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FOURTEEN
The momentthe door was closed, Dax’s hands were on my body, my back pressed against the door while his lips caught mine. The kiss skipped the slow and calm stage, torpedoing straight into hot and heavy.
His hands squeezed and explored my ass, thighs, and breasts, mine running over the ridges on his abdomen, the hard muscles on his arms, the curve of his tight backside.
Shit, his body was perfect.
He pulled away, his lips roaming my throat and ear, fiddling with my earrings again as he played with my breasts and ass, while I panted a bit.
“What’s this for?” I asked, chest still rising and falling quickly.
“You were incredible with them,” he growled into my ear. “I’ve never seen my mom that happy in her whole damn life. She’s constantly disappointed with me.”
“Are you kidding? She only likes me because I’m with you, and because she’s proud of you, and glad that you’re mated and therefore not dead. And for the record, I’m happy to do a bunch of stuff with her. I never got to do anything with my mom, at least not that I remember.”
He lifted his face from my neck, frowning. “What do you mean?”
I bit my lip, and he released my boob. His hands landed on my hips, still sexy and comfortable, but no longer actively feeling me up.
“She died when I was little.” I shrugged. “My dad never got remarried, and I doubt he ever will. He raised me, and he did his best, but I was alone a lot. Hence all the books.” I gestured in the direction of my library.
Dax’s forehead knitted. “Fuck, Sab. I’m sorry.”
My nose wrinkled. “Since when do you call me Sab?”
His forehead knitted further. “You told my parents you don’t like to be called by your whole name. I hadn’t realized—I would’ve stopped ages ago if I’d known.”
Oh.
Well, that was adorable.
“I thought you were doing it to offend me at first,” I admitted. “But now, it’s kind of our thing. You calling me Sabrina.” I shrugged a bit. “You don’t have to, but I like it when you do. Just don’t tell anyone else to.”
His lips turned downward. “You thought I was trying to offend you?”
“I thought we’d clarified that I didn’t think you liked me much when we met.”
He grumbled. “We did. I just don’t like it.”
My lips curved upward, and I patted him on the chest consolingly. “The past is in the past, right?”
“Right.” His agreement wasn’t believable, but I wasn’t offended.
“I really do need a shower—and you do too. Come on.” Grabbing his arm, I tugged him back toward my room.
We stripped, checking each other out without a damn shred of shame.
Though we stared at each other without shame, neither of us made the first move to instigate anything steamy. So we stepped into the shower together, with all four of my admittedly-excessive shower heads raining down on us.
“You wanted to call your dad while we were in the hospital,” Dax remarked, as he grabbed some soap and lathered it between his gigantic hands.
Damn, I was already a little obsessed with those hands.
If only he hadn’t brought up the dreaded topic I wanted to avoid so severely.
Knowing I shouldn’t—and likely couldn’t—avoid the topic any longer, I turned my back to the werewolf and ran my fingers over my now-soaked hair so I wouldn’t have to make eye contact.
Those big, sexy hands found my hips, and I couldn’t help but groan out loud as they slicked along the curve of my waist, over my abdomen, and up to my breasts.
