Clara
Picking out what to wear to a bluegrass concert isn’t any easier when I’m the one dressing than it was for Emma, but once I’ve decided I’m good enough, I go find Jansen.
The house has been oddly silent since we got back—my usual welcome committee missing. A tiny part of me is sad about it, but mostly, I’m curious what’s been so engrossing that they didn’t greet me.
Using my sparkly new key on Jansen’s door, I open the room and find something that looks like a cross between a bobcat and a house cat sitting on his desk, golden eyes judging me and finding me wanting as it lifts a paw and gives it a lazy lick.
“Um, hello,” I say to the dog-sized cat, not seeing Jansen anywhere in the space. What the fuck?
The door bumps against my back and I step out of the way, Jansen stumbling in behind me. “Beautiful,” he chirps, scoopingme up and tossing me onto the bed, the cat making a disgusted yowl at us. “Pipe down, Fluffington. She’s going to be around, so you’re going to have to get used to her.”
“Um, Fluffington?”
“His Royal Highness, Prince Fluffington.”
“Jansen, why do you have a royally-named animal that looks like it’s half bobcat sitting on your desk?”
“He snuck into my sister’s stuff. He’s staying with us for the week. And he’s a Maine Coon cat, so he’s supposed to be huge.” He looks at the gray tiger. “He’s probably still growing.”
“Isn’t that the kind of cat you were talking about a while ago? You said they get huge.”
“Maybe? Either way, he’s my mom’s, and he’s currently a little pissy about being in a new space, but he’s super friendly usually, so I’m sure you’ll be buddy-buddy soon. Careful, though. He likes to sleep on people’s faces. Freaks you out to wake up half suffocated.”
I blink at the blond whirlwind currently lying on top of me. “Jansen, you’re one of a kind, you know that right?”
His grin is infectious, and I feel my cheeks stretching to match his. “I know I’ve been waiting all day to do this.”
He runs his nose over mine, then his lips press softly against my cheek. When he lowers the rest of his weight on top of me, it makes all my nerves light up. Our kiss is sweet, as necessary as breathing, the night away suddenly feeling so much longer than just a dozen hours. He lets me roll us so I’m on top, nipping at his lips, nibbling along his neck, running my hands over his chest.
His motions become frantic, my shirt drawn off and his calloused fingers snaking under the lace of my bralette, his tongue tracing the edge of my ear. “I missed you,” I say against his skin, loving the heat and smell of him.
“Same.”
He helps me get him out of his shirt, my nails trailing down his chest, and I get an improbable urge to dig them in like I did earlier with Trips, but I ignore the thought. I want joy, comfort, not something violent and bloody. At least, not right now.
Even my own thoughts are suspect.
As I brush my hands down his muscled pecs, over the small patch of hair and down the trail I want to follow with my tongue beneath his belly button, a many-pronged-sharp-something stabs my back. “Ow ow ow,” I yelp, the weight of my attacker registering a moment after the pain and shock.
Jansen’s eyes widen and he scrambles out from under me. “Oh no. No, Fluffington,” he shouts, trying to dislodge the twenty pounds of feline currently attached to my back. The cat starts what sounds like a conversation with Jansen, and my eyes water as he takes another step up my back, his claws digging in to stabilize himself as I flop down on the mattress without Jansen under me.
“Jansen?” I squeak.
“I’m getting him off, I swear. I just don’t want him to tear into you. Come on, Fluffer, want a treat?” The rustling of a bag has the cat leaping off my back with a happy yelp, his back nails apparently a vital part of that move. I bite my lip, annoyed that a cat being a cat is making me cry when nearly dying has left me with no tears to shed.
My brain is so fucked-up right now, I’m not even sure what’s supposed to be normal.
“Shit, Clara, I’m so sorry. Stay put. I’m grabbing the first aid kit.” Jansen rushes from the room, and I turn my head, glaring at the pretty gray cat perched on his desk.
“You and I will have a major problem, Prince Fluffington, if you won’t let me get up close and personal with your human. Do you understand me?”
Prince Fluffington lets out a plaintive mew, then struts back to the bed, hopping up by the pillows and butting his head against my hand.
“Making nice? I’m not sure I’m going to trust you, cat,” I say, scratching him behind his tufted ears. His purr rumbles the bed, and I drop my glare. “You probably have no idea you did anything wrong, do you? And you got a treat out of it, so if youdiddo that on purpose, you’re going to do it again, aren’t you?”
He flops onto his side, showing me his belly, but I know enough not to pet him there. I can feel blood dribbling down my back. This is not the time to take risks with my new furnemie.
Jansen sprints back in, his face a little white when he looks at my back. “That’s…yikes. I’m so sorry, Clara,” he says, dropping to his knees next to the bed and pulling things out of the kit.
