Gwen's moan rolled out of him like thunder wrapped in velvet—low, hungry, and utterly unashamed—as his big hands clamped onto the soaked curve of Gwen's waist.
He yanked her forward through the chest-deep water, slamming her lithe elven body against the hard wall of his chest with a wet slap that sent ripples racing across the pond.
"Mmmph—!" Gwen's protest died the instant his mouth claimed hers.
His lips were hot, insistent, parting hers with zero hesitation. The French kiss was deep, filthy, perfect. His tongue slid in, stroking hers in slow, possessive laps while he sucked first her upper lip, then the lower, tugging it between his teeth with a wet pop before diving back in. Water streamed down their joined faces. Her silver-blonde hair clung to her cheeks like wet silk.
'You bastard,' she screamed inside her skull. 'You absolute, manipulative, tail-wearing bastard—'
