Page 98 of A Shade of Myself
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Laurent held out his hand,his eyes dancing, and I placed my palm in his. He pressed a kiss to the inside of my wrist, his teeth grazing over the sensitive skin, his eyes two luminous green orbs locked on mine.
Between the faint rasp on my wrist and the intensity of his look like nothing short of the apocalypse was going to stop this from happening, my nipples hardened. I nudged the door closed with my hip and he unfurled a lazy grin.
Threading his fingers through mine, he tugged me through his living room toward the back hallway. Breathless, I lost my sandals in the journey.
Boo scampered over to greet me, but when I stopped to scratch the kitten behind her ears, because this had all gotten very real, Laurent gave a frustrated growl that made me laugh, the last of my nerves blowing away.
He led me into his bedroom, lit by the lamp on his bedside table, and stopped.
I glanced around, wondering if there was a mess he wanted to hurriedly clean up, but the room was sparse, devoid of anything personal including strewn clothing. Happily, it smelled like cedar because I’d grown to love that scent.
Laurent ran his thumb over the back of my hand. “It’s nothing special, I know.” He paused, lowering his voice to almost a murmur. “I haven’t done this in a while.”
I lay my free hand on his cheek, charmed by his shy admission. “Neither have I.” He nuzzled into my hand, and I was swamped with a wave of tenderness.
“Bien. We shall stumble through together. Come.” He crawled onto his dusky blue sheets and patted the bed.
I stretched out next to Laurent on my side, watching his lids fall closed. He brushed my face with his nose, inhaling then sighing contentedly. My stomach tightened and I closed my eyes as well, skimming my lips over his. Part of me wanted him to shove me up against a wall so I could climb him like a freaking monkey, but there was something delicious in these hesitant, light kisses, as delicate as butterfly wings.
Laurent kissed across the top of my cheek and I squirmed. “What are you doing?”
“Your freckles are darker now.” He gazed at them in fascination.
“Because they’re my sun freckles.” I tilted my face up to allow his continued kisses, twisting his curls around my fingers and gently releasing them. He hadn’t even touched me yet and I was melting, becoming a limbless puddle of molasses.
“Nope. They’re your star freckles.”
I repressed a shudder. “That’s incredibly sweet but I’m not sure stars and I have the best relationship,” I said in a testier voice than I intended.
“You’re wrong. Cygnus.” He pressed his mouth to one high on my cheekbone. “Lyra.” He dragged his lips to the next one.
“Are you naming my freckles after constellations?”
“Oui.” He pressed his lips to a freckle on the bridge of my nose then grinned. “Because you’re made of stars, Miriam. Summer starlight after a cold, dark winter.”
And just like that he’d made me breathless again. The thumping of my heart was a warning that our “just sex” had become far more dangerous, but if I was made of stars, this self-destructive, grumpy, French wolf shifter was the moon that I wanted to soar around.
Did Laurent feel like there was more here than friends enjoying each other? I was torn between wanting to ask and not wanting to hear the answer, whatever it was, because any reply would have ramifications that I wasn’t sure I could deal with.
“You charmer.” I half-assed it, waiting to see if he’d grow serious or brush off his words as teasing.
He laughed. “I am French.”
Right. I shoved away the hollow disappointment that jolted through me. I’d walked into tonight with my eyes wide open, so I could suck up the fact that this was exactly what it appeared to be and nothing more.
I forced myself to keep my tone light. “You owe me a name for that last freckle you kissed.”
He held up his fingers over my nose like he was framing a picture and narrowed his eyes. “Cassiopeia.” He dragged the word out, his low voice shivering through me.
I fluttered a hand in front of my face. “You have the best dirty talk, Huff ’n’ Puff.”
“Book learned, remember?” He peered at me delightedly, resting his hand on my hip, and flexed his bare foot against mine.
That tiny intimate action of his toes pressing into the sole of my foot sent a jolt of desire spiraling through me. I leaned closer, framing his face in my hands, and kissed him.
Laurent flexed his fingers, the motion bunching the fabric of my dress. He changed the angle of our mouths, his tongue finding mine, and I clasped the back of his neck, throwing my leg over his hip and falling pliant against him.
