Page 36 of Changelings
The masses of back muscles bunched and shivered with strain, his wings twitching and flicking as he batted away swipes and jabs. Covered as he was in that velveteen fur, with his great striated wings and flowing mane, everything about Balar shone golden in the late-day sun. His thick waist rippled with muscle, his massive chest with strength while they tussled.
Imogen knew it was only play, maybe a bit of display—Balar never wasted an opportunity to show off to her—but she was nevertheless thoroughly impressed. To think what he’d be like if he was actually fighting, using all that raw power to defend her…
Or pleasure her.
That thought popped into her head and stuck to the inside of her skull better than a burr. Once it was there, it wouldn’t leave.
The longer she watched him, the louder the thought became, too.
Imogen now hid her rising blush behind her hand rather than her giggling.
She was a woman of almost thirty, living alone. She knew how to take care of her body’s needs. Although she’d only been kissed once—the outcome of a dare, as she’d discover later—she didn’t need anything specific, memory or fantasy, to get herself off. Focusing on the gathering feeling, touching herself just so, she could climb her peak and hurtle over the top in no time at all.
However, the more she watched Balar wrestle, the more time she spent with him day after day, the more she thought…she might like to touch herself to thoughts of him.
Imogen didn’t think she’d be able to get the sight of his bare chest out of her mind anytime soon. She’d already become preoccupied with the ropes of sinew that shadowed his forearms, often bare with his shirtsleeves rolled up to the elbows.
Maybe, she might even…want him to touch her.
She’d never considered letting a man do that before. Hadn’t met one she’d ever want to let that close.
But this lion-man, with his big, loud laugh, affable nature, and winking gold-green eyes…he was different. Had been from the start.
He said he meant to be with her. He came every day to prove it. No matter how appalling her manners or mood, he met her with a smile.
No, Imogen hadn’t ever met a man like that.
Her mind was still fumbling with these new thoughts and desires when the wrestling wound down. Balar extricated himself finally, hustling backwards to pick up his canteen and guzzle down great pulls of water.
Imogen tracked a stray drop as it escaped the corner of his lip to run down his chin and the long line of his thick neck. Her mouth ran dry.
A smile broke across his face, and her gaze snapped up to his. He’d caught her staring.
Balar sauntered more than walked to stand with her, daring to give Chestnut a pat on the head.
“I believe I won,” he declared, none too smug.
“You usually do.”
He stood a little taller at that, shaking out his mane and wings. “You were watching, yes?”
“Was I watching my clowder of tomcats fight over the sun puddle? Yes, I was.”
His ears swiveled and his whiskers twitched. “I’m not a cat. I’m mantii.”
“But you look like a cat,” she teased. “You act like a cat, chasing sunbeams. And you purr like a cat.” She poked the center of his chest, where even now, a purr emanated from.
That deep rumble grew in volume with her small touch.
Imogen flushed, realizing she’d sidled up to him as she teased.Fates, am I flirting with him?
A few good peeks at his magnificent chest and here she was, flirting. She’d thought herself stronger than that.
Any and all thoughts ceased when a clawed finger curled beneath her chin to lift her face. Another one of those insufferably pleased grins teased his lips as he asked, “Yourclowder?”
Imogen flushed beet red. She meant to turn away and hide it, but Balar was quicker. Chuckling, he held her shoulders in his big paws, drawing her closer to him.
Leaning down to meet her, he whispered, “You’re right,urisá,Iamyours.”
