He relaxed. I could feel the tension leave him under my touch. He eased back against the ground instead of holding himself rigid from it. His death grip on me lessened until it was simple holding, and it was okay if he didn’t let go. I didn’t want him to. I didn’t want him to withdraw, lock himself inside himself where I couldn’t talk to him.
“Two arms, two legs,” he said finally, wearily. Then he smoothed back my sweaty and tangled hair, the way I’d been brushing his. “Opposable thumbs.”
I giggled, bowing my face to his shoulder. He was back.
“How do you feel?” I asked. He kept his arms around me, like he was still clinging for safety, and I snuggled into his embrace. Wolves touched for comfort. We both needed it.
After a long moment he said, “Strange. Broken. But coming back together. Like I can feel the pieces closing up.” I tilted my head, trying to look at him. I saw his jaw, the slope of cheek, half an eye. “But I remember… it felt good. It felt free. Didn’t it?” His face shifted into a wince. “I wasn’t expecting that.”
“Yeah,” I said, and kissed his closest body part, his shoulder. Then I propped myself on my elbow, touched his face, and turned it to me, making him look at me. I held his gaze. “You’re doing just fine, Ben. You believe me?” You’re going to live. You’re not going to make Cormac shoot you.
He nodded, and I kissed his forehead. I was trying to make him feel safe, to make him feel wanted, so he wouldn’t leave.
“You’re doing just fine,” I repeated softly.
“That’s because I have a determined teacher,” he said, giving me a thin smile.
I kissed his lips. They were right there. It seemed so natural. His smile fell—then he kissed me back. And again, long enough this time that I lost my breath. Then we both froze for a moment.
My skin flushed, my whole body growing warm—it knew what it wanted to do, anyway. I stole a glance down Ben’s torso—and yes, his body knew what it wanted to do, too.
Ben’s hazel-colored eyes—green, mud, gold, all mixed together—flickered, trying to hold my gaze again. I looked away, human enough to be chagrined.
I said, “I should have mentioned, the lycanthropy thing, it sort of throws gasoline on the libido. You know— whoosh, fire, out of control.”
He kept staring at me, until I couldn’t keep looking away.
He said, with an unreadable curl on his lips, “I’m sure it has nothing to do with the fact that I’m lying here naked with a beautiful woman, who is also naked.”
Blink. Double blink. My heart may have even stopped for a moment. “Did you just call me beautiful?”
He touched my cheek, my neck, sending an electric rush along my skin, then buried his hand in my hair. “Yeah.”
That was it. I was gone.
I moved, sliding one leg over his stomach, slipping on top of him until I straddled him. I kept close, my chest against his, my breath on his cheek. His arms held me tight, hands sliding down my back, clenching, and we kissed, deeply, tasting each other, sharing our heat. We touched, nuzzled; I moved my lips along his jaw, to his ear. My eyes were closed, my mind gone. Mostly gone.
“I hadn’t planned on this, honest,” I murmured.
He said, his voice thick with sarcasm, “Gee, thanks.”
“That’s not what I meant,” I said, smiling. “I feel like I’m taking advantage of you.”
He made what sounded to my ears like a groan of contentment. “You just want me to like being a werewolf. That’s what this is about.”
I pulled away, just for a moment. “You don’t have to like it. You just have to survive it.”
His gaze focused, met mine. “All right.”
I kissed him, and kissed, shivering to try to get closer to him—we already lay skin to skin along the length of our bodies. One of his hands clasped the back of my neck, the other worked its way to my backside, locking me close to him. His touch burned in the cold winter air.
He managed one more bit of commentary, his voice low and rough, “Kitty, just so you know, you can take advantage of me anytime you want.”
So I did.
He lay curled in my arms, and I reveled in the scent of him—sweaty, warm, musky. All my mornings alone I had woken anxious and discontented. Now, here with him—I had a pack again, and all felt right with the world.
It was the lycanthropy, I told myself. I never would have slept with Ben if it hadn’t been for the lycanthropy. Not that I regretted it.