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“Nah, this is where I draw the line.” Okay, so he’d drawn various lines with this feline, but it had to be done. Because her idea of “acceptable” didn’t generally cohere with his own.
She tossed the insect up in the air, let it drop to the floor, and then pounced on it—killing it in one, smooth merciless move. His cat approved.
Isaiah grunted. “Better.” He kicked the dead insect outside. “You going or staying?” he asked her.
She sat down and started licking her paw.
He took that as a “staying” response. Isaiah closed the door, swiftly cleaned up the spatter of spider blood, and then squatted close to her. “Do I get to pet you?” he asked, holding out his hand.
She sauntered over, walking beneath his palm, leaning into his touch. He petted her over and over, focusing on her favorite spots—mostly her chin, neck, and forehead. All the while, he murmured sweet nothings to her, smiling whenever she scent-marked him.
His animal pressed close to his skin, pushing hard; wanting out. Caving, Isaiah stripped off his clothes and gave his feline freedom.
The female cat stilled in surprise. Not wanting to startle her, the pallas cat walked toward her slow and easy. She stayed still, not moving her gaze from him.
He bumped her nose affectionately. She startled but then bumped his right back.
The male cat slid his body against hers. Again, she mimicked his move. Their tails tangled—one slender, one bushy.
Once done rubbing themselves all over each other, they played. Tussled. Climbed. Ran around the house for over an hour.
Finally, pressured by their human halves, they returned to the kitchen and subsided, giving over the control.
Her skin hot from the shift, Quinley shuddered as the air whispered over her flesh. The house wasn’t cold, but the air felt cool in comparison to her body temperature. She pulled her clothes on so fast it was a wonder she didn’t clumsily trip over.
Isaiah—who seemed to burn hotter than any fire, the lucky bastard—lazily pulled up his jeans, his lips curling in amusement at how quickly she’d dressed.
“Your cat is super cranky,” she groused. The feline had played, but he liked to control the game. And if he hadn’t been winning a chase or able to herd her cat in the direction he’d wanted her to go, he’d gotten all moody.
Isaiah fastened his fly. “He doesn’t like that your cat won’t obey him all the time.”
“He also doesn’t like to lose, but he’ll never beat her in a race.”
“We’re never going to talk about that out loud, though.”
She felt her lips bow up. Dominants and their egos. “Oh, right, okay.”
He snatched his long-sleeved tee from a stool and slipped it on. “So… we’re gonna make a new rule.”
She groaned. “Another one?”
“No eating spiders in the house. And it isn’t my fault your cat needs rules.”
“And it isn’t her fault you’re squeamish. You overreact about the littlest things. Like when she caught the mouse. I mean, she’s a cat; it was a mouse. These things happen.”
“I didn’t freak because she’d caught a mouse. I freaked because she buried it alive, though not before breaking its legs and taking a bite out of its tail.”
“Squeamish,” she sang low.
He shrugged, snagged her hip, and drew her close. “Call it what you want.” He pressed a long kiss to her mouth that she couldn’t help but hum into. “On a whole other note, have you finished wrapping?”
“For tonight,” she replied, curving her hands around his shoulders. “If there’s any stuff you want me to wrap for you, let me know; I’ll do it.” She liked wrapping. There was something soothing about the mindless activity, especially if she stuck on a Christmas movie to half-watch while doing it.
He nuzzled her hair. “Thank you.”
She glanced at the bag on the island. “Are there snacks in there? Because I’m feeling peckish.” He’d only gone to the store to stock up on bread and pastries, she knew, but he had a habit of coming home with snacks for her.
“I did in fact buy you a candy bar.”
