“If we do this,” she says, holding a finger up, “you have to promise me that you will not try and manipulate me into being your mate when this is over, or into doing this again during the course of this show. Do you understand me?”
She gives me a very serious look, her finger still aloft. I wonder what it is she wants to do with that finger. If it’s meant to be intimidating, it is very much not. Her finger is about half the size of mine.
I wave her finger away gently because I don’t want her to poke my eyes with it out of spite to get this agreement, especially when she need not try so hard to get it.
“Lily, if you would let me ease your heat right now, I would give you anything in the world that you ask for.”
“Thank fuck.” Her slim, muscled leg slides over my lap, and she’s in my arms.
CHAPTER
SIX
LILY
An itty-bitty,teeny-weeny voice in my head is absolutely screaming that this is a horrible idea, that this is going to feel incredibly good, that I will regret it for probably the rest of my life. But thankfully that scream is very tiny, and I’m able to shut it up the minute I’m in Zan’s lap, because now it’s just the two of us… together.
It’s strange, actually, I thought if I gave in to this feeling and need between us, that he would be a selfish lover. That he would be like some of the men I’ve had before who were all talk and then completely lost interest the minute we hooked up or the minute I said that it was a one-pump-chump situation.
But Zan doesn’t even touch me. He’s just watching me, every plane of his muscles taut.
They’re fascinating, his muscles, covered in thick skin that reminds me of a chameleon I once held at a zoo. Scaly, pebbled leather, so small it’s nearly indistinguishable on his stomach and underarms, moving into larger scales that flare out at hisshoulders and along the exterior of his arms. It makes me want to feel out the texture everywhere.
The odd curiosity of that makes me run my fingers gently over his collarbone. He lets out a low hiss, and his wings, still tucked in tight behind him, shudder slightly.
“Why is it that you were so annoying for so long and now you’re not even touching me?” I ask him, tilting my head. I can’t seem to pull my fingers away, can’t seem to square my embarrassment with the fact that I’m straddling him and enjoying it, knowing I will almost certainly regret this to the very bottom of my soul tomorrow.
He blinks up at me. “Because of what you just said.”
“What I just said?” Confused, I tilt my head.
“Yes,” he says, tilting his head to mirror me, blinking slowly. “You said you would regret me touching you. That you’ll regret being here, in my arms.” His wings stretch out just slightly. They’re magnificent and nearly iridescent, deep purple fading into lavender along the rigid bone structure between the wings.
“I said that out loud?” I ask, narrowing my eyes slightly. Now that I think about it, of course I said it out loud. There’s no reason not to say anything out loud, not in this moment, right here with him.
I reach a finger out, unable to stop myself, and touch them too. They don’t feel like the rest of his skin. They’re a very thin membrane that’s as smooth as silk, and based on the way he closes his eyes, just as delicate.
Sleepy. Exhausted. Sore. I’m so tired. And all of a sudden, I want nothing more than to be touched.
“I want to be held,” I tell him, leaning up against him.
Gingerly, he reaches his arms around me, holding me close, and I rest my cheek against his chest. He’s so tall that I can’t quite make my face lean against his shoulder, but his chest is warm, and I can hear his heartbeat.
“This is nice.” I smile. “Maybe I don’t hate you after all.”
“I don’t hate you at all,” he tells me. “I’m glad to hear that you’re going to fall in love with me.”
“That is absolutely not what I said.” But for some reason, instead of being annoying, it just makes me laugh. Maybe I’m just too tired.
“You like me very much then?” he asks, tail twitching behind him.
“That’s not what I said,” I tell him. “I don’t hate you. But that doesn’t mean that I love you.”
“That does not mean that you do notnotlove me,” he argues. “I do not love you either.”
“We don’t even know each other.” I pat his chest, and it’s really hard. I pat it again. “But you already want to be my mate.”
“Of course I do,” he says, pushing me slightly. I glance up at him, and his brow is creased as he gives me a strange look, pulling his scar tight.
