“Holding you,” he murmurs against my skin.
Then I feel a tug at the back of my head and realize he’s sliding out my hairband. When the mass tumbles free, he eases his fingers through the strands in a surprisingly gentle manner.
“You’re not mad?” My voice sounds vulnerable to my own ears, and I try to swallow the emotions that threaten to spill out.
“Not at you.” His arms tighten. “Never at you.”
My first relationship rule sits silently between us. The answer to who Roderick is truly angry with.
But I won’t be the cause of a werewolf war.
“And you’re okay that I’m not ready to do anything?”
Roderick lifts his head, eyes still black as night.
“Holding you is something.” He kisses my forehead and inhales deep enough for me to hear the air filling his lungs. “Holding you is everything.”
And I believe him.
31
RODERICK
Very rarely doessomeone get the jump on me. But the morning I wake up in Juliet’s bed, I realize I’m lying alone, and there’s a presence looming over me.
Luckily, my nose saves me from doing anything regrettable, like striking out at my audience. The scent of lemons and paper drifts from the figure, and when I crack an eye open, I discover Juliet grinning down at me.
“Are you ready for this?” she asks, voice delighted.
“Hmm?” I make the questioning noise in the back of my throat as I roll to my side and reach out for her.
Why is she out of bed?I want her warm body pressed to mine.
Last night, when we slowed down and just spent time together, I’d never felt so relaxed in my life. And when Juliet invited me to stay the night after we finished eating pie, I knew the trust we needed was solidifying. When she settled beside me in her bed, I immediately tucked her into my side and fell asleep.
Was I disappointed we hadn’t had sex? Not really. That’s not to say I don’t want to feel what it’s like to be inside her. To have her orgasm while she’s taking me deep.
But I want more than that from my librarian. And last night, I got more. She trusted me to hold her all through the night.
Now it’s morning, and I’m not done cuddling her. But Juliet dodges my grasping hand with a laugh and holds up her phone.
“Nuh-uh. If we’re going to do this”—her fingers flick between us—“then I need to dothis.”
With that, she presses the screen on her phone, and a song blares from the speakers. The beat is poppy, some kind of techno. Then a heavy beat joins in, and a woman starts singing about dancing on her own.
Which is exactly what my librarian is doing.
Juliet Adair may have some secrets, but she was being completely honest about her dancing. The movements are wild and disjointed. Sometimes, she stumbles into a sexy hip thrust or an enticing hair flip, but for the most part, she looks like a demented cheerleader who overdosed on team spirit.
Our mate is playful,my wolf declares, his delight clear.
And he’s not the only happy one.
This is a completely carefree version of the woman.
Our woman, my wolf insists.
Not officially. Not yet. But this display is a good sign.
