“Why did you call me that?” I ask and yeah, I’m avoiding his question. I’m woman enough to admit it. Doesn’t mean I’m going to feel bad about it.
The corners of his mouth quirk up into a wolfish grin. “Because the night we met, you decided to spread your wings and fly. You transformed from the shy girl into a sexy-as-sin vixen.Mi mariposa.”My butterfly.
My breath hitches. “A moth,” I correct for no real reason. I know mariposa translates to butterfly in Spanish, but I need to dispel this moment.
Jordy dips his head toward me, his warm breath skating across my cheek.
“Fine. You can be the most beautiful moth if you’d prefer.”
I swallow hard. How does he manage to make even that sexy?
“Do you remember that night? How good we were together?”
I gasp when he leans even closer, his stubble scraping along my skin. Heat rushes between my legs and my thighs clench as memories assail me. That night was so much more than I’d expected.
A strong arm wraps around my waist. “I can smell your need,” he says and pulls me flush against his chest. His free hand cups my jaw right before his lips press against mine. My heart pounds in my chest as his mouth teases my own.
Sucking in a breath, I pull back before the kiss can go much further.
“Jordy—?”
His eyes are hooded and glazed with desire. “Don’t. Don’t overthink this. I want you. And judging by the scent of your arousal, I’m pretty sure you want me too.”
I exhale in a rush as Jordy’s hands find their way to the back of my head, tangling in my hair. He tugs me toward him again, his lips an open invitation I’m not strong enough to deny. I didn’t realize how badly I craved him. How much deeper my need for him has grown these past few days. My skin vibrates as the pressure builds inside me. I try to focus on something else. Anything else to squelch the power that thrums in my blood, searching for a release. “Water—” I whisper against his lips.
He pulls back just enough to meet my gaze, his brows drawn before recognition flashes. He moves to turn on the kitchen faucet, the water spilling in a steady stream, and I sag against him. Invisible hands thread through the liquid, twisting it into a variety of shapes in a bid to keep my abilities tempered.
When I’m sure I have a handle on myself, I lean back into his embrace, my lips pressing against his and allowing it to deepen. The next thing I know, he’s lifting me onto the kitchen counter and wedging himself between my thighs, the height just enough to line our bodies up perfectly. He devours me as though starved, his kisses deep and hungry. His tongue slips past my defenses, the taste of sweet oranges and chili an addictive flavor I can’t seem to get enough of.
For a second, I consider pushing him away, but then he growls into my mouth, his hard length pressing against my center, and any thoughts of putting an end to this escape me.
“Jordy,” I breathe. “God, you feel so good.” Oh my God, did I just say that out loud?
“Fuck,” he moans. “I can’t get enough of you.” His fingers slip under the hem of my sweatshirt and the next thing I know he’s tugging it over my head. I gasp as cool air hits my overheated skin and my arms instantly wrap around my middle to cover myself.
He pulls back, a scowl on his face as I tear my gaze away from him. Water surges to me, a wavy translucent wall forming between us as I hunch my shoulders in a vain attempt to hide my body. This was a mistake.
“Hey.” He hasn’t moved, the front of his shirt damp from the initial draw of power.
I turn, my eyes scanning the room for my sweater, but he’s thrown it on the floor behind him and out of reach.
“Joaninha?”
“I need my sweater,” I tell him, hoping he’ll grab it and give it back to me. He doesn’t. Instead, he takes two steps back, folds his arms across his chest and stares at me. The small box of water I’ve managed to conjure up between us does little to hide me.
My nursing bra isn’t sexy. It’s simple. A black full coverage bra that hooks in the back and has snaps above each cup for easy access should César get hungry. It’s not what I would have chosen if I knew anyone else was going to see it, but it’s not the worst bra I could be wearing either. At least this one has shape and isn’t one of those uni-boob sports bra types that I happen to have buried in my drawers.
What I’m more worried about is that I didn’t have a shirt on underneath my sweater, so not only is my bra on full display, but so is the rest of my body and it isn’t pretty. It isn’t what he’s used to. The body he’s seen before.
My cheeks heat in the worst possible way and I blink back my complete and utter humiliation, refusing to cry over something like this. Stupid hormones. Come on, Jo. Pull yourself together.
“What happened just now?”
“Nothing, I just want my sweater back. Can you hand it to me? Please.” I hold my hand out, but he doesn’t move.
My vision blurs.Dammit.I shouldn’t care. It’s not like I want to impress him. What he thinks of my body shouldn’t matter. But it does. I don’t let people see me like this. I cover up. I wear baggier clothes. I hide the changes having a baby has made to my body. I don’t want his scrutiny. His disgust. Shifter women don’t look like me after they have a child. Their bodies go right back to normal. They don’t have loose skin and stretch marks. God. He must think—
“Hey—” His voice softens. “Talk to me. What just happened? We were good and then it’s like a switch went off as soon as I…” His brows pull together. “You want your sweater?” he asks, as if that isn’t exactly what I’ve been asking for this entire time.
