I wake up wrapped around a werewolf, which is either the best decision I've ever made or the worst. The jury's still out because I'm currently too busy being warm and thoroughly satisfied to worry about life choices.
His arm is heavy across my waist, his body warm and solid against my back. I turn carefully and find steel-gray eyes already watching me with an intensity that makes my breath catch.
How long has he been awake?
How long has he been lying here watching me?
"Morning," I manage. "This is either really romantic or really creepy, and I haven't decided which yet."
Something flickers across his face—relief, maybe. "How are you feeling?" His hand moves to my hip, fingers gentle. "After last night, after I… I should have warned you properly before it happened. I know it was too much."
"I'm fine. Better than fine, actually. That was incredible, and if you apologize one more time I'm going to start keeping a tally and charging you per sorry."
His expression softens, but something remains underneath—a shadow that doesn't disappear. His thumb traces circles on my hip, the touch almost absent-minded.
"What's wrong?" I press my palm to his chest, feeling his heartbeat. "Don't say nothing, because I can tell when you're doing that brooding thing where you're secretly having an existential crisis while pretending everything's fine."
He's quiet for a long moment, jaw working.
"I didn't plan for any of this," he finally admits, voice rough. "For you. For what you make me feel. I spent years building walls, convincing myself I didn't need anyone, that being alone was safer for everyone involved."
"And now?"
"Now those walls are rubble and you're the wrecking ball, and I don't know how to…" He stops, something vulnerable crossing his face before he locks it down. "I don't know how to do this."
"Do what, exactly?" My chest tightens. "Because if you mean the sex part, I think you've got that covered. Ten out of ten, would recommend, stellar Yelp review incoming."
That pulls a rough laugh from him. "Not the sex. This. Us. Whatever we are now."
"Okay, so what are we?" I push up on my elbow, studying his face. "Because I'd like to think we're more than just roommates with exceptional benefits, but you're doing that thing again where you look like you're about to flee into the night."
His hand tightens on my hip. "We should focus on keeping you safe first. Figure out who's targeting you, eliminate the threat…"
"That's deflecting. That's you changing the subject because you don't want to answer the question." I lean closer, watching amber flicker in his eyes. "What are we, Hugh?"
"We're…" He swallows hard. "Complicated. We're really complicated, and there are things you don't know yet, things I need to tell you about what's happening—"
I kiss him before he can finish, because I recognize a spiral when I see one and this conversation is clearly heading nowhere productive. His response is immediate—his hand sliding into my hair, mouth opening under mine, the last of his tension melting.
When I pull back, his eyes have gone full amber. "That's cheating."
"That's strategic redirection." I trail my fingers down his chest, feeling muscles jump. "And you were about to tie yourself in verbal knots trying to avoid just being here with me, so I'm calling it a necessary intervention."
"Claire."
"No more talking about complicated things before coffee. New rule." I press kisses along his jaw, his neck, the hollow of his throat. "We can tackle existential questions later. Right now… I have better ideas for how to spend our morning."
His hands frame my face, tilting me up. "You're an impossible young woman."
"And you're stalling." I nip at his lower lip. "While I know pretty well that that mouth of yours can do more besides overthinking."
Without warning, he flips us—my back hitting the mattress while he looms over me, all controlled power and barely restrained hunger.
"You want my mouth, sweetheart?" His voice drops to that rough growl. "Be careful what you ask for."
He kisses down my neck, teeth grazing my pulse point, and I arch into the sensation. His hands map my body with devastating thoroughness—cupping my breasts, thumbs circling my nipples until they peak, then moving lower to spread my thighs.
"You’re soaking," he murmurs, fingers sliding through my folds. "Did you dream about this? About me touching you again?"
"Maybe I woke up wanting you and you were conveniently right there, looking all broody and conflicted. Very sexy, and motivating."
He makes a sound that's half laugh, half growl. "What a shameless little thing."
"You say that like it's a bad thing." I gasp as he slides two fingers inside me. "Oh god, that's… keep doing that."
"This?" He curls his fingers, hitting that spot that makes my vision blur. "Or this?" His thumb presses against my clit while his fingers pump steadily.
"Both. Definitely both. All of it. Don't stop—" But he does stop, pulling his hand away just as the pressure starts building, and I actually whimper in frustration. "Hugh, I swear to god…"
"Patience, sweetheart." He's moving down my body, kissing a path over my stomach, my hip bones. "I love to take my time with you."
Then his mouth is on me and thought becomes impossible. His tongue licks through my folds, circling my clit with maddening precision while his hands grip my thighs, holding me open. The pleasure builds fast, each stroke pushing me higher.
"Please," I hear myself begging, hands fisting in his hair. "Please, I'm so close—"
He pulls back. "Sorry, sweetheart, not yet."
"Are you fucking kidding me right now? This is torture, actual torture. I'm going to file a complaint—" He slides three fingers inside me, cutting off my rant.
The stretch is intense, but his mouth returns to my clit and suddenly it's perfect.
"Now," he growls against me. "Now you can come for me."
The orgasm crashes through me, my body clenching around his fingers while pleasure rolls through me in waves. He works me through it until I'm trembling and completely wrecked.
Before I've recovered, he's positioning himself between my thighs, the thick head of his cock pressing against my entrance.
"Again," he says, voice rough. "I want to feel you come around my cock."
He pushes inside in one slow thrust, and the fullness makes me gasp. He's already moving, setting a rhythm that's both perfect and maddening, hitting that spot inside me.
"Touch yourself," he commands. "I want to watch you."
I shudder at the suggestion—order?—but I can’t decline. My hand slides between us, fingers finding my clit. His pace increases, breathing ragged.
"That's it," he groans. "Come for me, Claire."
I shatter again, crying out his name as my body clenches around him. He follows immediately, rhythm faltering as he comes with a rough groan, his forehead dropping to rest against mine.
We stay like that for a long moment, both breathing hard, his weight pressing me into the mattress in a way that feels safe instead of suffocating.
Afterward, when he pulls me against his chest, I notice the way his arms tighten around me—too tight, almost desperate. Like he's trying to memorize the feeling of holding me.
Like he's afraid I might disappear if he lets go.
There's a shadow that crosses his face when he thinks I'm not looking. Something troubled in his eyes that he's working hard to hide.
He's keeping something from me. Something big. I can feel it in the tension that won't quite leave his shoulders, the careful way he chooses his words.
I just don't know what it is yet.