Page 11 of A Wulver for the Week

“You’re distracting me.”

The plane begins to taxi down the runway, speeding up, wheels bumping and seats juddering as we leave the ground in fits and starts, eventually soaring high.

As the silvery nose of the plane climbs, Minerva’s gentle grip becomes tighter. I close my hand over hers and press my muzzle to her ear, hoping it feels like human lips. “I can distract you in other ways. Ways that I know will completely absorb your attention,” I whisper.

MY FEAR OF FLYING FADESas Craig’s hand closes on mine, his lips warm against my ear.

How can he distract me? Is he about to suggest we go into the spacious first-class bathroom and join the Mile High Club? Because I’m suddenly down for that.

Shit, I’ve pretended too hard and caught feelings before my mother even has a chance to look at Craig and reject him on sight...which is a real possibility. “Wh-what distraction?” I whisper back.

“Tell me the indications that LASIX should be used on geriatric patients with acute nephrotic syndrome and a comorbidity of congestive heart failure.”

I turn so fast that my nose smacks his. Our lips touch for a split second before I lean back, almost into the aisle, craning my neck to give him a “What the hell?” look. “What?” I demand.

“I...I thought asking you some questions to help you study for the CNO interview would get your mind off of other things,” he says with a bashful shrug of his shoulders.

I’m so turned on right now that it’s unhealthy. I would rip a hole in my comfy peachskin leggings and ride Craig like a cowgirl at a rodeo—if this wasn’t just pretend.

“No boyfriend, fake or otherwise, has ever remembered when I had exams for L.P.N, R.N., or now Chief Nursing Officer at the hospital. No one has ever cracked open a test prep manual to help me study, let alone to distract me from my silly fear of flying.”

“Aye, well... Seemed like a good plan.”

“It’s an amazing plan.” I swivel back in my seat to lean against him again. “I’ll answer that question once they bring us those little bags of pretzels.”

“All right, love,” he mutters against my scalp, almost as if he’s pressing a kiss to my head.

“We should... We should lean into this, shouldn’t we?” I whisper.

“What?” he whispers back, his hand slowly rubbing mine, our thumbs interlocked. The motion is soothing. Sleepy. Lazy.

Comforting and hot all at once.

I let out a shaky breath through my nose, hoping he doesn’t hear it and think it’s weird, or if he does, that he can’t tell what it means.

“We should lean into this—all this cute, couple-y stuff. It looks convincing,” I whisper.

“You’re so smart.” His head shifts. Moves. Lips gently press against my neck, and I close my eyes and breathe out hard so I don’t moan like a sex-starved spinster.

“I am?”

“And such a good actress.”

Fuck, when he’s pressing his nose into my neck like this, his voice is all muffled and growly... My nipples turn into painfully hard rocks, and the space between my thighs starts to throb in time with my heartbeat, every pulse a love tap on my clit.

“You’re an even better actor.” I reach back, hand running through his silky beard and up his sideburns into his lustrous dark hair.

I might be crazy, but it almost sounded like he said, “Who’s acting?”

“GOD, MY BUM’S NUMB,” Craig groans and rubs his backside with one hand while he helps me to my feet with the other. The smiling first-class flight attendant opens the door to the jetway and ruins the rosy fantasy I was living.

For the past three hours, Craig and I have been curled up like one of the many mini pretzels I devoured, sipping champagne, watching a sappy rom-com, and cuddling.

My hands wandered over his thigh.

His hand brushed across my chest.

He didn’t mention my hard nipples, so I didn’t mention the hard bulge.

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