He struggled under me, trying to thrust, to grab, to control, but I kept him pinned. After a moment, he gave up and arched against the ground, fingers clenching handfuls of grass, jaw tensing, eyes closing to slits, but staying open, always open, always watching. When the first wave of climax hit, I let him go, but he stayed where he was, leaving me in charge. Dimly, I heard him growl as he came, and by the time I finished and leaned over him, his eyes were half lidded, a lazy grin tweaking the corners of his mouth.
“Feeling better?” he said.
I stretched out on top of him, head resting in the hollow below his shoulder. “Much.”
Prisoner
WE LAY THERE FOR A FEW MINUTES, THEN I CAUGHT A whiff of blood and lifted my head. Blood trickled from Clay’s shoulder.
“Whoops,” I said, licking my fingers to wipe it off. “Got a bit carried away. Sorry about that.”
“Didn’t hear me complaining.” He brushed his fingertips across a fang-size hole under my jaw. “Seems I gave as good as I got anyway.” He yawned and stretched, hands going around me to rest on my rear. “Just add them to the collection.”
I ran my fingers over his chest, tracing the half-healed scabs and long-healed scars. Most of them were the residue of friendly fire-dots of too-hard bites or the paper-thin scratches of misaimed claws. I had them too-tiny marks, nothing to draw stares when I wore halter tops and shorts. Even after fifteen years as a werewolf, I had few true battle scars. Clay had more, and as my hands moved over them, my brain ticked off the stories behind each. There wasn’t one I didn’t know, not a scar I couldn’t find with my eyes closed, not a mark I couldn’t explain.
He closed his eyes as my fingers moved down his chest. I stared up at his face, a rare chance to look at him without him knowing I was looking. I don’t know why that still matters. It shouldn’t. He knows how I feel about him. I’m having a child with him-it doesn’t get any clearer than that, not for me. But after ten years of pushing him away, trying to pretend I didn’t love him-wasn’t still crazy-in-love with him-I’m still cautious in some small ways. Maybe I always will be.