New Orleans at night breathes different. It’s heavier. Closer. Like the air itself is watching you.
Reva sticks close without realizing she’s doing it. Her shoulder brushes mine every few steps. Her hand almost reaches for mine twice.
I don’t comment on it. I guide her instead.
“Stay on this side,” I murmur, fingers brushing the small of her back as I maneuver her to the inside of the sidewalk.
She stiffens, then relaxes.
Interesting.I let my hand relax more firmly against the small strip of skin bared by her T-shirt, my thumb compelled by a mind of its own to rub small, mindless circles against it.
Her breath hitches but she says nothing.
We stop across from the LaLaurie Mansion.
A tour group stands clustered nearby—equal parts drunk, thrilled, and terrified. One of them lets out a startled noise when the guide raises his voice.
A guy—tall, laughing—sways. Then promptly faints into his partner’s arms.
Reva snorts. “That’s dramatic.”
“Heat,” I say. “And the power of suggestion.”
Her eyes flick to me. “You believe in all this?”
“I believe people scare themselves better than anything real ever could.”
Not entirely true.
Her lips part like she’s about to argue. I step closer instead, close enough that she has to feel me.
“Stay still,” I murmur.
“What—”
My fingers slide along her thigh, skimming her skirt and lifting it. Just barely. Just enough.
She freezes.
Good.I keep my expression neutral, gaze forward like nothing’s happening.
My hand moves again. Higher, slower, applying the barest of pressure as my fingertips seek and find the elastic edge of her panties. I ease my thumb and forefinger beneath the lace, stroking lightly.
Testing.
I’m not sure who I’m testing…Reva or myself.
Her breath hitches, and her feet shift, sliding to give her better balance or me better access—not sure which. I turn my nose into her hair—she smells so uniquely Reva, so fucking good—and inhale as I press a kiss next to ear. “That’s my good little wolf.”
She growls.
I move my hand to cup her more completely and pull her back against me, the heel of my hand seated firmly over her mound and my middle finger just teasing the wetness of her cleft. The group in front of us will make it difficult to notice that I have her skirt rucked up almost to her waist right here on the sidewalk, but I honestly don’t give a fuck if anyone does see.
Reva Leigh Hart is mine, and this is me staking my claim. I don’t give a rat’s ass who sees. Reva, on the other hand…
“Keep your eyes open, little wolf. Wouldn’t want anyone to think anything untoward is going on, would we?”
A tremble courses through her as her eyes pop open, her pupils dilated to huge black disks. The group in front of us laughs. Someone makes a joke about ghosts. I dip my finger in and out in small, lazy thrusts.
