a hunter.”

It wasn’t a question, and she nodded.

“I’ve been raised as one, yes. These days, I’m just a baker, though.”

He sincerely doubted it.

Rygan sat on the high bar stool next to hers and gratefully nodded when she gave him a plate of anything-but-yogurt. One mouthful and he moaned, taking his unspoken words back. She was a baker, and a good one, at that.

“What the fuck is in this?” he asked, because it couldn’t be a damn meringue. At its center, there was a smooth mousse that tasted like heaven.

“That would be pistachio. I’m experimenting for a client who wants some for her wedding cake.”

“Experiment successful.”

All of a sudden, he understood why Daunte had asked if they could order from her bakery; he genuinely didn’t think he’d eaten something that made him consider licking the plate in a long, long time. If there had been no witness, he totally would have, too.

“I don’t know - I tried the mousse inside some choux yesterday - it worked a little better.”

Fuck, he was hard. Thinking about food. Sweet food, too.

“Do you have any choux left?”

Aisling shook her head. “Nope. Ate two dozen of them, and my assistant finished the rest.”

He scrutinized her, wondering where the fuck all the mousse, choux, and other desserts she ate went. She had curves, but they were all in the right places; her wider hips, her generous ass. He was pretty sure no one able to inhale two dozen choux had the right to look like her. Their kind were generally slender, because of the exercise they all did in animal form, but still.

“So, Aisling. You know my last name, my height, my profession, and age. You also know what I look like in nothing but a towel. I just know you like to make grown men cry - be it by withholding choux or kicking their ass. Wanna even out the scale?”

“I don’t know, I like being on top.” His dick pushed against his zipper at the visual that conjured. “What do I get for telling you things about me?” she asked, her voice dipping low and suave, shooting right to his already hard cock, making it throb.

She was flirting, probably unaware that he was already fighting to prevent himself from laying her on the table and licking the sweet spot between her legs until she begged for mercy.

“What do you want?” he countered, his gaze intense.

She should have looked away; or, rather, most females would have. He was quickly learning not to expect her to behave like anyone else, though.

“You get a question, I get one. That’s fair.”

He nodded slowly, reluctantly. There were plenty of things he didn’t like speaking about - namely, his family, and that was what most people were really curious about.

Aisling waved, inviting him to go first.

“Last name.”

He’d looked around, and there were letters addressed to five different names on her mahogany dining room table.

Aisling shook her head. “Nope. I veto that one.”

He immediately narrowed his eyes, wondering what reason she might have to hide it. Was she hiding from someone? Was she on the run?

“That’s not how it works.”

“It works how I say it works. Ask something else, or nothing at all. I don’t care.”

Rygan was too startled to speak at first; he couldn’t remember anyone ever dismissing him that way before. It grated, but he accepted that the cards were in her hand, so he changed his question.

“Why are you a loner?”

He half expected her to blow him off again, but she answered. “I was part of a pride, once, and it didn’t work out for me. It’s supposed to be about supporting each other, but I’m a little different. So the flavor of the day was, let’s gang up on Aisling. Not my thing.”

Rygan nodded slowly, reluctantly - he knew it wasn’t the whole truth.

“So, you weren’t banished?”

“That’s two questions,” she said, rolling her eyes. “But I’ll answer it - because you won’t let this go unless I do. No, I wasn’t banished. No, I’m no criminal. Yes, I’ve killed people - legally.” That could mean a lot of things; in self-defense, or under contract approved by the government. One, he could understand, the other, he could respect. “And I will kill again,” she added, “if I’m ever in a situation where I should. And no, you don’t have the right to know everything I do. I’m not part of your pride, Alpha.”

Taking the full strength of her gaze, Rygan wondered if that was what others felt when he glared at them. His tiger was pacing back and forth, uneasy at having this female pushing her dominance. She wasn’t asking for his submission, though - she was simply answering with everything she had, to ensure he would know she was telling him the truth. No one could dominate without conviction.

He nodded. It wasn’t like his hands were clean, anyway.

“My turn,” she said, her amber gaze still intense. She tilted her head to the left a little again, and asked, “If I let you fuck me now, are you going to be clingy or move on and let me be?”

---

He didn’t answer - he didn’t need to. They both needed this. There was no other option; since the instant he saw her, he knew he was going to end up balls deep inside her.

There was nothing soft or refined about it - his teeth scraped her skin, she tore clothes from his limbs to free his cock, and took it in her greedy hands. They were animals, nothing more or less. Rygan took Aisling by the waist and popped her onto the breakfast table before placing himself between her legs, exactly where he’d wanted to be. His tiger was all for destroying her jeans and plunging his cock inside her, but he had other things on his mind. Sliding the denim down, along with her silken panties, he smirked and dove head first towards her drenched pink folds.

“Oh fuck.”

“Not yet.”

She might have the upper hand in many things, but as she begged for mercy while his tongue lapped at her clit, wiggling in an attempt to break free, he was topping her in the only way that mattered.

Her breathing was coming in faster yet irregular, hitching in places. She was close; so close. He could make her come now and then take her like he was desperate to. Get it over with. But at the back of his mind, something told him it would be just that: over. She was going to do what she’d said she would: move on, forget about him. The pretty kitty was careful - she liked the walls she’d constructed around her little world; he understood that. But nevertheless, he wanted to smash them down.

Rygan and his tiger were in perfect agreement right then. Not now, they both said. We can wait.

So, he came up for air, placing his throbbing cock at her entrance and bending to reach her ear.

“What’s your name?” he whispered, grinding against her clit.

He didn’t expect her to answer; he expected her to bolt.

She did.

“Bastard.”

“You need to come, pretty girl. And I’ll give it to you - all I want in exchange is a name.”

So, yeah, he was being an asshole. But a smart one. Aisling pushed his torso back and sat up, closing her legs.

“Right. Looks like I’ll be finishing myself off, then,” she huffed, turning away without another glance.

As he watched her sinful ass walk out, Rygan smiled like his balls weren’t hating him right now.

He might not have fucked her, but he’d won the game today. Aisling was a dominant female used to having what she wanted; she was going to be as obsessed with him as he was with her.