My hand is still on his jaw. His fur tickles my wrist. My heart feels like it’s trying to punch its way out of my chest.
“If this is too much,” I say softly, “tell me to stop. I will. But if you want this even a little, then let me make it really, unmistakably clear that your species, your form—none of that is the problem. Okay?”
For a long, suspended moment, he doesn’t answer.
His eyes search mine, flicking from one to the other, as if looking for doubt.
Then he exhales, and the breath shudders. “I want this,” he says hoarsely. “More than I should.”
Relief hits me so hard I have to close my eyes for a beat. “Okay,” I whisper. “Then… bend down a little.”
A huff of nervous amusement escapes him. “You’re on a stool.”
“You’re still a tree,” I say. “Bend, Boone.”
He obeys.
He folds at the knees and hips until his face is closer to mine, until I can see the tiny variations of color in his irises, the way the fur around his mouth is a shade darker.
I lick my lips, suddenly hyperaware of my own breath, my own shaking hands.
Then, very gently, I lean in and press my mouth to his.
Kissing Boone isn’t like kissing anyone else.
His mouth is wider than a human’s, his lips thicker. There’s fur at the edges, soft against my skin. The angle is strange at first; I have to tilt my head a little more than usual, have to adjust for the distance and the shape. His breath is warm,carrying the faintest scent of smoke and sweetness from the marinade.
He goes completely still beneath me.
Not rejecting. Not pulling away. Just holding himself as if he’s terrified that any movement might hurt me.
It’s the single most careful kiss I’ve ever received.
Different doesn’t mean bad. It just means… new. My brain catalogs the sensory details with dizzy, delighted focus. The give of his lips. The rumble of air through his chest. The faint static of fur against my cheeks.
I keep it light at first. Just a press. A brush. An asking, not a demand.
I pull back an inch, eyes flickering up to his.
He’s staring at me like I’ve just cracked open the sky.
“See?” I murmur. “No exploding. No screaming. No running.”
He swallows hard. His hands twitch at his sides, claws flexing in and out of the pads of his fingers.
“You’re holding back,” I realize aloud.
His gaze skitters away. “You’re small,” he says. “I don’t want to…”
“Hurt me,” I finish for him. “You won’t.”
His expression says he doesn’t believe that.
Screw that. I’m done with caution.
“Boone,” I say, sliding my arms up around his thick neck, burying my fingers in the fur there. “Catch me.”
He startles. “What?”
