“You don’t seem to mind the horse-y bits,” I tease, settling back down next to the couch.
“I know. Shocker. But if all centaurs are like you, Nigel, I’ve decided that my next boyfriend should have hooves and a sexy tail that can double as a fly-swatter.”
Briana shivers sleepily, pulls the blanket I fetched for her more snuggly over her shoulders—and then rolls off the couch. She lands on my side and moans in delight, spreading her arms and legs over my broad barrel of a torso.
“Oh my Goooood. Sowarm!” she cries.
“Our blood runs hot.”Especially when you squirm on me like that.I wince inside as her calf brushes over my seam, horrified when I feel my cock stiffen.
“You didn’t have any blankets,” she chides, and hugs me in her tipsy, sleepy state.
“I’m warm enough.” Beyond warm, now. Hot. Too hot. Why did she say that about centaurs and boyfriends? I know she didn’t mean me.
I don’t think she meant me.
“You’d date a centaur, would you?” I whisper.
She’s already drifting off again.
That’s probably better.
But she hugs me tighter suddenly, burying her face where my soft human skin meets softer brown hair, smoothing her fingers through it with another one of those forbidden moans. “I would. Well. If he were like you.”
“Why me?”
“Because I like you.”
So simple and sweet that my eyes well up, to my horror. I close them tight and rub my sleeve across my face. “Blizzard. Snow stinging my face.”
“Tell me about it,” she whispers, and then her soft, sleepy half-snores begin again.
I STRETCH MY LEGS ANDwiggle my toes as I wake up, feeling far too hot. I unbutton the big red, round buttons on my pajama top with one sleepy hand, whining when the cozy cotton sticks to me.
Too close to the fire.
And this bed... This bed is like nothing else. It’s firm, but yielding, like the highest-quality water bed—and it has some kind of white noise machine embedded. Sounds like rippling brooks and a slow, distant heartbeat.
“Ah. Briana.” A deep, rich voice fills my half-waking dreams, and my eyes fly open.
I’m topless on a centaur’s giant chest. Belly. Chelly? Whatever. “Sorry!” I hiss, and make a move to flee.
All I do is roll off and find myself nestled against his side—his suddenly tensed side.
I can tell why immediately.
Something long and thick—as long and thick as a petite forearm—is against the back of my thigh.
I hold still.
He holds still.
Get up. Be a lady. Move away. You can’t be thinking about... What am I thinking about?
About how much I like Nigel. About how warm and safe he makes me feel, and about how talking with him and being with him literally leeches the sadness out of me. How talking to him last night felt like a cross between an old friend and a therapist.
It probably wouldn’t last at all.
I’m probably crazy for thinking about it lasting.
