Beron didn't reply. His jaw remained locked in a hard line, his breath hitching as a sudden, telltale flush crept up his neck. The boy had read his mind with terrifying, split-second accuracy.
"My, my... aren't you a naughty one?" Holino chuckled raspily, his face moving so close that his parted lips practically brushed against Beron's mouth. His hand slid back down, his long fingers trailing slowly, deliberately down the fabric of Beron's stomach, tracing the rigid contours of his abdominal muscles beneath the shirt. "You're worried that you won't get enough space in here to turn me around... you're afraid you won't be able to hit me from all those different, brutal angles like you did that night at the Dwentreen... isn't that so, Alpha?"
He leaned in even closer, the intoxicating, heavy scent of his essence filling the narrow space between them. "Isn't that exactly what's running through that head of yours? Tell me."
