by Jessica Sims
He gave me a wary look, as if not quite trusting my sunny expression. “What?”
“I think I should massage your shoulders for you.”
The wary look intensified. “I never said they ached.”
“Yes, but mine do, and therefore I’m sure yours do, too.” I patted the end of the bed. “Come. It’s a human custom to massage each other,” I lied. What he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.
“It is?” He said it so flatly that it sounded more like a statement.
I nodded and patted the corner of the bed again. “Come over here and strip that shirt off.”
He hesitated a moment longer, then approached and sat on the edge of the bed carefully. It sank down hard at his weight—Hugh was enormous and packed with muscle—and I shifted backward so I didn’t fall into his lap.
Not that I would have minded, but he’d probably have bolted.
A moment later, he rolled his shoulders and pulled his shirt over his head, and I sucked in a breath at all that masculine beauty before me. Hugh sure was easy on the eyes. His shoulders were enormously broad and tanned, and as I peered closer, I saw small white lines of scars crisscrossing his skin here and there. For some reason, they only added to his attractiveness, perhaps because they spoke of danger. I admired his back without touching him for a long moment, then I reached for my pink backpack and pulled out the body oil. I warmed it up a bit between my hands and lightly laid them on his shoulders.
He jerked in response, bolting to his feet.
I tumbled forward, barely able to catch myself before I slammed to the floor. My oily hands went to the bedspread and I winced, knowing I’d have a dry cleaning charge on my hotel bill when I checked out.
Hugh had turned and was staring at me with feral, almost wild, eyes, the whites disappearing. “What are you doing, Ryder?”
“I’m trying to rub your shoulders,” I said with a grimace. “It’s a friendly gesture, nothing more.”
He hesitated. “Nothing . . . more?”
“Do I look like I’ve turned into my monster?” I gave him an impatient look. Truth was . . . I’d felt it shift under my skin the moment I’d laid my hands on him. I’d fought it back like I’d never fought back before, biting the inside of my cheek to concentrate. His subsequent retreat (and my near fall on my face) had shoved my changeling side back into its hiding place. “You’re safe with me.”
“Very well. I . . . apologize.” He thumped back down again, the look on his face a mixture of frustration and pained determination.
It was almost funny . . . except for the fact that I was trying to seduce him. “Are you going to stay put this time?”
“Yes.”
At least he sounded contrite. It was probably the sight of me nearly taking a header that had changed his mind. I waited a few moments to see if he was going to get up again. Two oily spots gleamed on his tanned shoulders where I had touched him before, and they called to me. “I’m going to put my hands on you again,” I warned him.
“Very well,” he said, and I watched his back lock up and tense, anticipating my touch.
I bit back my chuckle at that and leaned forward, lightly putting my hands on his shoulders again. He jerked under my touch but didn’t get up again.
“Okay,” I told him, feeling my changeling side flex and begin to beckon under my skin. I fought it back as best I could, concentrating on Hugh before me. “Now I’m going to rub your shoulders. Close your eyes and stay still, all right?”
I watched him for a moment, but he didn’t get up or tense, and I experimentally slid my oily hands over his broad shoulders. His skin was hot, like a furnace, and touching it was far more pleasurable than it should have been. Just the heat coming off him filled me with lust, and running my fingers over his skin? Massaging those thick cords of muscle and running my hands along them?
It was surely the best thing I’d ever felt.
My monster had fully arrived, my nails lengthening and my skin becoming scaly. I felt the wings burst out of my back, felt my tail slither forth from the small of my spine, and bit my lip to keep from groaning with pain at the sensation. It was quickly gone, though, and the hands that flexed and rubbed Hugh’s neck and shoulders were scaly, but not a muddy green. More of an iridescent green that seemed to shine from within. My fingernails were no longer talons but smooth, pretty claws with dull tips, slightly longer and more curved than normal fingernails. Not grotesque.
He was right; I was changing.
Would Hugh like my new form? I wondered, but I didn’t ask. I just continued to massage his neck, rubbing my thumbs against the sides of his spine, then dragging my nails down his skin.
He gave a low groan, the first sound he’d made.
I froze in place, waiting for him to flick me away once more, but he didn’t. He simply remained in place. His head bent forward, and he seemed to be asking for . . . more.
Ooooh.
My pulse throbbed heavy in my veins with excitement, and I kneaded his shoulders, my movements soft and sensual. I explored the hard ridges of his neck muscles, fascinated by them, and rubbed my knuckles against the base of his skull, where his hair had been shaved short. The bristle of it was thick and almost wiry, and I loved the striping. It made him unique. Different. I liked that about him. I liked that his lower arms were thickly furred, and that the stripes continued there. I wanted to run my hands all over him, but I worried he’d shy away again.
And I wanted to keep touching him. I loved the feel of his skin. The feel of him. The way his muscles flexed, hard but giving, as I massaged.
I couldn’t help it, either—I became aroused. I didn’t know when I’d become turned on by touching Hugh; for all I knew, it could have been as soon as I’d laid my oiled hands on him. But right now? My body ached to be touched. My nipples were hard with need, and my pulse had settled somewhere south of my belly button and beat there, steadily. When I shifted on the bed, I felt the slickness between my legs.
In front of me, Hugh stiffened, and I knew he scented my desire.
He sucked in a sharp breath, and then another groan escaped his throat. As I watched, his hands fisted on his legs, and his nails elongated into sharp claws again.
He’d lost control of his own beast. The sight of that made my breathing quicken, made my pulse race even faster. It was the most erotic thing I’d ever seen. “Hugh?”
“What?” The word was more groan than question.
“Now do me,” I whispered.
Chapter Twelve
He was silent for so long that I thought he’d protest. Declare that he was done and storm back into the bathroom again. I eyed his wide back with anticipation and dread, waiting.
Then, Hugh turned and gazed at me, his eyes so hot with lust and need that I felt the air suck out of my lungs. “Rub you?”
“Yes,” I whispered, nearly choking around the words. “I ache, too.”
He got to his feet and towered over the bed, staring down at me. His gaze was so intense that I practically felt it skittering along my skin. “You transformed.”
“I couldn’t help it.” I knew what I looked like—all scales and horns and compressed wings under my nightie. My hand went up to shield my face. “I’m sorry.”
Hugh’s big hand reached out and caressed my face, brushing aside my shielding hand. “You . . . were aroused by touching me?” His big thumb, tipped with claw, grazed the scales close to my mouth.
I nodded.
That thumb grazed over my lip, sending shivers down my spine. “And yet you hide your face.”
“It’s because it’s awful.”
“Never awful,” he said, his voice husky and aching with need. “Just . . . forbidden.”
And that made me ache with a sweet longing. “Please, please touch me, Hugh. I want so badly to be touched.” I leaned into his caressing hand. “I feel lik
e I don’t have much time left, and I want to know what it’s like. Don’t . . . aren’t you curious about me? Even a little?”
“More than a little.” His voice was hoarse now, his eyes nearly black. He glanced over at the side of the bed. “Where is the oil?”
I fumbled for the bottle with my own slick hands, uncapped it, and offered it up to him.
“You will undress for me?”
A hot blush scorched my cheeks. Weird that I was going to be shy now. I tugged at my dress, but it was tight at the neck, and with my wings in the way, I couldn’t pull it over my head. I scratched at it with my claws, only to whimper in frustration when I realized that my now blunted claws were useless. “I can’t . . .”
Hugh grinned, displaying enormous fangs that had lengthened recently. I wanted to lick them so badly. The sight of them distracted me, and I nearly missed it when his hand shot out and his claws ripped down the front of my dress. It fell to shreds about my front, my bra going with it.
I gasped, my hand flying to my front in shock. “Th-thank you.” I shrugged the clothing off my shoulders, feeling weirdly vulnerable to be topless in front of him. I was feeling like I had lost all control of the situation . . . and didn’t mind in the slightest. I did wonder what he thought of my body, though. My belly was covered with paler scales than my hands and arms, my breasts the same milky shade except for the darker nipples. The scales trailed down my arms, and a hard line of points extended down each of my biceps. My wings lay flat against my back, and my tail thumped against the bedspread, flicking like a cat’s.
Any human man would run.
Luckily for me, Hugh was pretty unique.
He squeezed some of the oil onto his big palms, and I watched, fascinated, as he rubbed them together, mimicking my own motions from a few minutes ago. Then he looked back to me, his eyes nothing but black in his face. “Turn, Ryder.”
I got to my knees and turned on the bed, presenting him with my wings. I clenched my hands at my breasts, anxiety and anticipation tumbling through me. Was he setting me up only to push me away once more?
Two big, warm hands clasped my shoulders.
A soft cry escaped my throat, more from surprise and shock than anything else. That warm, intimate touch was so very startling to my soul . . . yet it filled me with an intense ache. I’d held myself closed off for so very long that even this was overwhelming. A knot formed in my throat, and to my horror, I realized I was about to cry.
Not sexy.
I swallowed hard, but the tears wouldn’t go away. And as Hugh began to rub, tears started to slide down my face. A sniffle escaped me.
Hugh paused. “Ryder? Do you cry?”
“I’m okay,” I told him, but my voice betrayed me—it was husky and tear-clogged. I swiped the tears away with my fingers. “I’m sorry. I’m just being silly. It’s just—”
“—That you ache to be touched.” His big hand stroked over my shoulder again, a welcome caress. “I know this feeling.”
More tears welled up inside me. “Yeah. It’s just a bit overwhelming is all. I don’t know why I’m getting all weepy over it, though. It wasn’t like you wanted to touch me. I kind of forced you into it.”
Hugh’s hands turned me, and then he pulled me into his arms. His big, bare chest was warm against my scales, and for the first time in my adult life, I didn’t feel like a monster. Inhuman and unlovable. I just felt like . . . Ryder.
And that was what made me so choked up.
He held me, and I wept like a baby for what felt like forever. He simply stroked my back and hair, and his hand reached up and caressed my cheek. He didn’t even flinch away when his fingers ran over the hard blades at the tops of my shoulders. He just brushed over them and continued on.
Eventually, I recovered enough to stop crying. I sat up against him, reluctant to leave the delicious warmth of his chest but feeling like a fool. “I’m sorry. Here I was trying to be sexy and I ended up crying all over you. That wasn’t part of the plan.”
“So this was a plan?” He raised one thick eyebrow at me.
I gave him a sheepish grin. “You have to give me points for trying.”
He didn’t smile back at me, and I thought for a moment that he was mad at my manipulative tactics. “Do you tell me that you did not wish to touch me?”
“No, I did,” I admitted. “Sometimes I want to touch you so badly that I ache.”
His hand went to the small of my back and he jerked me against him, my hands going to his shoulders in surprise. “And do you feign the smell of your desire for me, Ryder?”
“No,” I said breathlessly, unable to look away from his intense gaze. “Never.”
His fingers went to my chin, and he tilted my face toward his, even as he tugged me closer. My breasts—scaled, but still sensitive—pressed against his chest, and I could feel the hard ridge of his erection against my belly. Excitement thrummed through my body, and I stared up at him, waiting.
And then Hugh kissed me. All on his own. Without me having to ask or persuade. His mouth swept over mine, hesitant at first, as if asking permission.
When I made a sound of pleasure in my throat, he pulled me tighter against him, and the pressure of his mouth became firmer, almost bruising with its intensity. I loved it, though; he couldn’t hurt me in my tougher changeling form, and I liked the raw edge of his passion. His fangs scraped against my lip, sending ripples of excitement through me. I moaned, my blunt claws digging into his flesh. The feel of his hot skin against my breasts as he licked into my mouth was incredible. I wanted it to go on forever.
As his mouth moved over mine, I felt his hands stroke my sides, sending ticklish waves through my body. He stopped kissing me for a moment to whisper, “May I touch your body?”
I nodded, excitement pulsing through me. “Touch me anywhere you want.”
He leaned back, studying my body, and I cringed slightly, imagining what he saw. “You are lovely, Ryder.”
I winced. “No, I’m not.”
“Are you calling me a liar?”
Oh, right. I shivered, feeling weird about it. “No. I’m not. I just . . .” I gestured at my body, seeing nothing but scales. “I can’t see beauty in this. All I see is . . . a creature.”
“Do you know what I see?” Hugh’s voice was low and soft, and his stern face above mine was gentle. He put his hand over my shoulder, and his thumb grazed my collarbone.
“What?”
“I see a beautiful body, with delicate bones.” He ran his claw down my collarbone. “And yet strong enough that I don’t have to worry about hurting you.”
That claw dragged against my scales and I shivered, aroused by the sensation.
His hand slid lower, and he cupped my breast, his big hand shocking in its heat. “I see these breasts, lovely and ripe, and just begging for the scrape of my fangs.”
I moaned, arching against his hand. He was highlighting all the things that were weird and different about us, and yet . . . it was incredibly erotic. “Tell me more.”
His thumb grazed the diamond-hard peak of my nipple. “I see this, and it begs for my mouth. Not only for sweet, gentle kisses but rough, wild biting.” His fangs bared, and he grinned down at me. “My kind likes to bite.”
“How do you know?” I asked breathlessly. “If you have no women, how do you know?”
“Because I dream of it,” Hugh said, his voice low and hoarse. “Every night, I dream of taking you into my arms and biting down on your lovely flesh, and watching you arch with pleasure under me.”
I shuddered, feeling liquid heat between my legs. My blunt claws dug into his skin. “God, Hugh, why does the thought of you biting me sound so incredibly sexy?”
“Because you’re not afraid of me,” he said, and his thumb-claw grazed my nipple. “Because these scales make your body impervious to anything I can do to you. And you fin
d that arousing. That I can be rough and wild with you, and it won’t matter.”
He was right; I did like that thought. I loved the idea of him losing control, of that big, strong, scary man not holding back as he showed me his desire. When he bared his long, frightening fangs? I didn’t get scared. I got aroused.
His hand slipped lower, to the curve of my waist. “I see a slim, beautiful body under my hands, Ryder. I do not see ugliness. I see a woman who tempts me to forget everything.” Hugh leaned in and gave me another kiss on my mouth, sucking lightly at my lower lip. “And that is why you are so dangerous to me.”
I moaned and brushed my breasts against his chest, wanting more. Wanting more touches. More kissing. More of his mouth—and teeth, and claws—everywhere.
But he only pressed his forehead to mine and gave a heavy sigh. “And that is why we should not go further than this.”
Disappointment swept through me, but I nodded, my arms wrapped around his big shoulders. “I can’t even be mad,” I said softly.
He’d given me the greatest gift that anyone ever had.
He’d seen my natural form . . . and made me feel pretty. I couldn’t be upset about that. I nestled against his chest and was pleased when he pulled me closer, into a comforting embrace. My hand slid up his neck, and I played with the thick hair at the edges of his jaw, the sideburns that seemed a natural extension of his feline form.
I was perfect for Hugh. He was perfect for me. Making love to Hugh would solve all of my problems.
And he would disappoint all of the other primordials if he broke his vow. Prevent them from receiving their mates. I felt that old, familiar guilt well up again. Once again, it felt like I was choosing my own happiness over that of two dozen other people. It felt cruel, but at the same time, I was trapped.
