Page 98 of Wedding the Werepanther

I sprawl on top of Shadow, who lies flat on his back on a bed of moss beside the pond. A large moon hangs overhead, brightening the entire clearing. Evening fell while we went down on each other, bringing cooler air. Even though I’ve been out of the water long enough to mostly dry off, his heat feels too good, and I snuggle closer.

A lingering sense of contentment hums through me that’s about more than the orgasm he just gave me. I’m so glad he told me what games and play mean to him, helping me to understand our cultural—and maybe even biological—differences.

The way he opened up makes me want to offer him something too, something I rarely tell anyone.

“Shadow. I…” Hesitation strikes. I twirl a lock of his silver-tipped hair around my finger and glance up to find his green eyes glowing with reflected moonlight. The words pour out of me likea dam breaking. “I sometimes have trouble processing situations and emotions.”

“Explain it to me.” He brushes a lock of hair out of my face, tucking it behind my ear. There’s zero censure in his tone, which makes this easier.

“When I’m in social situations, especially if it’s people I don’t know very well, I don’t know what to say or think or do.” My finger draws little circles on his shoulder, and I stare at it instead of looking at him, scared of what I’ll see. “Other people don’t do that.Youdon’t do that. You’re so good with people.”

“I’m an extrovert, and you’re not.” He gives a casual shrug. “It doesn’t mean anything’s wrong.”

“It’s more than being an introvert. I got tested as a kid, because my teacher worried that I preferred reading over playing with my classmates. It wasn’t autism like she thought, but I was diagnosed with social anxiety. I have an exaggerated fear that something will go wrong: that people won’t like me or will criticize me.” A sarcastic snort of amusement escapes me. “So there’s at least a little bit wrong.” That’s what my parents said, right before they called the diagnosis bogus and told me I clearly wasn’t trying hard enough to make friends.

“No.” He grips my chin and makes me meet his eyes. “I might not know much about anxiety, but I’m certain you shouldn’t speak of yourself in such a way.”

“Haven’t you heard? Sarcasm is the latest in cognitive behavioral therapy.”

He reaches over to our pile of clothes and digs out his phone, the screen flashing bright as he uses his thumb to type.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“I’m looking that up.”

“Okay, no.” I cover his hand with mine. “I was joking. Sarcasm isn’t part of cognitive behavioral therapy. Hell, the experts probably consider it the opposite. But it’s how my senseof humor works.” Kinda prickly but clever—at least I’m always that.

“I like your sense of humor and your sarcasm.” His eyes glitter with amusement as he runs the tip of one finger down the side of my breast. “Especially the tits T-shirt.”

“Of course you like that one.” A chuckle escapes me.

His hands are soft on my face as his tone grows more serious again. “But back to your social anxiety. Is there anything you can do for it?”

“I couldn’t get therapy until college, but once there, I went as much as my student health plan allowed. Medications don’t work for me, but I did a lot of cognitive behavioral therapy.”

“The real kind, I presume, not the sarcasm.”

“The real kind.” I nod. “I’m lots better than I was as a teen, though I’ll always have stuff to work on. And I’ve recently started doing more of it again. Opening up to people, seeing that there are good outcomes when I do, helps. I’ve been around more people these past few weeks than I have in the entire year before this. Throwing parties and having your family visit have been good for me. It’s been tough at times, but it’s been good.”

“Thank you for telling me. I’m very proud of you.” He presses a kiss to my forehead. “And I’m happy to do anything to help.”

I suck in a breath, his words piercing my heart. I can’t remember the last time I felt this safe and supported.

“Thank you,” I whisper. “That means a lot.”

“Is there anything I can do right now?”

I wiggle, feeling his erection harden against my thigh. “I can think of a few things. Endorphins are great for treating anxiety.”

Shadow curls his fingers under my chin and drags a thumb across my lower lip. “How about I give youallof the endorphins?”

And he does. Oh, how he flipping does.

I spend the next two days working on fleshing out my new game. Morlano Games still has a week and a half to decide if they’re going to buy it.

But it doesn’t matter. My game is good, really good. If they don’t want it, I’ll shop it around until I find someone who does. The gaming company Xena4Eva works for might be interested.

In between running messages, Shadow starts work on making cat trees for the pixies using blue birch branches he brings home from Faerie. This means he’s in the backyard shirtlessallthe damned time, because of course he is. It’s seriously distracting. Each time I look up from my computer screen, I lose a good ten minutes before I can tear myself away from the view.