After a few minutes of pointless struggling, I slump against him and accept that my clothes are thoroughly soaked and there’s no changing it now. They’ll dry. All things considered, this is a fantastic sign. My mate may be feral, but he’s not so far gone that he dragged me out to some icy creek to wash whatever scent off of me that set him off. He had enough rational thought to work the shower, even in this state.
He’s not past saving.
Blood rushes to my head as he slides me down the front of his body, easing me to my feet. He keeps one hand firmly on my hip, almost like he’s afraid I’m going to run the second he let’s go.
Or that I’ll slip.
When I hear asnick,I try to glance over my shoulder, but he grunts and pulls me flush again. A moment later, he’s working shampoo into my hair and it takes everything in me to fight back the tears threatening to spill.
Nobody’s ever taken care of me like this before. And if someone mostly feral can? The rest were always capable, they just couldn’t be bothered. And that realization is more of a wake up call than the frigid shower.
Eventually, he gets fed up with working blind and spins me around, hesitantly removing his hand from my hip to wash my hair like it's his sole mission, meticulously and thoroughly. Once that’s done, he soaps up his hands and a laugh bursts from my lips as he shamelessly stuffs one hand down my shirt to tackle my chest, the other going up my sleeve to try and scrub off all traces of my shitty afternoon.
“At this rate, it’s not like you haven’t already figured out everything I’ve got going on under here.” Gripping the bottom of my sopping wet shirt, I peel it off with more effort than I want to admit. It falls to my feet with a wet slap, and at this point… fuck it. I shimmy out of my leggings too, kicking my clothes to the edge of the tub. I was going to have to burn them anyway thanks to the blood spatter. Last thing I want to risk is one of the men involved in that bullshit to be a shifter that can track me down to get revenge for his murdered friend, or use me to find Yukina, who I’m sure they’re looking for. But the gargoyles and their mate that run Mercy Ridge assured me they’ll take care of getting her settled in safely and assign a few people to look out for her.
When he doesn’t get back to scrubbing me with a vengeance, I turn to face him. Honestly, my underwear isn’t any more revealing than a bikini, and with him being a shifter, nudity shouldn’t be a big deal. But the way he tenses up, staring at me like he's afraid to move, lest he scare me off, does wonderful things for my abused self esteem. I'm still feeling pretty raw after my Havoc encounter earlier, so it's incredibly soothing to not have a single doubt in my mind that my shifter matewantsto be around me.
I’m not perfect, but that’s okay. Normal is boring. If Havoc can’t appreciate that, that’s ahimproblem; not my failing.
He broke into my house, he wanted to be around me so much. If that isn't foreplay, I don't know what is.
“I think you missed a spot.”
It jolts him out of his stunned stupor, a low rumble sparking to life in his chest as he goes back to washing away every dried speck of blood and trace scent of anyone other than him. Each touch is a possessive caress that sends a shiver down my spine. Dropping to his knees, he holds my heated gaze as he starts at my ankle and meticulously works his way up my legs, every brush of his fingers a silent promise neither of us know how to cash in on.
My legs tremble as he skims his rough palm up my inner thigh. I know damn well there isn’t even a hint of blood or someone else’s scent there for him to erase, and he does too. But it doesn’t stop him from parting my thighs and washing every square inch of skin, each arc of his hands inching higher, testing the waters. When I don’t pull away, he grows bolder, thumbs skimming the lines of my panties and nudging them aside a little more each time. Holding my gaze, searching for permission, he waits until I part my legs a little wider in silent permission. Pupils blown, he dives in with reckless abandon.
The first swipe of his tongue has me practically curving in on myself. The second sets something off in him like a flip is switched, all that careful control he's clung to this evening going up in smoke. With a snarl, his fingertips dig into the back of my thighs as he dives in andfeasts.
I come hard and fast, but he doesn't let up,devouring me like a starving man. Any time I shift my hips, he reacts like I'm trying to take away his favorite meal, snarling right into my pussy, the vibrations setting my clit alight and dragging me impossibly closer.
Legs trembling as he coaxes yetanotherorgasm out of me with relentless enthusiasm, I thread my fingers through his hair. "Oh fuck, maybe I'm being too hasty. This feral thing has its benefits.”
He seems to hear something in my voice because he reluctantly pulls his face out of my pussy, the scruff on his face glistening. With one last kiss to my inner thigh, he rises to his feet and picks me up. I yelp, locking my ankles around his waist and clinging to his wet shoulders as he carries me out of the shower. I brace myself for the miserable cold air to hit, but the blow never comes. The steam from the shower has turned the bathroom into a small sauna, and after days of living in this frigid house, it’sheaven. It's then I notice the nest of blankets in the corner he must've set up today and the layer of condensation on every surface and the walls.
Dear God. If this man's tongue doesn't kill me, the water bill next month will.
But I can't find it in me to care right now. Not as he strips his soaked sweat pants off and tosses them to join my ruined clothes in the shower. Not as he wraps a towel around me and grabs another, dropping to his knees to dry my legs and work his way from the ankle up. And especially not when he picks me up and carries me to his nest, lowering the two of us into a bed of pillows and comforters. With his free hand, he drapes one of the blankets over us, pulling me firmly against his side, dragging me half on top of him, and settling in for the night. Completely ignoring the elephant in the room by turning our nest into an escape from reality, and honestly? It’s a superpower I’d trade both of mine to have, I appreciate it so much.
My fingers brush against Devlin’s shirt, and I freeze. Very slowly, I extract it from the nest and lift it to my nose. It still faintly carries Devlin’s scent, and ifIcan pick that up? No way my shifter hasn’t.
My pillows are in here, so maybe he grabbed it at the same time without thinking about it? Or figured it was important to me if I had it in my own ‘nest,’ so would feel more comfortable in his?
I don’t understand him yet, but I’m determined to figure him out.
“We need to come up with a name for you.”
Seriously. This man has worn my pussy like a mask and is living in my house. I can’t keep calling him ‘my shifter.’
My breath hitches in my lungs as he takes my hand, tracing his finger across my palm. On the second pass, I realize it isn’t random, but he’s spelling something.
I just… can’t tell what.
Either he’s trying to draw a picture, or he’s not spelling in English.
A few more passes, I ask, “Z… something?”
He pauses, face lighting up, and I sigh in relief.
