Claws & Crochet

Part 90

WARNER

Apparently, my sister isn't the only one feeling vulnerable after this evening's confrontation. I cross the room, sit on the edge of the bed just beside Zoey, and reach out to stroke her exposed shoulders.

"That's not on you. You didn't know about that drama. And, it's not our drama."

Zoey goes to open her mouth, and I can tell she still plans on shouldering the blame. The thought pisses me off, and I give a definitive shake of my head.

"No. Don't play the martyr. You talk about opening wounds? It's been decades. A normal person would've let the old hurts heal. My mom is the one who's been tearing things open. She's at fault and is too stubborn to admit it. No one in my family will blame you. We know who hurt who. And we know who is innocent in all of this."

"If I had never come—"

"Please, Zoey." Now my hands curl, clasping her, holding her in place. "Please don't ever think life would be better if you hadn't come here. You don't know what it was like before."

One of her eyebrows curves up. "You make it sound like you were living in Hell."

"Not Hell." I run my nose through her hair, filling my lungs with the scent that tells me she is meant to be mine. "More like purgatory. I was existing. Sitting in a waiting room. Lingering in a line. Restless, without a direction."

"I'm not that much, Warner. You can't think I mean that much." Her voice cracks.

"You do, though. This may sound selfish, but I've always wanted someone. Someone who needed me, and who I needed. I can live on my own, exist on my own, but I don't like it. You're my someone, Zoey. I need you."

She stares into my eyes, not shying away from the intensity in my gaze.

"I came to Pine Falls because I felt smothered by my brothers' love."

I try not to wince, imagining my desperate declaration reminds her of their rabid displays of affection.

"Then I came here and learned about my grandmother. After that, I worried that without their love I'd curl into myself. That I'd fade into some kind of ghost person."

My mouth is open to deny it, but she shakes her head. I keep quiet, letting her finish.

"You don't smother me. Your love isn't a weight I have to fight off to keep from crushing me. Your love is like . . ." she trails off brow wrinkled in thought. "Your love is a strong hand on a ladder!" Zoey smiles, huge and bright, happy with the comparison.

"What's that mean exactly?" I ask, not without a trace of humor.

"You hold me steady, but you still let me climb to whatever height I'm trying to reach." She explains, as if it's the clearest thing in the world.

And once she says it, it is.

Emotions crash through me, threatening to drown my head and my heart. Needing a brief reprieve from the onslaught, I drop my hands between us and finger the craft in her lap.

"What are you working on?"

"I'm crocheting you an apology hat, to go with your scarf."

Damn, she won't let up.

In a fit of self-preservation, I grasp for a joke. "You seem bent on me keeping my head covered. Wear a helmet, you say. I'm making you a hat, you say." I put on a high-pitched voice, making a complete mockery of her normal smooth, sultry tone.

Zoey laughs. "You caught me. I'm obsessed with keeping this head safe and warm." She sets her project to the side and cups my cheeks with her hands. The hard plaster of the cast is rough against my skin, just as the bare palm of her other hand is soft. She shifts, raising on her knees so she can press a kiss to the center of my forehead. "Mainly because I love the brain that's rattling around in it."

The words dig into my heart, ruthless, loving claws. With her movement, the blankets fall away, and I'm confronted with her bare chest and stomach and the teasing triangle of curls at the center of her. The sight has me groaning.

Even though I want to crush her to my chest, I'm wary of her battered body. Instead, I circle my arms around her in a gentle embrace, lowering her to the bed. She spreads out beneath me, muscles relaxed, and gifts me with a gorgeous smile.

I hunger for her mouth and take it with the passion I want to show the rest of her. For now though, I keep my fervor to the meeting of our lips.

Zoey gasps and moans, her fingers raking down the front of my shirt, fumbling with buttons until she has the fabric parted and can get at my skin. Her nails dig into me, as if she plans to scratch and tear until I'm covered in her marks.

"Do it. Be rough with me," I beg against her mouth.

She doesn't hesitate. Her hands dive under my shirt, her fingers clutch my back, and I groan at the delicious bite of her nails along my spine. My love doesn't break skin, but I long for a mirror so I can admire what must be a nice set of red marks scored into me.

Then she has my belt in her grasp, undoing the buckle. Next thing I know, my pants are unzipped and being shoved down and that soft grasp is gripping my hard length.

I pry my lips from hers, rising up enough to tell her something like . . .

We don't have to.

You're hurt.

But she's faster than I am.

"I love you." Zoey doesn't whisper or let the words out on a light gasp. She declares them with utter and complete confidence. "Do you love me?"

"More than anything," I growl in response.

She nods, a confident smile plumping her cheeks as her uninjured leg slings around my waist. A very demanding heel presses into one of my ass cheeks, urging me forward.

"Are you going to show me how much?"

The crown of me presses against her slickness, and my eyes threaten to roll back in my head. But that would mean I'd have to stop staring down at her, and I can't give up this view.

"You're perfect."

A red flush seeps into her cheeks, but she doesn't deny my words.

"For you."

Yes. Both my human half and wolf half are in complete agreement, howling together in triumph.

"For me."