Page 27 of Corrupted Tyrant

Goddess. I can keep trying to pretend I don’t love this woman, but I’m fooling no one. The thing that confirms the depth of my emotions is that instead of pressing forward and demanding to know what’s going on in that beautiful, inscrutable mind of hers, I back off, expecting nothing.

I simply tuck her impossibly closer and use my claws to scratch her back. No words. Just touch. Switching off, I soothe with the pads of my fingers, then return to the gentle scratches. Nuzzling the top of her head, I kiss her with soft, lippy kisses as I hum.

It’s only when I feel warm liquid sliding down my neck that I realize my female is crying. I could give her all the time in the world to tell me what’s going on inside her beautiful head, but how can I sit by when her tears are sliding down my flesh?

“I did something wrong.” I figure it’s best to say the hard part for her. “If you just tell me what I did, I won’t do it again.”

When she doesn’t reply, I add, “Is your room card in your pocket? I can leave you here and go to your room to give you some space.”

Her answer is to clutch me tighter, her fingers firmly lodged in my pelt.

Finally, I can’t stand it any longer. “I’m dying inside, Candy. I never meant to hurt you.”

She pulls back to look at me, her lashes spiked with tears. Then she gives me the type of tender smile I picture the Goddess wears when she’s bestowing her blessings on someone. It’s full to bursting with affection, which seems at odds with the tears.

“I’ve never cried after sex before, Courage. It just feels so… big. I didn’t mean to make you worry. I’m just overwhelmed.”

Neither of us has said the word love, but I know it’s how I feel. Maybe I’m crazy, but I believe Candy just told me she loves me, too. Neither of us has to use the word. Describing her feelings as “big” is good enough.

“Mae adme rosh.”

My cock had been ready to explode when I was pleasuring her with my mouth, but its desperation has retreated. I maneuver us under the sheets, clutch her close, and murmur “I love you” in wolven until my woman goes to sleep in my arms.

Chapter Nineteen

Candy

As we pull into the parking lot of the Tupelo Automobile Museum, wispy memories of what Courage and I shared in his bed last night are still floating through my mind. After the emotional intensity of my night with Courage, I’m grateful for the chance to lose myself in something lighthearted and fun.

“I can’t believe there’s a museum dedicated to cars in Elvis’s hometown,” I muse as we walk through the front doors. “It’s like two slices of Americana in one place.”

Courage chuckles, his hand finding the small of my back. “Only you would find a way to connect vintage automobiles to the King of Rock and Roll.”

“What can I say? I’ve got layers.” I wink at him, enjoying the way his eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles.

We spend the next hour wandering through the exhibits, marveling at the sleek lines and gleaming chrome of the classic cars.

As we’re looking at a vintage Cadillac, Courage quips, “I guess you could say this museum is a real ‘car-nival’ of automotive history!”

I groan—his joke doesn’t deserve more than that, but then I decide to get into the act. “I never knew cars could be so ‘tire-rific!’” My laugh echoes in the cavernous museum as we move through the exhibits.

There’s something almost romantic about it, the two of us strolling hand in hand, sharing tidbits of trivia and terrible puns.

It feels like a date, I realize with a start. A real, honest-to-goodness date with the man I’m falling head over heels for.

The thought sends a thrill through me, followed quickly by a pang of uncertainty. What are we doing? What is this thing between us? Last night was…intense. Beautiful. Overwhelming in the best possible way. But where do we go from here?

Before I can get too lost in my head, my phone chimes with an incoming call. It’s Maury.

“Candy, bubelah!” His jovial voice fills my ear as I step away to take the call. “I’ve got fantastic news.”

“Oh, yeah?” I can’t help but smile at his enthusiasm. “Lay it on me.”

“I’ve found you the perfect opening act for the rest of the tour. Her name is Lila Jennings, she’s only nineteen, but she’s a prodigy. Plays guitar, banjo, fiddle—the whole acoustic nine yards.”

My brows lift in surprise. “Wow, she sounds amazing. But are you sure she’s ready for a demanding tour? Nineteen is awfully young.”

“The pot calling the kettle young… Trust me, this girl is going to be a star. And what better way to launch her career than opening for the incomparable Candy Wood?”

---