A hand in her hair, wrenching back her head. “What’s my name?”

She scratched trails down his back. He didn’t even wince. “My name, kitty. Say my name.”

“Mr. Mud Stick, Muddie for short,” she said, even as she rubbed herself against the hard thrust of his denim-covered erection, the roughness of the fabric an exquisite sensation. She would’ve liked naked skin even more, but he wasn’t budging.

“Say it, or no cock for you today.”

Her mouth fell open. “Fuck you.”

“You’ll be doing that shortly.” He kissed her again, a tangling of tongue and teeth and untamed male power. “Now”—he thrust against her, letting her feel the heavy, dark heat that she could have—“what’s my fucking name?”

It was tempting to continue to snarl at him, but her skin was slick with sweat and he was big and wild and delicious over her. And she wanted him in her. Now. “Men and their egos,” she muttered, just to piss him off a little. “Now do it, Riley. Or I’ll find someone else.”

He held her head where it was for another long second before lowering his face to hers, those amber eyes telling her exactly who was in charge inside him at that moment. “What did you say?” Quiet, quiet words.

She clawed his back again. This time, the wolf growled at her and the next few minutes passed in a fury of torn clothing and ravaging kisses, cries of pleasure intermingled with moans. And suddenly he was naked above her. Strong, hot, beautiful. She rose up against him, feeling her eyes go leopard as he put one hand on her thigh to hold her down and nudged at her with the aroused length of him.

She went to reach down, but he growled at her. Normally she’d have growled back, but he was making her feel so-damn-good. So she wrapped her other leg around him and thrust her hands into his hair, rocking her body upward. “I want you in me.”