He ran his hand over her bare thigh, stroking higher. She already ached for completion, and if he didn’t finish what he’d begun, she would never forgive him. Ever.

Then his hand slid between her legs. Her breath caught. At first, he cupped her mound and began kissing her mouth again, as if he’d captured her and she was his. Without warning, he pressed two fingers into her wet sheath and she nearly came unglued.

“Oh, God, yes,” she breathed out, and then he nibbled on her lip, her ear, her chin, stroking her at the same time that he rubbed her sweet spot and alternating that with inserting his fingers into her. She felt the building crescendo, the peak so close that she wanted to race to the top. And then it happened—the sweet, wondrous climax hit, and she shattered into a million glorious, sated pieces, crying out with pleasure.

He was still kissing her when he began to unzip his pants. They couldn’t have sex—even though she desperately wanted to. Oh how she wanted to feel him buried to the hilt deep inside her, thrusting, feeling his own pleasure, but…they couldn’t. Not as lupus garous. Not unless they had decided on a mating. Which, of course, they had not. And this wasn’t supposed to be happening in the first place. But she wouldn’t have put a stop to it for the world.

He suddenly stopped what he was doing, grabbed the throw blanket at her feet, and tucked it under her. What was he doing? Too eager to know, she stroked his trousered legs.

He studied her for a moment, came to a decision, and yanked down his pants, then reached for her hand. He squeezed her fingers around his aroused length, guiding her to stroke him. They could do this, she thought with relief and a measure of excitement. She loved being able to give him pleasure too.

She stroked him, their tongues dancing. He groaned at her touch. She loved how he kissed her, continuing the more intimate connection between them. She’d already primed him so much with their kissing and then her coming that he quickly came.

For a moment, they breathed in each other’s scents, their hearts beating pell-mell, their skin moist with perspiration as they came off their exhilarating sexual high. She wished they could cuddle and wake up together in each other’s arms, as much as she knew they shouldn’t and couldn’t.

But now, she didn’t know what to say or do—and felt a little uneasy. He seemed to feel the same way as he studied her back, but didn’t say anything. He leaned down and kissed her lips sweetly, and she fought the impulse to wrap her arms around him and hold him tight—which would indicate she didn’t want to let go of him or the moment.

She kissed him back lightly, her hands gently stroking his arms in a way that wasn’t possessive or indicating she wanted to stay with him longer. Just a nice ending to an otherwise awkward moment.

“I guess it’s really time for bed now,” she said and instantly felt her skin warm, as if she was referring to going to bed with him now.

“Uh, yeah.” He moved off her, grabbed his shirt, and cleaned up, then pulled up his pants. At the same time, she worked on getting her toga back in place. He pulled on his sweater, gazing at her, not looking away as if he was ashamed. He was analyzing the way she was feeling like a wolf would, smelling her scent and watching her expression. Yet he looked a little worried. Was he concerned that they had done this? That he shouldn’t have? Or maybe he was bothered that he had come so fast and couldn’t hold on any longer.

Her emotions were all over the place, and she didn’t want to overthink what had happened between them. They’d just needed a release. That was all. They’d both been available—convenient. Nothing more than that. She refused to feel any remorse for what had happened between them here tonight.

He got her coat and helped her into it. She wanted to say something about it not meaning anything and not to regret it. But she didn’t want him to think she was saying that what they’d done meant nothing to her.

“Calla,” Guthrie said as they stood at the door. He didn’t say anything more, like he wasn’t sure what to say.

She smiled, though her smile probably didn’t appear very genuine. She didn’t much feel like smiling. “Thanks for the nice evening and the chance to unwind. I always need to do so after a big event.” God, did that sound like she had sex with a guy just to unwind after a party? And that she did it regularly? Feeling mortified, she felt her face heat, but she didn’t want to say anything else and make it worse.

He studied her for a moment as if judging or attempting to judge how she was feeling. But he left it at that and escorted her back to the keep in silence.

That was the hardest part, she thought. She immediately thought of what Baird would have done in a situation like this. Which was truly a case of not looking forward but looking back, and she couldn’t afford to do that. She had to remind herself that Baird was not Guthrie, and vice versa. That Baird wanted to mate with her from the beginning, so he’d eagerly attempted to push a mating whenever they were together. And she remembered how much she had stalled him by saying she was too busy to see him when sometimes she had not been. But she’d needed her space. And she hadn’t been ready.

At the same time, she hated that she couldn’t let go of the feelings of uncertainty with Guthrie. Yet she had to. For her own sanity.

She glanced at his shirt wadded up in his hand, his solemn look. She had the fleeting hope that no one would be about when they entered the keep. If anyone was, they’d know just why Guthrie had taken his shirt off in the garden room when he was alone with her out there.