An American Werewolf in Hoboken by Dakota Cassidy Page B

shades of whore if she found out about this—because this was so unlike her. She was careful when she chose to sleep with someone. She took her time; she considered who she shared her body with.
    But not tonight. Tonight she’d given it up as if Max were lobbing Benjamins at her and daring her to do him.
    It was as if something had taken over her—some demon succubus had crept inside her body and demanded its due. As though if she didn’t order this man to make love to her, if she didn’t comply with what her body was screaming for, she’d die of it.
    Which was utter bullshit. This couldn’t be blamed on the Linda Blair/possession theory her girlfriends always made jokes about when they hooked up with a man simply for the pleasure of it.
    A slow descent from the madness she’d just experienced began as her body calmed, and she tried to rationalize what had just happened.
    But there was one thing she couldn’t deny. Not in all her experiences had she ever had an orgasm like that, so rich in texture, so well defined and so sharply sweet, it had turned her inside out.
    And now, there he was above her, his eyes staring down at her, as though he knew she was going to question her motives—her sanity. She slammed her eyes shut. She could do without the Vulcan eye-meld right now.
    Max’s hands soothed her skin, sliding over it with gentle fingers. “Look at me.”
    Never. Not if he pried her eyes open with toothpicks.
    How could she look at him after that wanton display of lust? How could she look at him after being swept up in his I-want-to-get-to-know-you-after-I-make-love-to-you line?
    Jesus, all he’d done was help look for her dog and order a pizza and suddenly she was buck-naked on his table, slapping her legs around his waist, and riding him for all she was worth.
    JC shook her head. Eye contact was absolutely out of the question.
    Max’s hand was gentle when he cupped her chin, tilting her jaw upward. “Look at me now , JC.”
    “Mm-mm.” She shook her head again.
    His sigh was long, his breath fanning her flushed cheeks. “JC, look at me, please.”
    “No.”
    “Isn’t that going to make it hard to find your clothes?”
    Her lips twitched. “I’ll feel my way around.”
    “We just made some pretty amazing love right here on my kitchen table—are you just going to ignore the ramifications of that?” he asked, caressing her lower lip with his thumb.
    On the kitchen table, JC. Pass the salt . “I’m working that out right now.”
    “You’re embarrassed.”
    “I’m appalled.”
    “There was nothing appalling about that.”
    “We’re on a kitchen table.” Oh God.
    “In fairness to your virtue, my bed wasn’t set up.”
    “Obviously virtue is something I don’t have to worry about.”
    He chuckled. “Open your eyes.”
    “Not on your life. Now be chivalrous and go to another room so I can get dressed and slink out of here with minimal dignity.”
    Dropping a kiss on her jaw, he said, “Not gonna happen.”
    “Please?”
    “Nope. Not until you open your eyes and look at me.”
    “What will looking at you change?”
    “Was this the first time you’ve ever done something like this?”
    “You mean take my clothes off just because I was asked to?”
    The rumble of his laughter seeped into her chest. “Made love because you wanted to—without all the other stuff muddying it up.”
    “Other stuff?”
    “Regret, remorse, the fear you’ll be labeled.”
    “I don’t care about labels. I do care about thinking things through. So apologies if I’m all kinds of unsure about just who I am. This is my first one-night stand. Is it yours?”
    “Nope. I’ve had a few.”
    She squinted her eyes to peek at him. “So then you’re accustomed to feeling cheap and recklessly impulsive. Me, on the other hand—a newb to all this cheap—still sort of feeling my way around.”
    Max made a gravely serious face, fighting a grin. “It just takes time.”
    She opened her eyes all the way and rolled