Page 81 of Bears Behaving Badly
(note: offer to pay for that in the morning, don’t forget)
turned, padded back to bed.
“Ow!”Forgot about the sofa bed.
“Muh? ’Nette?”
And the werebear sleeping in it. Wait, he was sleeping in the other bed. Her bed. Her temporary bed that smelled like Stables. Good.She crawled back beneath the covers and was about to give David a firm nudge to get him to scooch over
(blanket hog)
when he rolled over on his back, and his warm, sleepy scent washed over her, and for a couple of seconds he smelled like comfort and safety and sweetness, and before she knew it, she was kissing him, horrified at her utter lack of control and thrilled to be giving in to urges denied farfartoo long, and joy of joys, he was sleepily kissing her back.
Until he wasn’t. “Annette? Are you all the way awake?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“Because you’re talking about lamb chops.”
“Mmm…no. I’m callin’ you a lamb chop.”
“Oh.”
“I really, really like lamb chops. And you too.”
“Thanks. It’s mutual.” His hands had come up like they were going to grasp her waist, but he didn’t touch her; he just lay there, holding air. “You’re sure you’re awake?”
“Mm-hmm.” Her fingers went to skim under his T-shirt just as she remembered he was shirtless, because David Auberon was a clever, clever man. The tips of her fingers brushed over his nipples, and he sucked in a sharp breath as she leaned in to nuzzle at his collarbone.
“Oh my God. That’s… Oh…”
She hummed and kissed his throat.
“Annette, are you saying ‘nom-nom-nom’?”
“Uh-uh.”
“And you’re definitely awake.”
She sat up, straddling him; her eyes had adjusted enough so she could see him blinking up at her. “Did you want to give me a field sobriety test? I’m awake! Should I stop?”
“It’s not that. I just—”
“Oh.Oh,” she said, mortified. “You’re not… You don’t want this.” This. This was why she never did things like this. The fleeting pleasure did not outweigh the humiliation. She could feel the blood rush to her face as she started to climb off him, but he seized her by the waist and yanked her back down. “I’m sorry… Ack!”
“Dear God, no!” He lowered his voice. “Uh. I mean, I am one hundred and fifty-five percent into this, and you can do whatever the holy hell you want to me. I just wanted to make sure you… Oof! Jesus.”
“That’s mathematically impossible,” she said, and kissed him again. “Can’t be more than one hundred percent.”
“Disagree,” he gasped when she licked his nipple. His hand slid into her hair, careful not to pull, but as she trailed kisses lower and lower, his other hand fisted in the sheets. “Oh Christ.”
“You’re so sensitive here.”
“Am I?” he gasped.
“And you taste sogood,” she marveled.
“Thanks,” he managed. “Can I… I want to touch you, too.”
