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“And that means?”
“Hi.” His smile was warm.
“Well, I know it’s not Spanish so… Mayan?”
“Huastec, yes.”
I could smell his shampoo, soapy and a little sharp, like cloves, maybe. “How do you ask ‘can I kiss you’ in Huastec?” I whispered, letting my mouth speak before my brain could tell it to shut up.
“U ejtowal ti c’uajat.”
My plan had, obviously, been to say whatever he’d come back with. Because that shit is romantic or something. I had forgotten my complete inability to pronounce either Aztec or Mayan words. I felt my ears flush.
“Um. How about you just pretend I said that?”
Taavi laughed softly. “You could say it in German,” he suggested, his voice a little lower and more breathy than it had been.
“I can do that,” I murmured back. “Kann ich dich küssen?”
“Antsana’.”
I bent lower. “Does that mean ‘yes’?”
He nodded, his hand braced on my chest, and I cupped my hands around his jaw, bending to gently lift his face so that I could tenderly capture his lips with mine.
But he apparently wasn’t interested in gentle.
The fingers pressed against my chest fisted in my shirt, pulling me toward him, his tongue teasing my lips open.
I wasn’t going to object. Or resist.
Instead, I was going to let myself melt into this kiss, into the warmth of his mouth, the feeling of his body against mine. I let my hands roam, over his shoulders, down his sides, until I could pull his hips tighter against me, both of us clearly enjoying the kiss.
I might have let out a small whimper, but I was completely unprepared for the thrill that rushed through me when he growled against my lips, and I gasped.
Taavi’s fingers loosened on my shirt, and he eased back off his toes, although he immediately leaned into me, resting his cheek against my chest. Even without a shifter’s sharp ears, I knew he’d be able to hear my heart pounding. I wrapped my arms around him.
“Val?” he asked, softly.
“Yeah?”
“Are you sure—”
“Yes.”
I felt him huff what I thought was a half-laugh. “You didn’t let me finish.”
I’d been pretty sure his question had been something about me being sure about taking off work or taking the time to make him food or something, but cutting him off was pretty rude. “Sorry. Am I sure what?”
“About… us.” He almost swallowed the words.
“Taavi,” I breathed out his name. “We are one of the few things I am absolutely sure about.”
I leaned back to look down into his mismatched eyes, both of them wide and shining. I cupped his cheek with one palm, running my thumb gently over his skin.
“Taavi—” But I wasn’t sure what to say. How to explain to him that the only reason I hadn’t just kissed him back in the first place six months ago had everything to do with me and my fucking screwed-up self-loathing.
Most people feel better about themselves when they think they look good. Not me, though. That would make some fucking sense. When I got hot, I immediately decided that anyone who liked me only liked the outside.
