“You don’t have to call me Eron if you don’t want to,” Spike said, resting his hands on her waist. “I’m used to Spike.”

“I like Eron. It’s cool.”

“Don’t tell me . . . you train a horse called Eron.”

“Okay, I won’t tell you. Or about the one called Spike.”

“You’re a little shit.” Spike’s mouth pulled into a smile, the widest one he’d felt in a long, long time.

“A lot of people say that.”

“And you smell good.” Spike bent to her. “And taste good.” He swept his tongue across her lips.

Outside the house, the wind started to rise. Good. Maybe a rainstorm would come up to soak any ass**les spying on Myka. Or send them back home.

Spike slid his hands under the hem of her tank top. He found her flesh nice and warm, the smooth curve of her waist.

Myka’s hands went to his shoulders, fingers digging in again, as though she wanted to hang onto him. Fine by Spike. He kissed her parted lips, sliding his palms up her waist to her br**sts, the clingy fabric of the tank top bunching tightly over Spike’s hands. He pulled the top all the way up and off, finding a tiny bra beneath it, thin like the cotton of the tank.

Shifter women didn’t wear bras, and Spike had little experience undoing them. The hooks in back were tiny under his blunt fingers, evading him. He fumbled. Myka twisted one hand behind her and opened the catches for him.

The gesture of acceptance, of trust, thrust his need high. He wanted their clothes off, her skin against his, sweat on sweat.

Spike shoved the bra off and out of the way as he sought the weight of Myka’s br**sts. He lifted them in cupped hands, his lips finding hers. He was drowning in heat. He licked across her lips, then down her throat, wanting again the feel of her nipple in his mouth, but bare this time.

Myka lifted herself to Spike’s hands, loving the friction of his callused palms. She caught his lips with hers, sweeping her tongue into his open mouth.

What am I doing? a part of her brain cried. He’s Shifter. He was Jillian’s Shifter. The rest of her told that part to shut up.

Myka held on to Spike’s shoulders just to stay on her feet. His body came the length of hers, his firm c**k behind his jeans hard against her abdomen. He was huge, and he wanted her, and Myka knew she wouldn’t push him away tonight.

He caressed the br**sts he held, thumbs circling her ni**les.

“Myka,” he whispered. “Damn.”

“Something wrong?”

“You’re f**king beautiful.”

Her heart hammered. Spike kissed her lips then bent to her throat. His Collar gleamed on his neck as he sank to his knees, touching kisses to her skin all the way down.

“I want to kiss every inch of you,” he said, breath hot on her belly. He leaned forward and licked her navel.

Myka jumped. “Yikes! I’m ticklish.”

“Yeah?” Spike blew on her abdomen.

“Always have been.”

Spike licked her again. “You shouldn’t have told me that.”

He sent her a wicked smile before he fluttered his fingers against her sides. Myka stifled a shriek, pushing at him. “No, seriously.”

“I am serious.” Spike wriggled the tip of his tongue over her belly to make her squeak again. “Damn serious. I want to rip off your clothes and tickle you all over.”

“What if you kill me from laughing?”

“I gotta risk it.”

Spike yanked open her jeans, the button popping and tinkling to the floor. The denim sagged against her hips, and Spike shoved her jeans all the way down. He kissed the thin line of pink panties he found underneath, then hooked his fingers around the elastic and pulled those down as well.

Cool night air touched Myka’s bare skin, the curls between her legs already wet. Spike blew his breath there, stirring the hair, then he kissed her, right over her clit.

“Shit,” she whispered.

“Tickles?” he asked. “How about this?” Spike zipped his tongue where he’d warmed her with his breath. Myka’s squeak turned to a groan.

“Stop it,” she said, sounding feeble, even to herself. “You have to stop it.”

“No, I don’t.”

“I thought you came to guard my house.”

“No one’s getting in here without my say-so, love. I won’t give a rat’s ass if I’m kissing you, drinking you, or buried inside you.”

“You plan to do all three of those?”

“Hell yes. Myka I need . . . I need you.”

Myka’s heart and body cried out for him in return. Her life had been so empty—she’d not let herself acknowledge it. She took care of other people’s horses, looked after her best friend’s kid, helped out her best friend’s mom.

No one for her, nothing but a lonely house at the end of the day. No parents, no sisters, no brothers. No boyfriend, because the few relationships she’d started had never worked out. She’d never been able to trust a man enough to get close.

Spike wasn’t a man. He was a Shifter. And he was licking her, moving his mouth to thrust his tongue into her cleft.

Yes.

Myka rose on her tiptoes, scooping him into her. His mouth was wild and wicked, tongue flickering into and out of her, whiskers burning her thighs.

Myka writhed in rhythm with his tongue, her skin flushing and going cold, her head rocking back on her neck. She was going to come right in the middle of her living room, screaming out her joy and waking her neighbors.