Page 71 of Changelings
A broad smile broke across his face. Chuckling, he dropped his head to rest his forehead against hers. “Ah,kigara, I fear we’re being silly about each other.”
“Maybe a little,” she admitted with a giggle. “I think we’re saying the same thing.”
“Indeed. But perhaps we should be sure. I wouldn’t want any more misunderstandings.” Cradling her face in his paws, he held her still as he gently kissed her. A small touch, not as romantic as it was comforting. A greeting almost, a renewal. “I say that I love you, Imogen. My goddess.”
Pitter-patter, pitter-patter. How could any woman, human or otherwise, withstand that?
“I love you, too, Balar,” she whispered. “So, so much.”
His lips found hers again, this kiss every bit as romantic as it was fervent. Heat suffused her body, and she wondered if theysteamed together in the cold air. His arms came round her, and Imogen knew by instinct to throw her own around his neck. In the next moment, he’d lifted her off her feet, changing the angle of their kiss.
She yelped against his lips when he began to spin. Balar filled the clearing with his great, joyous laugh as he spun them round and round.
Shadow barked and the goats bleated merrily. Even Chestnut joined in, braying happily.Baa! Woof! Hee-honk!
Lifting her even higher under the arms, Balar declared for all the forest, all the world, “Imogen, mykigara, I love you!”
Later that evening, after all the chores had been done, the dishes washed, and the fire stoked, they sat together on the sofa, indulging in more kisses.
“To make up for all those we could’ve had,” Balar quipped before seeking a few more.
There was hardly any room for Imogen beside him on the sofa, but that seemed to suit Balar just fine. Practically in his lap, her legs draped over one of his, they sat facing each other, hands softly exploring. He kept his touch light, one paw stroking up and down her back while the other caressed her leg. But every once in a while, his claws would find their way into her hair, scratching at the back of her head. Imogen had never understood what it meant tomeltbefore, but with each teasing touch, she came a little closer.
Since their talk over the firewood, they’d been inseparable. The animals were seen to, dinner was prepared and eaten—all the while, they found little ways to touch each other. The squeeze of a hand or brush of a wing. Balar’s tail cheekily wound its way around her waist as they stood side by side kneading bread.
Her gaze never strayed long from him. Although they’d beencohabiting for weeks now, it was as though she needed the reassurance that he was there, that he was real.
It all feels like a dream. Too good to be true.
Her vision had gone rosy with all the happiness coursing through her. The dust mote floating through the air seemed to sparkle in the last of the day’s sunlight. Every creak of the cottage seemed to be the house singing to them. It felt like magic—and it was all because of him.
Imogen was fit to burst with every good feeling she could imagine. And somehow, with every stroke of his paw or tongue, she only felt better.
It was in that haze of happiness and love that she felt safe enough to let go. To experiment. Her thoughts were there, but she focused them on him.
His fur is so soft, but his chest is so hard beneath.
Does he like his mane touched? What about his ears?
Are his paws sensitive like hands?
Little by little, kiss after kiss, Imogen grew bolder. Not just touching his chest over his shirt but delving beneath to feel all that glorious warmth and muscle. She delighted in feeling the quick pace of his heart; knowing that he was excited, pleased by her touch, was encouraging.
Sometimes she worried she’d made a mistake—but that worry lasted less than a moment. Nothing seemed to displease him, and as the evening lengthened and her body softened, she began to learn his tells. He told her with louder purrs and rumbling hums what he especially liked.
Yes, his paws were particularly sensitive, and he liked it when she turned over the one on her leg to tease her fingertips across the pads. His breathing went erratic when she buried a hand in his mane, finding the arch of his jaw to caress and following it up to his ear. She was half-tempted to scratch it but instead traced the base.
Imogen felt how his next exhale wobbled and stuttered. When she pulled back from their kiss to catch her own breath, he buried his face in the crook of her shoulder, taking a long pull of her scent. Imogen almost jumped when she felt his textured tongue play at her neck.
“I could drown in your scent,urisá.”
“Really? I feel like I’m floating.” Fates, was that her voice, all breathy and sultry?
Balar rumbled with a laugh. “Good.” After another deep kiss, which left Imogen gasping when he finally pulled his tongue away in a slow, teasing glide, he asked her, “Can I make you feel even better, Imogen? Or is this enough for tonight?”
All her nerves, dulled under the heat of his attentions, coiled into a knotted ball in her stomach. The easy answer rested on the tip of her tongue. So much had happened today—she didn’t have to push herself. Imogen knew he’d be there tomorrow, and the day after that. They could do a little more each day, work up to each new intimacy.
But…the aching between her legs wouldn’t go away. Why stay awake half the night suffering when she could do something about it?
