Page 23 of Falling for My Shifter Defender

"Yes," I breathe, lifting slightly so he can unhook it. The garment falls away, and I resist the urge to cover myself. The way Eli looks at me—like I'm something precious, something to be savored—makes me feel powerful rather than exposed.

His hands and mouth worship me, drawing sighs and gasps as he learns what makes me tremble, what makes me moan. The scratch of his stubble against my sensitive skin creates a delicious contrast to the softness of his lips. Every touch is deliberate, patient, as if we have all the time in the world—as if I'm not just another conquest, but someone worth savoring.

When his fingers slip beneath the waistband of my jeans, I lift my hips in silent permission, my body humming with a need I've never felt before. This isn't just desire—it's something deeper, more terrifying.

He undresses me slowly, his eyes holding mine as each piece falls away. I should feel vulnerable, laid bare beneath him while he's still half-clothed, but instead I feel desired, cherished. The weight of his gaze is like a physical touch, warming me from the inside out.

"Tell me what you need," he says, his voice a low rumble against my skin.

"Just you," I whisper, reaching for him. "Just this."

His fingers find me then, exploring with exquisite patience, discovering the places that make me gasp and arch. His mouth never leaves mine as he touches me, swallowing my moans as pleasure builds, coiling tight at the base of my spine.

"You're safe," he murmurs against my neck, his fingers moving in slow, deliberate circles. "You're strong. You're not alone anymore."

Something about his words, coupled with the skilled pressure of his touch, sends me over the edge. I come with a broken cry, my body arching beneath his, pleasure washing through me in waves. It's not just physical release—it's something more profound, as if some tightly wound part of me is finally unraveling.

As I float back to myself, I feel Eli gathering me into his arms, tucking my head beneath his chin. Our hearts beat in tandem, gradually slowing as he strokes my hair, my back, murmuring words too soft to catch. His body is a warm fortress around mine, and for the first time in years, I let myself be held without planning an escape route.

The scent of him—pine and earth and something uniquely male—fills my lungs with each breath. His chest rises and falls steadily beneath my cheek, the crisp hair there tickling my skin. I trace idle patterns across his ribs, marveling at the contrast between us—his size, his strength, the roughness of his skin against my softer touch.

"What is this?" I ask finally, my voice barely audible in the quiet room.

His arms tighten around me, one large hand coming up to cradle the back of my head. The gesture is so tender it makes my throat ache.

"Something real," he says, pressing a kiss to my temple. His voice vibrates through his chest, rumbling against my ear.

I let out a shaky breath, fear and hope warring within me. The men in my past made promises too—pretty words that dissolved like sugar in rain the moment things got difficult. But none of them looked at me the way Eli does, like he sees past my defenses to the woman beneath.

"I need to go slowly," I whisper, hating the tremor in my voice. "I don't know how to do this. How to stay. How to trust that it won't all disappear."

"Then we go slow," Eli says without hesitation, his hand still tracing soothing patterns on my skin. "I'm not going anywhere, Grace. Neither are you, unless you choose to."

Chapter 8

Eli

"How much glitter is too much glitter?" I ask, staring at the display of school supplies that Willow is currently raiding. She's already filled her arms with at least three notebooks covered in sparkly unicorns and rainbows.

"There's no such thing as too much glitter," Willow informs me solemnly, reaching for yet another glitter-encrusted folder.

Grace laughs softly beside me, the sound warming something deep in my chest. My wolf perks up, alert and pleased. I've noticed he does that whenever she laughs—a sound still rare enough to feel like a victory. The curve of her smile sends heat coursing through me, and I have to force myself to look away before she catches me staring.

My wolf paces restlessly beneath my skin, eager to claim what we both know is ours.Mine, he growls.Mate. The instinct grows stronger every day, but I keep him leashed. Grace doesn't need a possessive shifter marking his territory. She needs patience, safety—someone who understands that trust has to be earned, not demanded.

That doesn't stop the wanting, though. The way her scent wraps around me when she walks by. The flash of skin when shereaches for something on a high shelf. The soft sighs she makes in her sleep when I check on her and Willow at night.

I want her. We want her. But we'll wait until she's ready.

"Maybe just one glitter notebook, Willow," Grace says, consulting the list in her hand. "The rest can be regular."

Willow's face falls momentarily before she brightens again. "Can I get the unicorn one? Please?"

"Of course," Grace says, her eyes softening as she watches her sister. There's something in that look—a mixture of love and worry that makes my chest ache.

I've seen that look before. It's the look of someone who's had to be both parent and sibling, who's had to make hard choices to keep someone safe. I recognize it because I've worn it myself, back when the pack was forming, when Adrian was still finding his way.

We're standing in Whispering Pines' general store, which is currently packed with families doing last-minute school shopping. The school year starts Monday, and Grace was adamant about getting Willow properly equipped. When I offered to drive them into town this morning, Grace hesitated only briefly before accepting.

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