Page 19 of Protected By the Wolven

“Zimzam is also a Ukrainian vord.” Her accent is thicker now. Though it usually indicates that her anxiety is rising, it doesn’t appear she’s upset.

“Yeah? What does it mean?”

“Kiss.”

Although sometimes she can’t hold my gaze, even when we’re having a lighthearted conversation, she manages to spear me with her piercing blue eyes.

“Kiss?”

“Yes. Instead of slap, this game should be vith kiss.”

Her gaze is still connected to mine, her only tell that she’s not sure of herself is that her Ws have turned into Vs.

I try to play it cool, giving it far more thought than necessary, because I want to jump out of my chair, run to the window, yank it open, and announce to all the Zone that Zoya is going to kiss me.

After stroking my chin thoughtfully, I use all my considerable effort to refrain from enthusiastically agreeing. Instead, I reluctantly say, “Okay. If that’s what you want.”

Our last few games had become what they were meant to be—speed rounds of slapping cards and slapping hands until one of us exhausted our supply of cards in our stacks and won.

This game, though, is slower, more thoughtful. Thorough, with far more eye contact as we navigate the game, following the rules, both of us waiting for the moment we can shout zim-zam and get a kiss.

Finally, a five hits the top of the pile, which is the card we both need for zim-zam. I shout it first—far too loudly I might add, because I’m so excited.

“You get to kiss me.” Her words hang in the air, more of a challenge than a statement. Her eyes dare me to take the next move.

Shit. Is she serious? My heart races as I try to decipher her intentions. Does she want arealkiss or is she expecting a peck on the cheek like the flying kiss she gave me last night? Just the memory of her soft lips brushing against my skin sends a jolt of excitement flowing through my veins.

After remembering that there are usually at least five or six zim-zams per game, I decide to start small. I don’t want to freak her out. I’ll test the waters before I dive in.

As she leans forward, licking her lips seductively, I go for the safe bet and lift her hand to my mouth. Keeping my gaze locked with hers, I press barely there kisses to each knuckle, savoring the scent, the warmth, the softness of her skin. Then turning herhand over, I place teasing kisses along her palm before nibbling on it lightly.

My boldest move is flicking the tip of my tongue against the center of her palm, sending a jolt of electricity through me. Her sharp intake of breath tells me she felt the carnal zap, too.

“Zim-zam,” I murmur, just as I would after slapping her hand when following the other set of rules.

Normally, play resumes immediately after the triumphant shout of “zim-zam” concludes the slap, or in this case, the kiss. Instead, she remains perfectly still, gazing into my eyes with a hunger that matches my own. She sits perfectly still, except for her little pink tongue slipping out to lick her lips.

Through my peripheral vision, I see goosebumps marching along her upper arms. The jolt it gives me, knowing my chaste little kisses affected her that way, is like a power breaker just surged on the electric grid.

Chapter Eighteen

Zoya

Not even the world’s best scientists know where the Others came from or how they got here—maybe another dimension. Right now, I feel as though I’ve fallen into another world. I don’t know how, but those soft, sweet kisses, combined with the searing heat of those otherworldly silver eyes, are making me feel things I’ve never felt before.

Need, fierce and potent, is slicing through my body. It’s so powerful it takes me a moment for my thoughts to come back online.

I make a feeble attempt to laugh, to brush off the sheer lust singing through my veins, and say, “Your turn.”

His gaze veers from mine as he clears his throat, then he grabs the top card, and the game resumes.

I don’t usually wish for things. I discovered as a little girl that wishes rarely, if ever, came true. Now, though, I wish with all my might that I’m the next to call zim-zam. I’m not going to grip his hand and sweetly kiss his palm, though. I’m going to give him the type of kiss I dreamed about last night.

Soon, we’re playing faster and more furiously than we have all morning. An ace appears on the top of the stack. We both have one, and I shout “zim-zam” before he opens his mouth.

I lean across the battered little table, then think better of it and settle back in my chair. I don’t want our first real kiss to be awkward as we stretch to reach each other. Impulsively, I rise, walk to his side, and tell him, “Turn toward me.”

Where I found the courage to boss this big, wolf-like male around, I haven’t a clue. Perhaps that’s one reason I feel so much affection for him. He doesn’t scare me. I feel comfortable being myself with him.

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