The Shifter's Embrace Read online

  She flattened her hands and just touched him. She gave herself that gift. The gift of his short hair rasping on one palm and the heat of his back as she slipped the other hand under the collar of his shirt.

  He made that noise again and dropped his mouth to the hinge of her jaw. Her head tipped, giving him all the access he wanted. His nose bumped her ear, his lips, hot and soft, pressed into her pulse. She pivoted her head and ducked and then it was all lips and tongues. She was melting, needing, vibrating, but there were still two feet of space between their chests where he leaned down to her and his hands were still planted on the counter beside her.

  In a move she never would have previously thought herself capable of, both physically and emotionally, Celia looped out with one of her feet. She caught him around his hip and yanked herself forward. Instantly, his hands came to her ass to keep her from falling and then she was fully in his arms.

  In fact, he had her hoisted up so high that she was, for once, above him. His head was tipped back while she looked down at him, her eyes falling heavily closed as she leaned down to kiss him again.

  Jean Luc swayed. He was caught between wanting to run his hands over every inch of her body and never, ever wanting to let go of this ass of hers. So little and so juicy. Damn, she was so soft. Her breasts were pressed hard into his chest. He pulled her a little tighter, careful though, like she was delicate and perfect and the best thing that could have possibly happened to him. Which, to him, was exactly what she was.

  She dropped her head back and there was that graceful arch of her neck again. He leaned forward to taste her there and froze. Because those tattoos on her collarbones were peeking out of the collar of her T and he couldn’t think of anything he wanted to do more than press himself against her there. Solve the mystery of that colorful ink on such a beautiful part of her body. So he did just that, kissing along her collarbones, nosing aside the collar of her shirt when he had to.

  Celia leaned back in his arms and his biceps bulged with her movement. She couldn’t, for the absolute life of her, believe what she was about to say. “Maybe,” she panted. “Maybe we should lie down.”

  Instantly, almost the exact second she was done speaking, Jean Luc dropped them to the bathroom floor, him on his back, her stretched out over him.

  He was lifting his head off the ground to take her mouth again when she laughed against his lips.

  “What?” he asked dazedly.

  “I kind of meant we should lay down in the bedroom.”

  “Oh.” He shook his head. “Right.”

  Effortlessly, he rose with her, took two long steps and laid them out the exact same way on the soft carpet of the bedroom floor.

  Celia laughed again and dropped her mouth to his. “Close enough.”

  For some reason, him being flustered enough to lay her out on the bathroom floor and then the bedroom floor bolstered her courage. She sat up over him, straddled across his hips and reached for the hem of his T-shirt. She lifted it, and knowing exactly what she wanted, he reached down and basically ripped it off of himself, tossing it aside. He was sitting up then, and the two of them were nose to nose. She planted her palms on his shoulders and pushed him backwards. He went willingly, joyfully. His arms flung out to either side of his body like a rag doll. Celia understood then that he was going to be gigantic and still and let her touch him however she might want to.

  She shivered with the idea of it, as scared as she was excited. She knew her touch would be unschooled and clumsy compared to the other lovers he’d had. And there was just so much of him. The smooth planes of his pecs, the shadowed up and down of his abs, his gigantic, bowling ball shoulders. His chest rose and fell a full three inches with each breath, and she saw, in the side lighting from the bathroom, a smattering of chest hair she’d never noticed before. It was that that she touched lightly, with just her fingertips. She watched in amazement as goosebumps rose under her fingers as she moved her hand from side to side. It was almost like she’d summoned them up. Like she possessed an ancient and powerful magic.

  She could do this. She could. Reaching down to the hem of her own T-shirt, she lifted it off over her head and automatically trailed her own fingers down the tattoos on her collarbones. Courage. She wanted to live a life of courage. That’s what all of this was about. Everything. Why she was even here in the first place. Courage.

  She looked back down to see that Jean Luc’s hands were on his head, gripping at his own hair as he stared at her chest. She wore a white lace bra that left very little to the imagination.

  “White,” he murmured and his hips pushed involuntarily off the ground, kicking her up a few inches from where she straddled him. “Of course it had to be white.”

  For some reason that made her giggle as she leaned forward, planting her hands on either side of his head. “Touch me, Jean Luc.”

  She didn’t have to ask twice. His hands were suddenly on her. All over her, hot and calloused. He was barely moving them, yet his hands were so big he was touching her nearly everywhere. He slid his fingers underneath the clasp of her bra, brought his other hand around her front, dragged the backs of his fingers over the soft skin of her belly. Then his hands were at her ass, over her shorts, against the skin at the backs of her thighs, back up around to the back of her neck. His fingers were under one bra strap and then the other. His hips made small, uncontrollable movements. She was both frozen and arching.

  She’d never been touched this way before. It was like he was burying her under a blanket made of heat, one inch at a time. She didn’t know what she would do when she was completely buried. A jolt of reality burst through her. What if she did something embarrassing? What if he realized exactly how into him she was? What if he was turned off by how much she wanted him?

  She had to tell him. She didn’t want to tell him. Not at all. But this wasn’t a fantasy. This was reality and she needed to at least have the buffer of having said the words out loud.

  “Jean Luc,” she whispered.

  “What is it, baby?” he whispered back, his mouth against her neck and she almost lost her resolve.

  “I want you.” She swallowed as his body tensed, his hips pushing up into hers again. “But…”

  He froze and his head fell back, his hands stilling against her. He was breathing hard, but his eyes were patient. He blinked them hard. “But?”

  “But, um, historically, I’m not very good at this.”

  “What?” Was she speaking English? He rearranged the words in his head a few different ways and still couldn’t make them make sense.

  “I just,” she scratched at one arm. “I know you’ve had a lot of experience and I just don’t want you to be disappointed.”

  He shook his head and looked at the ceiling, hoping that some clarity would be written there, explaining what the hell she was talking about. “I’m sorry. What are we talking about here?”

  She cocked her head to one side. “Sex?”

  “You’re telling me that you’re not good at sex.”

  She nodded, looking absurdly relieved that he was understanding.

  He was not understanding.

  “Celia, what are you talking about?”

  She sat back, that insanely hot white bra shining in the dim room. One of her hands went to her mouth and Jean Luc realized that she was biting her nails. The nervous gesture made something roll over inside him. Something he’d thought was good and dead.

  “I’ve just… received complaints in the past and it would really wreck me if you were disappointed. So I figured I should just temper your expectations to start out with.”

  “Complaints.”

  She shrugged. “Yeah.”

  “You’ve received complaints.”

  “Yes.”

  “Men have complained about your skills in bed.”

  “Jeez, beat me over the head with it.” She slid to one side, about to crawl off of him, but in his first show of strength with her, he planted his hands at her hips and kept he
r there over top of him. She relaxed back and gave him her weight again.

  He watched her face in the dark and saw exactly how nervous she was. “What do they complain about?”

  She fidgeted, biting her fingernails again and crossing one forearm across her bare belly. “Um. That I can’t, you know… come?”

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake.” He thumped his head backwards.

  She misinterpreted his ire. “Some women just can’t, you know! And I can, I mean, I can by myself. It’s just that it’s different with someone else and—”

  “Celia, baby,” he traced his hands slowly up her back, warming her skin. “I’m not exclaiming about you. I’m exclaiming about these dipshits blaming you for not being able to come.”

  “No,” she shook her head adamantly. “It’s not their fault. Well, most of them. Most of them have tried very, very hard to make it happen. Like really hard.” She shrugged, her shoulders sagging in defeat. “And I just couldn’t.”

  “Huh.” A thought was occurring to Jean Luc, one that he was wise enough to keep to himself.

  “And I know that a lot of men pride themselves on their ability to make a woman orgasm. I just wanted to let you know that that is not on the menu and that I don’t want you to be disappointed when it doesn’t happen.”

  “Uh huh.”

  His eyes stayed on her. Quiet, patient attention that was wrecking her. She tried hard not to fidget but she was biting her nails again. He reached up and gently laced his fingers with hers, pulling her hand away from her mouth.

  “Celia, do you enjoy sex?”

  “Yes,” she nodded adamantly. “I really do.”

  “Even when you don’t come.”

  “Yes.”

  He eyed her for another minute. A plan of action in place, one that she didn’t need to know about, he slicked his fingers up her sides and back down. “Alright. I consider myself warned. And my expectations tempered.”

  Feeling like she maybe should say a little more, she opened her mouth, but Jean Luc was sitting up, pressing her against him and tipping her head back for more of that kiss of his.

  This time, it wasn’t a blanket of heat. It was a tsunami.

  His hands were everywhere and then so was his mouth. He tipped her head back and feasted at her neck. His hips lifted toward her, called by her heat, and she sank down on him, gave him her weight and heat.

  He lifted her up off of him and set her on her feet. She steadied herself against his shoulders and stood there, swaying, while he unbuttoned her shorts and dragged them off her legs.

  He stared at her for a second, burning into his brain the image of those white panties, thin at the hip and already tangled in his fingers. He didn’t remember diving his fingers all in those panties, but the pads of his fingers slipped over her bare hips and there was no denying it. He pulled her forward and buried his face in her soft belly. He let her go and unbuttoned his jeans, pushed them down his hips.

  She helped him, kneeling, when they got caught on his ankles. God, he realized, she was as anxious for this as he was and she had zero expectations for pleasure. It both inflamed and infuriated him. He didn’t like to think about Celia having had other lovers. But he really, really didn’t like thinking of Celia’s other lovers not taking care of her.

  When they were down to just underwear, his tight briefs severely tented, he cuffed her around the waist and laid her out over him, stem to stern.

  “God, you’re soft,” he muttered into the curve of her neck as his hands traveled all over her, as far as he could reach in either direction.

  He rolled them and for the first time, had her on her back. Her eyes were dark and heavily lidded, her mouth opened halfway and she panted, one of her legs falling open and one hand reaching for him.

  All signs pointed to a very, very game Celia, but he wasn’t a man to take anything for granted.

  “You want me, baby?” he asked her, on all fours over top of her, surrounding her.

  “Yes,” she whispered, her back arching toward him, her breasts pushing against her bra.

  He dropped to his forearms and kissed along one plush slope of her breasts and then the other.

  “What do you want?”

  “I want you.”

  “You want me what?” He tugged one cup of her bra down and raked the flat of his tongue over her beaded nipple. As sweetly pink as her lips, it immediately stood up tall for him and he groaned against it.

  “I want you inside me,” she said, her voice ragged and silky at the same time.

  “Alright,” he muttered, moving to the other breast and treating it the same way. “Alright.”

  He wanted that, too. Very badly. And he was absolutely about to give it to her. Jean Luc reared back, slipped his fingers in the edges of her panties and slid them down her legs, his eyes glued to her core.

  He groaned and tossed those panties aside. “Fuck.”

  She was pink and bare and perfect. He ran his hands from her ankles up to her knees where he gently nudged her legs apart. She spread for him, even farther. As far as she could go.

  Just the look in his eyes was already the best sex she’d ever had. She’d never had man look at her this way before. Like she was the antidote to a poison. Like he was dying without her.

  She, for the first time in her life, was not shy about being this exposed. She planted her heels as far apart as they could go. Opened herself for him.

  He laid a fist on the floor and dragged himself forward, toward her, like she had a gravity he couldn’t fight.

  Recognizing his trajectory, she instantly tensed. She slipped a hand over her pussy and five inches away from her, Jean Luc paused and looked up, his eyes seeking hers.

  She really thought they’d covered this ground a second ago.

  “Really, Jean Luc, there’s no point in that.”

  He gave her a look she couldn’t interpret and didn’t have time to try. He leaned forward and licked the back of her hand. A soft, complicated press of tongue that showed her exactly what he wanted to do to her pussy. “Trust me. There’s a lot of point to it.”

  “I won’t be able to—”

  “I know, baby. I know,” he told her. “But 1, I really, really, really like doing this. Seriously, I’ve been thinking about doing this to you pretty much nonstop for the last week.” Her legs fell open a little further again. “And 2, I’m built in proportion. If I don’t get you good and ready for me, I’m gonna end up hurting you.”

  She glanced down at his briefs. She’d seen him naked twice, both for bear-shifter-related reasons. And he’d been soft then. And even then he’d been impressive. Maybe he was right. She needed to be as ready as possible.

  Her legs fell all the way open and her hand slid away. “Alright. Just so long as you know that—”

  “I know, baby. You’re not gonna come. Trust me. This is not for you. This is for me.” He finally lowered his mouth to her and groaned. He came away and nipped at the inside of her thigh. “This is completely for me.”

  Jean Luc’s tongue tunneled inside of her. He swirled it and started to open her up for him. Her breath left her body as he came up and gently sucked at her clit, his tongue making soft, insistent swipes across her. Her body tensed and something unexpected uncurled inside her. Wow, he was good at that. But it didn’t matter. Because she’d had skilled lovers before. They’d never made her come. And he wasn’t going to be able to either. She was an unpickable lock. She just wasn’t made that way.

  He fluttered his tongue over her again and her hips picked up a little bit. He planted his hands on her thighs, pinning her down; his head came up and his eyes trapped her. “This is not for you,” he told her. “You are not going to come.”

  Her fingers clawed into the carpet. Right. They were on the same page. She was so relieved they were on the same page. HOLY—“Gah!”

  Celia’s heels slammed into the floor as she widened her legs even further. He was pressing a finger inside of her and she was opening for him. He star
ted doing something to her that made her lift her head up off the ground, slam it back down. Suddenly one of her hands was in his hair.

  Her eyes were open and unseeing. He added another finger and twisted them slowly, inexorably. He lifted his head again and told her point blank, “This is not for you. This is for me. You are not going to come.”

  She gasped and arched. Tried to respond and couldn’t. There was a familiar beating of wings within her. Like a bird trying to get enough lift to take off from a branch. She strained toward it and away at the same time. She wasn’t going to be able to make it. She couldn’t get there.

  Suddenly, Jean Luc pulled away completely, everything gone.

  “No!” she shouted, reaching for him.

  “Do. Not. Come,” he told her, his eyes flashing as he loomed over her. And then he was back, sucking insistently at her, burying his tongue inside her and then his fingers. He made a sound that ended her. Just right there. Here lies Celia, dead by sexy noise.

  He was everywhere, touching every good fiery place she had. Inside out. She could hear her wetness on his lips, his tongue. It made her back arch. Then he groaned again, took her clit in his mouth and did that fast little pet with his tongue that had her planting her heels in his back and destroying herself.

  Celia’s voice was weak and split in two as she moaned for him. As her body arched and held and held and held and collapsed for him. He didn’t stop licking at her. He kissed her right through it. Her body tightened hard, rhythmically, around his fingers. She was covered in a fine sheen of sweat that made her glimmer, made his one hand on her thigh slip.

  Her breath came in shuddering puffs, and that’s when the trembling started. He gave her one last little kiss over her pussy before he came up over her. He wanted to kiss his way up that stomach of hers, but the trembling concerned him.

  “You—” she tried and stopped. “How did you—”

  “You alright, baby?” he asked her, tracing his nose from one collarbone to the other.

  She lifted her head and let it fall back. Lifted and fell back.

  When he lifted his head to look in her eye, he was expecting a lazy look of satisfaction, maybe surprise, maybe even a little gratitude. He did not, however, expect to see a woman on a warpath.