And that’s when my mouth makes a sound. Like a woman’s shriek, a pig’s squeal, and a dog’s whimper, mixed with a six-year-old playing the recorder.
Wynter jumps back and only laughs harder.
“Fuck,” I curse the moment I shift back. And then wonder if I should cut down on cursing around my girl. Bad enough I want to fuck her every chance I get when we haven’t even been on a date. “I meant puck.”
Wynter grins. “Stop trying to distract me, Leith. I want to know why you left.”
“Because you turn me on.”
“You flew away, in the middle of our date, because I turned you on?” Wynter asks. And hell if her calling it a date doesn’t make my stick even harder.
“Pucking powers mess me the puck up when I’m turned on.” As if to prove my point, I shift—into the Yeti from the stands. At least Yetis can talk, unlike reindeer and bees. “That’s why I kept pucking up mid-game. When I get sexually frustrated. Puck!”
“I can’t take you seriously when you keep saying puck.” Wynter snorts, then belies her words by turning all serious and frowning at me. “I still don’t get it. If you’re into me, why leave?”
“Because you deserve more that a quick fuck on the ice. Or in the back of your van.”
I swear her pupils dilate at my words. And hell if my girl wanting me doesn’t make my shifting go haywire. Bee. Reindeer. Yeti. Bee.
“How about in a skate rental shack?” she asks, and that’s it.
I turn into an ice block that nearly slams into her, it’s that big. And hard. And fuck, I want her so bad I might explode. Can ice blocks explode? And would icicles shoot out of my nonexistent cock?
“Baby,” I growl when I shift into a form that can talk. Some random guy from the stands, I think. “If you keep talking like that, I won’t be able to hold back.”
“I don’t want you to hold back,” Wynter whispers, and places her palms flat on my chest.
“You deserve romance, baby.” I cup her cheek and stare into her eyes, which remind me of a puck on ice. What? It’s a beautiful sight. “I want to make our first time special. Dress up. Take you out. Bring you back to my room at the inn.”
I shift into the Yeti, but Wynter doesn’t bat an eye.
“Next time.” Wynter smiles up at me. “We can have dinner and candles and rose petals. But right now, I just want you.”
And I may be a selfish fuck—I mean, puck—but I cover her lips with mine.
Kissing Wynter is better than scoring the game-winning goal in the Supe Cup Finals. My heart pounds just as hard, and I swear, this moment, I’ll remember it forever.
Her lips are warm and soft beneath mine. And her cheeks, like satin. Or is it silk? Whatever the puck they use to make the sheets at the Royal Inn.
I scoop my girl up, and she wraps her legs around my waist. And in that moment, I know I’m lost.
I shift back to myself, but there are just so many clothes. Her coat. Her pants. Plus all my gear. And puck if I can’t wait that long.
I pull her jersey over her head and toss it onto the floor just as I shift. In Yeti form, I’ve still got hands. And they shake as I unzip her coat and slip it down her arms. I toss her sweater next, but hell, now my girl looks cold in her bright yellow bra.
Her nipples are so tight and peering through the fabric, and I need one in my mouth more than I need air. The moment I shift back, I grab my girl, pull her close and suck on her nipple right through the bra. Hard. Harder. Just to hear her moan.
And that moan. Sexy as hell. Makes me picture all the other ways I can make her moan, as soon as I lose all these chameleon-cursed clothes. Which is frustrating enough to make me shift into a bee.
My girl shivers, standing there in jeans and a bra in the middle of the shack. And I struggle to shift back and strip like the hounds of hell are on my heels. Did I mention that I shifted into one of those hounds mid-game? Managed to score, too. And speaking of scoring, Wynter and I have some of our own to do.
I kick off my skates, shin guards, pants. Reach for the hem of my jersey, then reconsider, and reach for my girl instead. I make quick work of her bra and suck on each nipple in turn. Keep sucking because I love how she arches her back and mewls in my arms.
“Leith, please, more.” She gasps, grabs my hand, and moves it to the waistband of her jeans.
But I like her like this. Like teasing her. So I snap the button and run my finger along the waistband of her panties, but refuse to slide it inside.
Except now I’m thinking of sliding it inside, and I’m frustrated as puck, and I shift. Into a troll.
I expect my girl to pull away, but she gasps. And hell if she doesn’t cry out when I tentatively kiss her breasts with my much thicker lips.
I’ve never been into chameleon play. Did it if it got me laid, but never really cared for shifting into a troll mid-fuck to get a girl off. But right here, right now? I’d do it a dozen times. Wynter just has to ask.
She doesn’t. Instead, she narrows her eyes at me and wiggles out of her pants and panties in one fell swoop. Then she takes off my jock, and my stick springs free, and damn if I don’t nearly explode right then and there.
“Protection spell.” Wynter flicks her wrist and covers my cock with a magic condom. Hands down the best perk of having a mate who’s a witch. “Now stop teasing me, Rogowsky. And fuck me.”
I don’t need to be told twice. But I also need to get Wynter ready—especially if I plan to shift mid-fuck. Some shifter cocks are huge, or ribbed, and I want her dripping wet.
I kiss her, hard and fast, and slide my thumb between her folds. She gasps as I slide it over her clit and kisses me like she’s devouring my mouth. Like she wants me as much as I want her.
I need to be inside her. But each time I flick her clit, she gasps, and her pleasure is like a heady drug that leaves me wanting more.
I fall to my knees in front of my girl. Grab her ass. Hold her tight. And suck her clit in my mouth. Then circle my tongue. And spell the alphabet. Her name. The fact that she’s the hottest girl to ever walk the earth and that I’m the luckiest chameleon alive to have her as my mate.
“Do you like that?” I breathe against her folds and give her another lick.
“Yes, please,” my girl whimpers and grabs fistfuls of my hair. Holds on strong.
And I shift into a troll. “Is this okay?”
“Yes,” she breathes. “Because I know it’s you.”
She looks down at me, her eyelids hooded, and eyes filled with passion as I give her another lick.
Her legs start to tremble.
I try for Yeti.
She gasps.
Then fae, just to see, and have her whimpering beneath my tongue.
I shift back. Fuck her with my tongue. Wish I could fuck her with my cock, but loving her like this is enough to keep my shifting in check.
“Puck, you taste so good,” I growl against her folds.
Wynter starts to laugh, but it turns into a cry. And then another cry as she starts to pump her hips against my face. Riding it. Moaning. Begging for more.
I slide one finger inside her, and that’s all it takes. To have her coming for me. To have her screaming my name.
And then I’m on my feet, lifting her, positioning her over my cock. And thank puck that I work out, because I’m going to fuck her standing in the middle of the skate rental hut. Show those skates a thing or two.