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And to be honest, I was both mad about that and glad.
Glad because I wanted his kiss. Mad because he was doing it to shut me up.
But I’d show him.
Digger was going to get over this self-sacrificing shit because now that I had him, I wasn’t going to let him go.
He didn’t know it yet, mostly because I hadn’t known until I’d slept eight hours through, but I’d meant every one of those vows I’d pledged to him with the Grinch and a couple of staff members from the chapel as our witnesses.
Death wouldn’t be parting us for alongtime.
To some, it’d seem too quick for me to know that I wanted him forever, but not to me.
Not.
To.
Me.
“You’re living up to your name, MaryCat.” He pulled back to nip my bottom lip. “I can feel your claws. Hissing and spitting. Bristling at me.
“Do you know how fucking beautiful you are right now?”
I didn’t answer because the time for words was gone. I arched up and urged our mouths to reconnect.
Only, I showed Digger what I wanted.
Him.
My tongue slid against his, tangling and teasing until the battleground wasn’t my mouth but his.
He grunted into the kiss, bobbing lower so that I had more of his weight on me.
My arms slid around his shoulders, and I stroked one set of fingers through his hair, simultaneously scraping my nails over his skull as I dug my knees around his hips and, with a surge of strength that surprised him, urged him to roll over.
I knew he permitted the move—he was too big for me to shift him on my own—but when I was straddling him, power rushed through me.
Maybe I was David playing with Goliath—and I didn’t mean with Digger—but I just wasn’t going to allow other people to dictate my life anymore.
Mary Catherine was gone.
Long live MaryCat.
With that surge of power came the ripples of need that I’d experienced ever since he’d rode into my life.
I retreated only so that I could drag my shirt overhead, uncaring that a couple buttons popped away in the process. Next, I unclipped my bra, and all the while, my eyes were locked on him.
Then, I caught his hand in mine and pressed a kiss onto his palm before I drew it to my breast.
“Touch me, James. Touch me like I’ve wanted you to for years.”
A grunt escaped him at that, but his fingers, callused and rough around the edges, scraped over my breast.
When he tweaked the nipple, my head fell back at how damn good that felt. My groan was guttural as I rocked against him, grateful that my center was experiencing his hardness full throttle.
“Does that feel good, baby girl?”
Head rolling on my neck, I whimpered.
