I shake my head side to side, then start chewing on my bottom lip, my nervousness now a living, breathing thing inside me. His gaze drops to my mouth, followed by a pulse of desire.
He blinks hard, then drags his eyes back to mine. “What’s wrong?”
Sighing, I drop my head and my shoulders slump. Speaking to his chest, I confess, “I’m not, um, really experienced.”Unless I count trying not to grope someone while under a supernatural aphrodisiac.“And, I don’t…I mean, I just…I want you to like it.” Groaning, I rest my head against his shoulder. “God, it sounds so dumb when I say it out loud.”
With humored exasperation in his voice, he murmurs, “Estoy locamente enamorado de ti. Simplemente tocarte es un placer.”
“You do realize I don’t speak Spanish, and I pretty much haven’t understood most of what you’ve said tonight,” I mutter, my face tipping to the side and my nose brushing against his neck.
With one hand still buried in my hair, his other hand drops down to capture mine. He kisses my knuckles. My palm. My wrist. Drawing my hand to rest on his other shoulder, he reassures me, “I like it…a lot.”
My nerves quiet, soothed by his low voice and easy assurance. The safety I always feel in his arms seeps inside me, and I feel like I’ve come home. This is us. Honest and kind. My Connor. Someone who can look into my eyes and see the real me without a word. And he isn’t afraid.
My free hand slips around his lower back, and my fingers sneak under his shirt, tracing the heated skin just above his waistband.
“You like this?” I purr, my nose nuzzling his neck.
His grip tightens in my hair, and he breathes, “Yes.”
I place feather light kisses up his neck, along his jaw, and up toward his ear. Letting my warm breath fall against his skin, I tease, “And this?”
A shudder quakes through his body, and after swallowing heavily, a strained, “Yes,” escapes.
Grinning, I let my lips skate along his cheek, the stubble shadowing his jaw coarse against my skin. With my mouth so close to his, I can feel his heavy breaths. He moves to close the distance, but I teasingly pull away enough to savor this game. Connor smirks and remains still, waiting for me to come to him.
Finally, I barely brush my lips against his and murmur, “And this?”
“Yes,” he growls. With one hand bracing my neck and the other on my spine, he flips us over so I’m flat on my back and his waist is cradled between my denim-clad thighs.
I squeak and giggle with the motion, then moan as he takes his turn exploring the tender flesh of my neck. He leaves gentle love bites, kissing my throat after each one.
Because he’s so tall, he’s awkwardly half on the bed with his feet still on the floor. I wiggle further up the mattress, pulling on his shirt to bring him with me. He lets me tug the shirt right off his body, his hair a dark mess of loose curls around his face from the motion. On his hands and knees, he crawls after me, his well-defined muscles rippling with each motion. The light from the ceiling coats his copper skin with a yellow glow.
Heated desire burns through me, and I bury my fingers in his soft, loose curls as he lifts my shirt just enough to place gentle kisses along my stomach. He starts just above my waistband and ends around my lower ribs, each soft brush of his lips causing a tingling shock that radiates throughout my body. No one has ever touched me this way, which only seems to heighten the sensations flooding my veins.
His face continues to glide up my chest, his moist breath felt through the thin fabric of my shirt. I gasp when he then tugs my shirt down, so he can sprinkle kisses along the tops of my breasts, my clavicles, and up my neck. Each motion is taken with care, a savoring of exploration.
Still on all fours, Connor pulls back to look at me, and it’s his wolf that meets my gaze—the amber of Connor’s irises expanded until I can no longer see the whites of his eyes. His expression is tender with hints of awe, and he appears completely in control. Man and wolf are one.
His gaze is so intense it feels like it goes right through me, a warm touch that brushes my very soul and heals some of the darkness that coats it. He opens his mouth, then closes it again, like the words are stuck on his tongue.
Finally, he seems to settle on what to say and states, “You want to stop. We stop. Okay?”
“Okay,” I murmur, fairly sure that wasn’t what he originally meant to say—empathy powers still doesn’t equal mind reading—but I’m touched that he wanted it clear that whatever this is will only go as far as I want it to.
I sit up enough to wrap my arms around his neck, kiss him softly, which elicits a happy hum, then lay back, pulling him down with me. He’s once again cradled by my body—his waist between my thighs and his chest pressed to mine. His weight rests mostly on his elbows with his hands tucked under my back.
Entangled together, we take our time, switching back and forth from soul deep, toe curling kisses, to feather light kisses that cause chills to run down my spine. With each touch, each kiss, each intense look, it feels like he’s trying to commit every sensation to memory. There’s a bittersweetness to his joy, as if he fears I’ll be snatched away at any moment.
I wish I could tell him that he has nothing to fear, but that’s a lie. I’m a spirit witch. The Council wants all of my kind gone. Even if that wasn’t true, bringing someone back from the dead is punishable by death. Either way, it seems my life expectancy is shorter than I care to admit.
With roaming hands, my fingers dance along every hill and valley of his upper body. I kiss him with all that’s in me, pouring my heart into him so that pieces of me will forever be a part of him. If my days are numbered, I want them to be filled with life and love. Every day cherished.
My magic seems to hear my heart. When I place my hand to Connor’s chest, I feel it build within me. Unlike the times before when my magic has come at my call, this is gentle. Something that flows through me and into him, taking parts of myself with it.
He gasps, breaking our kiss, and his whole body shivers. There are so many emotions running through him, I can’t pick them apart, but something profound seems to slip to the surface. He kisses my forehead, my eyelids, my nose, my cheeks, and then my lips. Each touch a giving of himself.
With panting breaths, he promises, “You need me, I’ll be there. You desire it, I will fulfill it.” He then swallows heavily, before begging, “Callie… I need you... to bite me. Don’t care where. Hard as you can. Until you draw blood.”
