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There's a gentleness there, a plea for understanding. Tentatively, I reach out with trembling fingers, my hand hovering in the air just shy of his snout. Giant teeth are hiding there, teeth that he had snapped at the poachers, teeth that had flashed as he growled at them.
But instead of the sharp teeth I had braced myself for, his tongue lolls out, unexpectedly licking at my fingers. Startled by the sensation, I instinctively yank my hand back, a mix of surprise and an instinctive reaction.
"Ew," I say with a laugh, the tension breaking at the unexpected, almost playful gesture.
He steps closer, and this time, as I reach out, my hand meets his fur. It's surprisingly soft, thick, and warm to the touch.
Running my fingers through it, I can feel the dense texture, each strand sliding smoothly between my fingers. The fur is a deep, rich color, a beautiful mix of shades that shift slightly as the light catches it. Up close, it's even more impressive – the sheer size of him, the strength evident in every muscle beneath the fur.
There's a surreal quality to the moment – touching the fur of a creature that, just moments ago, was the man I've come to know in such a short time. The reality of Aiden's dual nature is tangible under my fingertips.
This realization washes over me in waves but, strangely, those waves bring a sense of clarity. It makes sense, in a way that's as baffling as it is undeniable.
The pieces of the puzzle that is Aiden, his solitary life, his connection to the forest, and his protective nature, all fall into place.
My hand continues to stroke his fur. In this moment, with the early morning light filtering through the trees and a giant wolf before me, I feel a connection to Aiden that transcends the ordinary.
But, I also can't help but find a sense of irony in the situation, and with a small, nervous chuckle, I say, "Well, I guess I was right about you being a wolf."
7
Aiden
As I stand before Emma, still in my wolf form, I can sense her shock and awe. With a deep breath, I will myself to change back, the transformation happening in reverse. My fur recedes, bones shift, and in moments, I'm standing before her as a man again.
I'm acutely aware of my lack of clothing, a natural consequence of the change. Her eyes widen, darting over my body, making a valiant effort to maintain a level of decorum, though her gaze inevitably drifts.
I can't help but feel a primal satisfaction at her reaction, a deep-seated part of me responding to her obvious staring.
"So, you're a werewolf," she says, her voice a mix of wonder and disbelief.
"Many of us prefer the term shifter, but yes," I admit, stepping closer to her. "And you're my mate."
The words hang between us, a confession of a bond that goes beyond the ordinary, something forged by fate and nature.
Before she can respond, I crouch before her, my growing erection on full display, but I care very little about that. I cup her cheek, nuzzling close to her head, just breathing in her comforting scent before I close the distance between us, capturing her lips with mine.
She moans into my mouth as if tasting my desire there. I certainly taste her’s.
This kiss is different – it's fueled by a heat and need that had been simmering beneath the surface. Her response is immediate, her body softly yielding to mine as she returns the kiss with equal fervor. I need her.
When she lets out a second little sound, my tongue slips deeper, between her lips, as if to capture the sound itself, to taste it. Heart pounding, I carefully lift her up, mindful of her injured leg.
Her arms loop over my shoulders, trusting me not to drop her, and I press my face into her hair, breathing in her scent as I bring her to the bed. We shared the bed together last night, and now I’ll claim her in it.
I set her down, but before she can adjust or go far, I climb onto the bed, directly over her.
“Aiden,” she murmurs shyly, though her legs part, accommodating my body between them, welcoming me against her.
She feels it too, the bond between us, the desire to mate, and my wolf nearly howls with joy.
I nip at her bottom lip, then draw it into my mouth before kissing her again. She gasps. My hand settles on the back of her neck, tangling with some of that pretty chestnut hair of hers, holding her head steady as I deepen the kiss.
She tastes sweet, like honey and mint, and it sends heat down into my bulging erection.
My cock aches for her, to claim, to mark, to mate. I groan against her lips, fighting the instinctual urge to take her here, now.
I need to take this slow. For her. For my mate.
