Page 21 of Purring for Her Lion
She smells like home.
And that, more than anything, terrifies me.
CHAPTER 7
LIANA
I knowI’m dreaming even before the walls of my farmhouse bedroom melt away, turning soft and golden and unreal. The sheets under me are wrong, too smooth, too decadent, whispering against my bare skin. That’s the next clue. I never sleep naked. Not with Roarke, the world’s grumpiest neighbor, right beside me. But dream-me? Dream-me sleeps naked and doesn’t even question why the bedroom door is opening, or why my heart is pounding, or why I’m holding my breath, waiting for whoever is coming through.
And of course, it’s Roarke.
He fills the doorway, massive and golden, fur catching the impossible light. He looks nothing like the calm, controlled Roarke I know. He looks flustered, tail lashing, ears flat, energy rolling off him like a storm.
“This,” he growls, raking his hand through his mane, “is exactly what I was afraid of.”
Great. Even in my dreams, he’s grumpy.
I sit up, clutching the sheet to my chest. “What are you talking about?”
His golden eyes flash, pupils slitting. “This. You. Being with you.”
The words should sting, but they don’t. Not with the way his voice sounds. There’s a hunger in it, rough and raw, that contradicts every complaint.
“I’m sorry,” I say, not sure if I mean it or even know what I’m apologizing for.
He stalks closer, every step deliberate, predatory. The floor doesn’t even creak under his weight. Dream logic.
“I’m not,” he says, voice dropping, deep and thunderous.
I blink. “You’re not, what?”
“Sorry.” He’s at the bed now, looming over me, eyes glowing in the dimness. “I’m not sorry.”
Before I can ask another question, he scoops me up, sheet and all, like I weigh nothing. One big hand cradles my head, tilting my face up.
“I’ve wanted to do this since I saw you chasing chickens in your pajamas,” he growls, and then his mouth is on mine.
His kiss erases thought. His lips are firm, but soft, and the rasp of his fur is electric. He tastes wild, like pine and spice and something dangerous. His tongue is rough, textured, and when it slides against mine, I make a sound I’ve never made before, half gasp, half moan.
He breaks the kiss, leaving me dazed. My mouth opens, but nothing comes out.
He’s smiling down at me, slow and satisfied. Gods, he’s beautiful like this. Unfair.
“So that’s how to make you stop talking,” he murmurs. “Good to know.”
I try to protest that I can talk just fine, but he’s kissing me again, deeper, hungrier. The sheet is suddenly the enemy. I want it gone. I want to feel his fur on my skin. I want?—
“Not that I mind. You can talk all you want,” he says, lips brushing mine, reading my mind. He lowers me to the mattress, positioning me exactly how he wants. “I’m perfectly fine with it.” He nuzzles my jaw, breath hot. “In fact, keep talking, sweetheart.”
His mouth trails down my neck, and I tilt my head back, giving him more. “I—I don’t know what to say,” I stammer as his teeth graze my pulse.
“Then don’t,” he murmurs, lips at my throat. “Just make noise. I like your noises.”
He nips at the spot where my neck meets my shoulder, and I gasp.
“Like that,” he approves, voice a deep purr. He pulls back, eyes locking with mine. “Whenever you want me to stop, you’ll let me know.”
I shake my head, clutching his shoulders. “There’s no reason for you to stop,” I say, breathless. “I’ve been lusting after you for days.”
