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“I’m not asking him for permission. I’lltellhim our plans. This multi-million-dollar facility,” he gestures in all directions, “all the soldiers, you women… it’s all to help us splicers go from broken prisoners to people who can spend the rest of our lives in search of peace and happiness. Somewhere along the way, that means we learn to be in charge of ourselves. For me, that starts today.”
It's a joy to watch him step into his own power.
“Go you, Ty. This will be your coming out party.”
He leans back as if his body was pushed back by an abrupt, strong wind.
“Coming out? I said this isBollywooddancing.” He says the word slowly, emphasizing every syllable. “There will be no pink tutus. Although there’s nothing wrong with being gay, that’s not what this is about.”
I laugh and grab his hand, then wrench my hand back as if it were on fire. Am I hallucinating or did it feel like an electric spark arced between us at just that swift touch?
“A coming out party has nothing to do with being gay. It’s kind of an announcement to the community that things have changed. It used to be when young women were introduced to eligible bachelors. I used the term to mean it would be a visual statement that you’re not prisoners anymore. That you’re in charge of your own lives now.”
He nods, slowly at first, then faster.
“Yes. Everything is different now.” He pulls one foot from under the table and wiggles his furred, clawed toes at me. “I don’t wear shoes anymore.”
There’s something about the way he said that, like a little boy proudly showing me his new pair of shoes. It strikes me as so genuine… and adorable.
When I raise my glance from his bare feet, it’s as if the world shifts on its axis. I’ve spent time in close proximity to this male, but I’ve never been struck by how handsome he is.
He’s not a man.
As soon as my mind gets beyond what he isnot, I can appreciate what heis. He lives inside this gorgeous orange pelt with its beautiful black and white stripes. It’s only when my fingers twitch in my lap that I realize how badly I’m itching to slide my fingers through his velvety fur. Even sitting there as he tries not to scare me, he is the personification of an alpha male.
His lips are the perfect amalgamation of human and feline. And his whiskers… at first I thought they were one of the most “other” things about him. Now all I can think about is to wonder if they’d tickle when we kiss.
Really? Am I thinking about kissing Ty?
He’s completely still, not moving a muscle, just watching me. For a moment, I feel like prey, but no, that’s not it. He might want to eat me, but by the direction of his gaze, the flair of his feline nostrils, and the way his tail lashes behind him, there’s only one specific piece of my body he wants to taste. My lips.
There’s something about the ferocity of his focus that calls to something deep inside me. I’m drawn to him. My nipples prick beneath my clothes, and my channel clenches.
When I realize we’re in dangerous territory, I swallow, clear my throat, and focus my attention on the tablet sitting on the table.
“No shoes, huh? Must feel amazing.” I try to salvage the remnants of our conversation even though I think I was crushing on him for long minutes and he probably doesn’t even remember what we’d been talking about. “So, what’s on the pad?” I try to sound nonchalant.
When I gaze up at his face, it’s clear we’ve both moved on from that awkward, silent moment fraught with sexual awareness. Whether he was thinking about kissing me or not, desire is no longer written on his handsome, feline face. He’s all business.
“Costumes.” That almost came out as a whisper, so he clears his throat and repeats. “We’ll need costumes.”
Chapter Nine
Tyler
I’ve tried to focus on nothing more than dancing for the last week. I’ll admit, thoughts of Olivia floated through my mind from time to time. They were in two camps.
Half the time, I contemplated how terrified she’d been of me. I hated those thoughts because they made me believe that if someone who was being paid to tolerate me couldn’t bear to be in my presence, I’ll never get off this compound and have a chance at a real life.
The other half of my thoughts about my former mentor were of a very different variety. I pictured her lush lips, her plush figure, or the scent I only caught vague hints of that hid under the burned rubber smell of her fear.
I shook those images out of my head faster than the reminders of my humiliation. Long ago, I learned it wasn’t a good idea to want something I couldn’t have.
Looking at her when I walked in today, it was as if an electric jolt coursed through my veins. How did I fail to notice how beautiful she is?
Her looks are striking, even though her long brown hair is casually pulled into a tail at the top of her head. Though they force all the civilians, women and males alike, to wear baggy Hawaiian shirts and khakis, I can’t miss the enticing curves of her figure.
She seems genuinely pleased to see me. Even if I’m reading her facial expression and kind voice wrong, her scent doesn’t shout her terror at me. That’s a good sign, right?
