“Yeah, baby! Take it off!” someone screamed.

He threw his shirt at the woman, more to quiet her than because he really wanted her to have a souvenir.

Emma’s lips parted. Her gaze scorched his chest as it glided from his neck to his navel and skipped a little further down.

His cock leapt inside the tight constraint of the g-string. He hated the damned thing. It squeezed his balls and forced his shaft to fit between the confines of the elastic that ran around his package. It rarely ever did when Emma danced. Instead, it swelled and throbbed, doing its damned best to peek out from beneath the thin material and give the women something to really scream about.

Emma flung her bra off. The men watching her howled their approval.

Durand forced himself to continue dancing when all he really wanted to do was leap up on that stage and take one of her nipples between his teeth. They looked perfect for nibbling. Her areolas were light pink and puffy, but her nipples stood out in sharp contrast, their dark crinkled tips shimmying against the smoky air.

A soap bubble burst on the top of one breast, leaving a slick trail all the way down to her nipple. Durand nearly groaned aloud. He’d seen her naked plenty of times, but he’d never been able to touch her.

Not for lack of trying or wanting to, but because she simply… ran. Each time her performance ended, she bolted through the curtain behind her stage. She didn’t go to the dressing room provided for the dancers. Nor had he ever seen her in the mess hall for dinner. No, she ran straight to her cabin, bolted the door, and stayed inside until her next performance.

Well, to hell with that. He’d had enough of pining away after her from afar. Tonight would be different.

As if to punctuate his thought, the moon’s pull on his cells intensified. The rush zooming through his system kicked up another notch. He could smell the arousal of every woman in the place, but it was Emma’s scent that caught his interest.

She smelled different than the others. Feral. He’d know the scent of a wolf in heat anywhere, whether or not she was in her human form.

Her gaze caught his again. Held. she traced her lower lip with the tip of her tongue and his cock jerked along with the rest of his body. The need to shift drove every step he took.

He wanted to see her pussy. Craved it the way he craved the transformation from man to animal, running free along the edges of the crew’s quarters in the middle of the night.

He considered dancing his way through the crowd and joining her on her own tiny stage. Once there, he’d peel off those metallic panties, bare her beautiful pussy to his hungry gaze—as well as that of every other man in the room—and part her pink folds, opening her to him.

She’d taste as good as she smelled. He was certain of it. His mouth would hover just below her pussy lips as he knelt before her. She’d squat slightly, opening herself a little more, giving him an intimate peek at the dewy folds baring the way to her glistening opening.

Then he’d draw his tongue across her slit. Slowly, oh-so-slowly. She’d shudder in time with the music, her breasts rising and falling with the rhythm of her frenzied breathing.

Oh, God, how he needed that. Desire blended with sharp, stinging lust to turn into adrenaline and fill his veins. His hips moved almost of their own accord, his cock aching to be freed.

He thrust upward, picturing her beautiful face caught in the throes of pleasure. She’d open her mouth a fraction as he filled her, desperate for the feel of him, mouthing his name.

His gaze narrowed in on Emma’s chest. It rose and fell, heaving with the force of her breathing. A blush stained her skin, creeping from the valley of her cleavage all the way into her cheeks.

She wasn’t shy about baring her body. He already knew that about her. So the blush had to be coming from somewhere else, caused by something else.

It was then he noticed the flexing of her stomach muscles, the way her thighs quivered as she moved. Her nipples remained taut, as though pinched by an invisible hand. When she met his gaze again, the intensity and desperate need he saw there knocked him for a loop.

Her mouth opened. She murmured his name, just as he imagined she would. Something hot closed around his cock, as solid and unmistakable as if he’d buried himself inside her tight pussy to the hilt.

He lost the rhythm of the music. Lost the momentum. It took all the clarity he possessed to shuck his gauzy pants, curl his fingers under the waistband of the g-string and pull. Hard.

The elastic band snapped, coming apart in his hand. His cock was free. It bobbed, slapping against his stomach. The warm, slick feel of what he imagined to be Emma’s pussy clamping down on his shaft drove his balls high up in his sac. They ached even harder now than when they’d been pressed together in the fabric of the g-string.

He started, leapt into the air and came down in a crouch. Emma’s legs shook. Her hands were fisted at her sides, but they quivered, too, as though she tried hard to keep from bringing them to her needy cunt.

A rush of pleasure broke over her face, suffusing her features with a deeper blush. He felt like a voyeur, observing a private moment no one else in the room should be privy to. He continued to watch her, in awe of what he was witnessing, when her bliss careened into him with the speed of a moving train.

The orgasm caught him unaware. One moment he still thought he was performing for the crowd, his cock in an erect but somewhat manageable state. The next fire raced down his spine and he was coming, giving in to the sheer bliss erupting through his veins.

His world faded down to Emma.

A thick stream of white cream burst from his cock. It flowed in a hot jet to spill onto the wooden platform. Droplets scattered elsewhere—on a woman’s blouse, in a goblet of wine, against a pair of glasses.

The music stopped.