“I don’t care if you’re furred or not,” he says. “I don’t care what shape you’re standing in when we go to Yellowstone. I don’t care how weird anyone else would think this is. I know what I want.”
He shifts slightly on my lap as he speaks, and it takes everything in me not to groan at the sensation.
“And what I want,” he continues, voice dropping, “is you. All of you. The reality. The ridiculous parts. The grumpy parts. The ‘yelling at Akai in chat’ parts. The Network admin who thinks he has to hold up the entire world on his shoulders alone. The forest guardian who scares off hunters. The eight-foot cryptid who smells like cedar and ozone and makes my heart do weird gymnastics every time he looks at me like this.”
I swallow hard. “You’re too much,” I say weakly.
“Maybe for some people,” he says.
I study his eyes and immediately say, “Not for me.”
He leans in again. This time, when he kisses me, there’s a thread of desperation in it, like he’s trying to convince me with his mouth in case his words didn’t sink in.
I answer him.
Iletmyself answer him.
My hands slip lower along his back, pulling him closer. His fingers slide into the fur at the nape of my neck, tugging lightly. Our mouths part and meet, tease and take. His tongue traces the seam of my lips; I open to him, and the world narrows to heat and breath and the shared rhythm of wanting.
After a while, he starts to move without seeming to realize it.
A slow, unconscious shift of his hips against me. A tiny roll, like he’s seeking friction he doesn’t quite know he’s asking for. Every small motion sends a little burst of fire through my veins.
I break away, breathing hard, and rest my forehead against his. “Elias,” I say. “If you keep doing that….”
He freezes. His cheeks flush bright. “Oh,” he says. “Sorry, I just—I didn’t mean to?—”
I huff a weak laugh. “Don’t apologize for being turned on. That would make me a massive hypocrite.”
He blinks, then laughs, too, nervous and thrilled all at once.
“I’ve been trying very hard,” I admit, voice low, “not to lose control around you.”
His eyes darken. “You’re not the only one.”
There’s a pause before his fingers curl in my fur. “Can we…?” he starts, then trails off, clearly struggling to find words that aren’t clinical or crude.
The trust in his gaze undoes me.
I lift one hand, covering his where it rests on my chest. “We can,” I say softly, “if we move slowly. If you’re sure. If we stay… careful.”
“I’m sure,” he says immediately.
A small nod and a smile that makes me ache follows before he kisses me again. Kissing Elias is like nothing I’ve ever experienced before, and somehow, each time is better than thelast. Any tentative touches from that first time are well and truly gone.
Now, he most definitely has a road map to my mouth. He knows how to kiss my lips and lick and suck my tongue, which makes it really difficult to keep my cock tucked away, without doing himself harm and giving himself a nick from my oversized fangs.
This I could do forever.
I carefully tug him closer as he grinds against me, but he only does so for a few seconds before he eases away. I let him go, holding back my grunt of dissatisfaction. But there’s no need as Elias undoes his belt, slowly, torturously. The button and the zips follow, and I can’t look away.
I suck in a ragged breath, eager to see, to touch, to do anything that will make him feel good.
When he tugs out his cock, I all but swallow my tongue. It’s hard, the skin a slightly different shade to the rest of his body. There’s a smattering of brown hair framing his shaft. My fingers twitch.
“Touch me.”
Elias’s request has my gaze snapping to his.
