Claws & Crochet

Part 32

WARNER

I jerk, her words electric. My wolf shifts, restless for me to take this woman as mine. To claim her.

She continues to stare at me, giving nothing away, while my body heats up, blood pumping thick, and fast, and south.

"That depends." My voice rasps like sandpaper on rough wood.

"On what?"

"If you want to sleep with me."

"How is that a determining factor?"

I shift, keeping my hardness away from her and attempting a light tone. "Because I don't make a practice of sleeping with women who don't want to sleep with me."

"Good point." Zoey levers her torso up, moving forward so she can loom over me. The flannel of her pajamas drags against my overly sensitive skin. "Okay then. My answer is, I haven't decided."

Hope roars through my chest. I have a chance.

"Tell me what I need to do." The words are hoarse, aching with need.

"Well, now, that sounds like a man whose mind is made up." Zoey smirks, and I grin in response. Once more, her gaze trips down to my mouth. "Can I kiss you, Warner Jameson?"

For a moment, my body freezes, but then the raging heat is back, and my inner beast is howling. I nod, head bobbing more times than needed and with more vigor than normal.

Zoey reaches up, brushing away a curl that teases my forehead. "Just kissing, okay?"

"Just kissing," I agree, willing her to cross the last few inches separating us.

Maybe she sees the desperation in my eyes because she finally dips her head, bringing a wave of her sugar and earth scent with her.

Zoey approaches kissing as if she's researching. Each brush of her mouth against mine is a question. An exploration.

She teases her lips over mine slowly, learning the shape, turning my brain to mush.

I don't detect hesitation in her movements. The sedate pace isn't because she's unsure. This approach speaks of a certain type of skill. Zoey knows not every kiss is the same, and she's determined to discover the right way to fit our mouths together.

I, the animal that I am, fight the urge to plunder and suck and bite. Instead, I mirror her gentle movements. Showing I can follow her lead.

My restraint is rewarded when she resettles her chest on mine and pushes her fingers into my hair. She nips at my lower lip before laving the spot with her tongue, as if I might need to be soothed after any rough treatment.

A groan spills out of my throat.

Zoey captures it with a naughty kiss, delving her tongue into my mouth.

We twine together in multiple ways. I find my way past her lush lips, seeking out the cool metal of her piercing, the jewelry has been tormenting me since the first moment I saw Zoey. The glint of gold making it impossible to look anywhere other than her sexy mouth.

The attention I pay to it is a tribute. Letting Zoey know I worship every bit of her.

She gasps, tightening her fingers until I feel the scrape of nails against my scalp.

My hands want to participate, too. They beg to cup and fondle and undo buttons.

"Just kissing," whispers through my head.

I would never break my promise to her. Never do anything to make Zoey feel unsafe.

So, I simply wrap my arms around her lower back, hugging her. Clutching her close.

At some point we roll to the side, Zoey's back to the fire, her head resting on a throw pillow. The questioning quality fades from her caresses. Now there's a relaxed element, a playful one as she sneaks in an occasional teasing bite, snickering at the way I groan whenever she does.

Time doesn't mean much when I'm kissing Zoey. The most attention I give to anything outside our little cocoon of happiness is to appreciate the steady pounding of rain that hasn't let up.

At some point, in a natural progression, my lips wander away from hers, pressing against the curve of her cheek bones, then trailing up to her forehead where I bury my nose in her loose, damp hair. Breathing her in relaxes me more than any drug ever could.

This is more than attraction.

Which is why I had to fight off a wave of angry fear when I found her hiding in that tree.

When Zoey said the growling might have come from a wolf, I was instantly alert. There aren't any wolf packs near Pine Falls. The pure wolves scent us. They know this is our territory.

Which means the only wolf that could have been nipping at her heels would have been a werewolf.

And I don't know what that means. The mystery agitates my inner beast.

There's no reason for any of our pack to harass a human. Sure, we maintain an air of intimidation in town. But we don't come after people in our animal forms. That's just begging for wary acceptance to morph into a mortal vs supernatural civil war.

Roderick would be furious.

I remind myself it may not have been a wolf. Zoey said the animal could've been a bear, and there are plenty of those in the woods around here. Wolves and bears don't really discuss property lines.

Normally, I'd be able to figure out the culprit with little effort. That's the beauty of heightened senses. But the rain washed away any scent trail or tracks, and I couldn't even hear Zoey's panicked panting when I found her hiding up in that tree. I almost missed her completely.

What would have happened if I hadn't come along?

She's strong and resourceful, but that doesn't mean she can fight off a bear.

Zoey settles deeper into my arms, and I realize she's dozed off. She buries her face into my neck as if she's seeking warmth from me. I'll give it to her. Every ounce that she needs. The memory of her lips, trembling and turning blue with cold, has my heart pounding heavy and panicked. I tighten my hold and adjust the blanket thrown over us, so it sits just beneath her chin.

And I take comfort in the fact that her lips are flushed red now. Warmed to life by lazy kisses.