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He rumbled a growl. “Again.”
This time, he fucked her hard. Held nothing back. Took everything, gave the same in return. And he bit right over her claiming brand as they both came.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“It doesn’t matter how many times I watch this movie I never get sick of it,” said Quinley.
With her sat between his thighs on the sofa as he pretty much wrapped himself around her, it was easy for Isaiah to dip his hand into the bag of chocolate drops she held. That she didn’t bite his fingers was a testament to the level of comfortability they had—black-foots didn’t share food with just anyone.
He threw two chocolate drops into his mouth. “So it’s a favorite, then?”
“Yes, but I only ever watch it in December—and usually only on this very evening each year.” Tipping her head right back to meet his gaze, she asked, “How do you usually spend Christmas Eve?”
“I don’t really treat it differently than any other day.”
She grimaced. “Oh, you poor soul. That’s just sad.”
He felt his lips curve. “And you do this every year?” he asked, his gaze sweeping from the movie to the wide selection of snacks on the coffee table.
“Watch Christmas movies and pig out? Yup.”
Typically, Quinley didn’t do well with sitting still for long periods, so he was honestly surprised she’d been content to laze about for several hours straight. Then again, the abundance of candy, cookies, and other snacks were probably responsible for that.
They’d spent the whole day together, aside from the hour she’d disappeared upstairs to finish wrapping the gifts she’d then stuffed under the tree with the others.
“You’re free to leave me to my own devices and go do whatever you want,” she said. “I don’t expect you to lounge about with me.”
“I like lounging about with you.” He nabbed another chocolate drop and threw it into his mouth. “There’s beer at hand, more snacks than even you could eat—”
“Don’t be so sure.”
“—and I get to feel you up.” He cupped her breast over her sweater and squeezed. “What’s not to like?”
“How come I don’t get to feel you up?” she groused.
“Because I said so.”
“Lame.” She righted her head, returning her attention to the TV.
Smiling, Isaiah nuzzled her neck and pulled her closer. She fit against him just right. Fit there like she’d been born to. He couldn’t imagine that another person would suit him better than she did.
His father had said the same of Andaya, just as Deke had said the same of Bailey. Originally, Isaiah hadn’t really understood how a shifter could feel that way about anyone other than their true mate, the literal other half of their soul.
But Quinley… she was like a puzzle piece he’d been missing. She made him feel alive and chased away the numbness. She’d restored the balance he hadn’t realized he’d lost.
It had cut him deep that he’d never have his true mate. But each time Quinley had given herself over to him, had trusted him so implicitly, had let him in that little bit more, she’d increasingly closed over that wound. It now no longer bled. More, she was a balm to the jagged scar there.
Both he and his cat were elated that imprinting had begun. They were also less edgy, satisfied that their claim to her was taking metaphorical shape. But neither man nor animal would relax completely until the bond formed. Both were resolute that it would; both determined that said bond would never turn brittle or break.
There had been a slight change in her since yesterday. She was more relaxed. More sure of him, of them. As if the beginning of the imprinting process had given her the reassurance she’d needed that they were on the exact same page.
It was just as much as a relief for him. He was actually glad they’d come across Lucinda yesterday. Because it had been the subsequent conversation between him and Quinley that had fully opened up the possibility of imprinting.
He’d assured her in the very beginning that she wasn’t some kind of fallback mate; that she would never play second fiddle. She’d seemed to have believed him, but maybe a part of her had needed some extra reassurance. He hadn’t seen that. Should have.
Once the bond formed, she wouldn’t be able to—consciously or subconsciously—hide such doubts from him again. He’d feel them. The thought of that pleased him. He would then be able to better monitor her emotional welfare. He didn’t like the idea that she might hold shit in and torment herself with it.
They hadn’t yet told anyone that imprinting had started, because they knew that they would be thereafter swarmed by nosy well-wishers. They wanted this time alone; wanted to spend their first Christmas Eve as a mated couple alone.
