He was so tired, and she could help him. She eased off her shoes, then her sweatshirt, stripping down to the sweatpants and tank top she’d purchased in Huntsville. “Can I lie down with you?”
Something flashed in his eyes, something almost like gratitude. “Will you?”
It wasn’t just a random hotel bed this time. It was Andrew’s bed. A place where he slept, where his scent would curl around her. She didn’t always understand shapeshifters and their instincts, but she’d never met one who issued an invitation to their bed lightly.
Most of her half-formed sexual fantasies had started with Andrew’s bed. Innocent ones from years ago, when he’d been human and she’d been virginal and basing her knowledge entirely on fiction and dubious web searches. Then the darker ones, fueled by anger and bitter longing and the desperate need to be the one thing Andrew wanted more than perfect control.
So many fantasies, and none of them eclipsed this moment, with him looking at her like she held the secret to peace in her hands. He was showing his weakness to her, and it melted her heart.
She didn’t need to sleep. She probably couldn’t, not after dozing most of the way back to New Orleans —and it didn’t matter a bit. “Let’s take a nap.”
Once in the bedroom, he didn’t pull back the covers, just crawled on top of them and held out his arms.
Kat went to him. She couldn’t have stopped herself, and it wasn’t until she’d settled against his chest that she worried about her empathy and the feedback and the miserable way her body heated at the slightest touch.
It hadn’t faded, which scared her, but it wasn’t as bad this time, which made it easy to rationalize.
They’d both been excited before. Years of wanting and not having had pushed them over the edge, no imprinting necessary. Now he was tired, and she felt more protective than sexy. Without the echo of his desire feeding into hers, she could enjoy the comfort of just being held.
They’d be okay. She believed it.
Liar.
He stroked his hand down her arm. “Relax.”
Closing her eyes helped, so did taking a deep breath. Pushing away worry, Kat focused on the present.
On the things she could control. On him. “We’re kind of cuddling.”
“Kind of.” His voice had already slowed, begun to slur. “It’s nice. I’ve missed stuff like this.”
So had she. Andrew’s breathing evened out, and Kat let herself ease into the pleasure of being in his arms. It felt foreign. New, even though it shouldn’t have been. Once upon a time they’d had casual touches and moments full of maybes.
They’d had her twenty-fourth birthday, when she’d gotten tipsy on tequila and he’d never commented on the fact that she’d landed a drunken kiss or two on his jaw before he managed to pour her into bed.
Five days later the world had ended. He’d almost died, and she’d killed two men, and all of those maybes had turned to dust.
Starting over felt like traversing a minefield. Every time they took a step forward, something blew up in their faces. Misunderstandings. Assumptions made in anger and left to fester over fourteen months.
Andrew’s time with Anna, her relationship with Miguel.
She’d brought trouble down on herself. On both of them, maybe, and the irony of it was that trouble might be the only thing that could keep them stepping forward long enough to get to the other side of their respective pasts.
Of course, to do that, they’d have to stay alive. Metaphorical minefields seemed a lot less terrifying when people started trying to kill you for real.
Andrew woke in a dream, with Kat draped over him, her head on his chest and her hips snug against his.
He didn’t think. He didn’t want to think. He wanted to roll her underneath him and kiss her, so he did, sliding his fingers into her hair to hold her still. Her lips parted on a sleepy murmur that turned to a moan as borrowed heat zipped up his spine. Her pleasure, vast and needy and wrapping around him until he had to admit it, even though he didn’t want to.
This wasn’t a dream.
Next on the agenda was figuring out if he cared. Andrew nipped at Kat’s chin and groaned. “You want me to stop, tell me now.”
She was breathing fast already, gasping little breaths as her fingers opened and closed on the covers. “I don’t want to stop, but I’m afraid I’ll ruin it again.”
“Make me come again, you mean?” Maybe, if he said it like that, she’d realize how ridiculous it was to worry.
Color flooded her cheeks as she squeezed her eyes shut. “My experience is limited, but most of it has led me to believe that guys don’t like coming in their pants.”
“It’s not the most convenient thing in the world.” He kissed her closed eyelids. “Wouldn’t call it ruining anything, though, not by a long shot.”
“Oh.” Her hands found his shoulders, tentative and shy. “Everything is all tangled up. I’ve wanted you for so long, before I even knew what I wanted.”
He had his own tangles, ones that twisted tighter at her words. “Don’t think so hard for once, Kat, and neither will I.”
“Even if it means crazy orgasms in under five minutes and you having to take a shower?”
His lips grazed hers. “Even then.”
She kissed him, hard and fast, clumsy with speed, like she was trying to squeeze in every touch she could before her hunger swallowed them both.
And it would. Already, he trembled on the edge of control. She was in his bed, her scent entwined with his, and it sparked to life the banked hunger that lurked inside him.
So he licked her lips and sighed. “Open.”
She made a quiet, aroused sound and obeyed. He took his time fitting his mouth to hers, letting every sensation shoot through him. She’d feel it, and maybe she’d know how much he needed her.
There was nothing slow about her response. He felt her thrill at the stroke of his tongue, felt hot need twist when she shifted her hips and he settled more firmly between her thighs.
Kat tore her mouth from his with a gasp. “Andrew, it’s too much. I’m projecting—what if I hurt you?”
“How are you going to do that?”
“I don’t know.” Her eyes fluttered open, glazed and uncertain. “Promise me you won’t let me.”
So hesitant, so terrified, and it was all because of him. “You won’t hurt me. I promise.”
“All right.” She touched him then, slid her fingertips along his jaw and smiled. “I like your beard.”
“Yeah?” He tilted his head and closed his eyes to focus on her gentle caress.
“Mmm. If you were an action hero, you’d have to shave it off in a dramatic moment of renewed dedication.” Her lips brushed his cheek. “There might even be a montage.”
So carefully slow. “What if I want to keep it? Can it be a training montage instead?”
A tiny hitch in her breathing, and that control wavered. “I don’t think I should watch. You getting all sweaty and badass sounds a little pornographic.”
“Really?” He teased her with a quick nip of teeth on her earlobe. “That’s hot?”
“B-blame biology. Human evolution.” The words trembled, and she arched her hips, rubbing up against him with a soft moan. “I can’t hold it together much longer.”
Neither could he. Andrew gripped her thigh and ground against her, a low growl vibrating free before he could stop it. “Relax, baby.”
“Oh— oh, oh God.” Pleasure returned, twisting tighter with every desperate rock. Kat’s fingers clutched his hair, guiding his mouth to her throat as she arched her head back.