Page 20 of Purring for Her Lion
This time, she rolls to face me. Her hand lands in the space between us. Her face is soft in sleep, all her nervous energy gone. She looks younger. Vulnerable.
Something protective claws at my chest. I shove it down.
Not my human. Not my problem. Except for the egg. Which is only my problem professionally.
I repeat it. Over and over. Like a mantra. Maybe it’ll stick.
Thunder rolls. She shifts again, her knee brushing my leg. I tense, but don’t move. Waking her would be inconsiderate. That’s all.
Her breathing is steady. Mine is not. I keep it shallow, careful. If I breathe too deep, her scent will fill my head and set off reactions I’d rather not examine.
The storm fades. The time between lightning stretches. The room grows darker, moonstones dimming as if the inn itself is relaxing. Now I’m even more aware of her, of the heat from her body.
Then it happens.
With a sleepy sigh, Liana eliminates the last of the space between us. She slides across the sheets, pressed against my side. Her arm drapes over my chest, her leg hooks mine, and her face nestles into the fur at my shoulder.
I freeze. My tail doesn’t even twitch. This is unexpected. Unwelcome. Absolutely unwelcome.
Except my body doesn’t get the message. My arm moves on its own, curling around her, hand settling on her hip.
She snuggles in even more, and I let her.
What the fuck am I doing?
I should move her. Gently. Without waking her. That’s the right thing to do.
Instead, I lie here, listening to her breathe. Her arm tightens around my chest, and she makes a small, contented sound against my fur.
I ignore the contended warmth that spreads in my chest.
I’ll move her in a minute. Once she’s fully asleep. Moving her now might wake her, and then we’d have to talk about boundaries, and neither of us wants that.
Just a few minutes.
She fits against me perfectly. That’s just physics, not emotion. Maximum contact, minimum wasted space. Efficient.
Physics doesn’t explain the way my chest tightens when she sighs.
This is dangerous. I know better than to get attached to humans. They’re fragile. Temporary. Messy. I learned that lesson the hard way.
And yet.
Holding her feels…right. Not just physically, but somewhere deeper. Like finding something you didn’t know you lost. Like coming home after a war.
Ridiculous. Must be the storm affecting my brain.
Her heartbeat is steady, hypnotic. Mine slows to match. Despite everything, I relax into her, my hand curving around her hip, holding her close.
So much for emotional distance.
Tomorrow, I’ll reestablish boundaries. Tomorrow, we’ll go back to her home with the egg and the equipment, and I’ll keep my distance. Tomorrow, I’ll remember why getting involved with a reckless human is a terrible idea.
But tonight...
Tonight, I’ll allow this. Just this. These quiet hours in the dark, with the storm dying outside and her warmth against me. I’ll let myself feel what it’s like to protect something fragile, something that trusts me, even if she doesn’t know it.
I tilt my head, my nose close enough to her hair to catch the scent without obviously sniffing. Like an idiot. Which I’m not doing.
