Serayah Morgan.
"Roar," I whisper, looking at his swollen lips as he holds my arm up. This is the third time he’s kissed me. The third time his wish isn’t to break me. And yet, it’s the first time his wish is simply to kiss me.
Despite the confusion clouding my mind, his lips come for me again and I close my eyes. I perceive the scent of his perfume—like the glass of a devil’s wine. Of leather and of power. I open my mouth, again to his deprived hunger that I do not understand. He tastes of steel, of cold rain, of showers, of anger and siege. With my eyes closed, my hands find the collar of his shirt to hold, but I don’t need it anymore. His hands hold and anchor my waist so I don’t shift from his mouth.
This is my first kiss. This is the first time a wolf is kissing me, and from the l
