Sensing my stiffness he halted the motion of his fingers. “Is this okay?”
It took a long moment for me to decide the answer to his simple question, wrestling with the wolf’s proclivity to bite first and ask questions later, while trying to examine my fear of letting him get close to me. The tangle of emotions was dizzying, but after a while I was able to reassure both the wolf and myself that he wasn’t a threat, that we could trust him, even with this. Closing my eyes once more, I sagged back into the couch cushions, silently giving him permission to continue.
The touch of Holbrook’s fingers made me melt, his fingers sliding through the soft fur covering my belly with gentle hesitation as if he were touching me for the first time. I didn’t know what to expect, never having let anyone touch me while I was shifted, but I soon realized I had nothing to worry about, not with him. His familiar crackling energy pulsed along my skin in lapping waves, gliding over my various aches and pains like the questing kisses of a lover. It wasn’t until I sighed in contentment that I realized the pain in my ribs had lessened considerably.
A second hand joined the first, twining through my fur in a slow dance that left me boneless and on the edge of sleep. My tongue slipped between my lips, lolling to the side like a dog in the midst of delirious pleasure, and I didn’t care at all.
Sweet Jesus, never let this stop.
Gradually the tingling sensation of his fingers traversing the curve of my hips and belly began to inspire other, more libidinous feelings. As much as the wolf shared my desire to feel him shuddering and gasping beneath us, she understood the logistical issues of achieving release while she remained at the forefront of our consciousness.
Sliding down off the couch, drawing a confused look from him, I stopped long enough to gaze back at him over my shoulder before trotting towards his bedroom, hoping he’d follow.
The creak of leather signaled his capitulation as he used the arm of the couch to push himself up from the floor and came after me, his bare feet padding almost silently against the carpet.
“Where are you going?”
Maintaining my loping pace I went into the bedroom, and then the adjoining bathroom, nosing the door shut behind me. I didn’t think either of us was quite ready for him to witness the actual transformation.
“Riley? Where’d you go?” he called on the other side of the door.
Unable to answer I bowed my head, bracing myself for the dizzying mix of pain and pleasure brought on by the shift from one form to the other. My thoughts became crystalline, suspended in the ether, as my physical being was transformed, bones and muscles shifting and reknitting to create familiar human shapes.
My first shuddering breath was like water after a long thirst, flooding me with buzzing energy until my thoughts were light and delicate as gossamer. A shake of my head reseated me fully, easing me back down into my body as if I were pulling on an old pair of gloves. It had been thrilling to let the wolf out, even if we had not been able to run amongst the trees and sky, but it felt equally good to spread my fingers against the cool tile floor.
“Here,” I croaked, my voice hoarse and faint. Swallowing, I tried again. “I’m in here. I’ll be out in a minute.”
Grasping the edge of the vanity, I pulled myself up on trembling legs. The face that looked back at me in the mirror was pale with weariness, but lust burned bright in my eyes. Turning on the faucet I splashed cold water over my face and eagerly drank from the cup of my hands. Straightening, I wiped water from my chin, shuddering as a stray rivulet trailed down between my breasts, trickling over my belly and the ridge of scar tissue bisecting my middle.
My fingers, still shaking with the after effects of the change, tracked along the edge of the scar, one of the few I still possessed. I knew its ridges and bumps as well as the back of my hand, the puckered skin as familiar to me as a favorite song. I’d spent many quiet, lonely nights lying awake in bed tracing the path of the thick scar across my belly, wondering where my life would have led if I had not attracted the attention of Samson. He’d stolen more than just my chance to ever wear a bikini again.
Only those few small scars I’d had before Samson’s attack, and this one left by his savagery, would stay with me until the day I died. Any other injuries I might suffer, unless inflicted by silver, would disappear without a trace, erased by the virus coursing through my veins. Even the cut across my ribs looked better than it had before the shift to wolf and back.
Giving the scar that had been my silent companion for the past eight years one final look, I ran my hands back through the messy tangle of my hair and opened the door.