The closer I get to orgasm, the more wildly my hand shakes, until I’m frantically rubbing and moaning. Finally, the dam breaks, and a wave of blissful serotonin washes over me.
At least I feel calmer now, even if I’m still pretty horny.
Eventually I change into my silky pajamas—which, yes, I recovered from the trash—and climb into bed, but I still can’t shake the ghost sensation of Rupert’s hands on me, of his large muzzle and clever lips.
I sure hope he wants to do that again.
seventeen
. . .
rupert
“So, have you told her?” Giancarlo asks, pouring himself a new whiskey. We’re foregoing the façade of accountant and client today and sitting in his living room. His couch bows under me, as ancient as it is. I don’t know why he still lives in this ratty flat with a creepy back entrance, but he doesn’t seem inclined to change his ways anytime soon.
I’ve already spilled the ugly story of how Peony met me for the first time, how I disappointed her, how she was wonderful enough to forgive me. Giancarlo’s mouth falls open when I explain that she had kissedme.
“She’s hot for you!” he crowed.
I’m shaking my head as I swirl my whiskey around the glass. “I haven’t given her the full story, no. But there’s time for that. Later.”
My friend leans back on the couch and props his feet up on the ottoman, not looking convinced.
“Later, hmm?” He sips. “Later when? Later after you sleep with her?”
I splutter into my glass and pull it away from my lips. “I’m doingnosuch thing.” My mane rises on my back, but not in the aroused way. This is the angry way. It’s not fair to dangle that in front of me—the idea of being intimate with Peony—knowing it can never happen.
Giancarlo raises his hands in surrender. “My apologies.”
I gnash my teeth. “I can’t, Giancarlo.” I gesture at my whole big, awkward, distinctly inhuman body. “And you know where this ends.”
“Those are two separate issues.” He raises one finger in the air. “First, you don’t know anything about this woman’s preferences. Maybe she’ll like it. And youwon’tknow unless you give her a chance.”
I roll my eyes. “And number two?”
“Number two, that was just some dreck an old man said to hurt you. To make you think you couldn’t possibly be loved. He can’t control your life.”
“He was able to turn me into this,” I say, opening my big hand with the long claws.
“Sure. But you control your destiny, Rupert.”
It’s tempting to believe him. I want there to be a world where I could end up in a happily ever after. But how much more painful would it be to find that place, to have that with her, only to have it ripped away?
“It’s a self-fulfilling prophecy,” Giancarlo says thoughtfully, as if this isn’t real life for me. “You believe you can’t be loved, so you make yourself unlovable. You set yourself up for failure so that you can blame it on the spell and not yourself.”
I grunt into my whiskey. “Rude.”
It’s even more rude that he’s right. I’m the one who ended the kiss and almost ran away with my tail between my legs.
Giancarlo chuckles. “You despise it when I’m right.”
“Oh, I do.” I set down my glass, letting out a heavy breath. “I shouldn’t have more if I’m going to drive home, and I ought to soon.”
“And see your new lady love?” He waggles one thick eyebrow.
“Yes, yes.” I groan as I leave my glass behind on the table and stretch. I’ve been sitting for hours. “Thank you, old friend.”
“Tell her,” he says instead, pointing a finger at me. “Give her the whole story. Let her make up her mind about you. I get the sense she has a generous spirit, and she will extend that to you.”
