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He lunges like he’s bringing down a gazelle. There’s no chance to dodge.
Dutch takes me.
Squeezing the breath from my lungs, greedy arms wrapping me so tight.
I’m pinned too hard to flinch when he bites the fabric covering my throat.
I squeal.
Scissor in his arms.
It’s the non-scarred side.
Doesn’t pierce cloth.
But his teeth. The heat of his mouth.
Oh my god.
His touch.
His big body, pulling me down when I want to rocket away. Firm fingers biting my ribs.
He purrs, teeth dragging fabric, breath so loud, so agitated—
Shit.
Dutch used to give me half his sandwich to coax me into his lap. I’d balance on his knee while Bishop told him he was smiling like a buffoon.
Double-shit.
Buffoons are my favorite.
So much for protecting myself.
I’m already screwed.
Might as well enjoy the fall.
My fingers dig the blanket-warmed heat of his hips.
I claw him tighter.
I can’t remember the last time I let myself be hugged. The last time I could even handle being touched.
It was definitely Dutch.
Now I don’t want it to stop, because there’ll never be another hug this good.
One so warm and smoky with maple sugar.
He growls and purrs and breathes me in, all primal half-made sounds.
Ignoring the yawning emptiness in my soul, I press my cheek to Dutch’s welcoming heat, not sure if this is my worst lie or my deepest truth.
Whatever it is, it can’t last much longer.
Mate mate mate mate mate mate mate.
