Thunder Moon (Nightcreature 8)

He seemed to know my body better than, or at least as well as, I did, slowing, shifting, taking the pressure away from one place and applying it to another. His lips traveled everywhere, first soft, then hard, a nip of the teeth, a stroke of the tongue, just enough, not too much. There, yes there.

I wanted the release; I begged for it, too. He made me wait, nearly gave it to me, then made me wait some more. The moon shone, round and impossibly white on my upturned face as I rode him, desperately seeking something.

His body convulsed, triggering an answering convulsion in mine. The sharp, hot puff of his breath against the damp skin of my breasts made my nipples tighten, the reaction echoing in the deepest part of me.

In the aftermath, I lay draped over him. He was strong; he kept us both above water. The warmth, the gentle lap of the waves that slid into the cove from the moving creek, lulled me. I almost fell asleep.

“Is this where you bring all the guys?”

I stiffened, lifted my head, and met his curious eyes. I could see how he’d think that. We’d only just met and now we were naked. Maybe I was a slut, but most men had the sense not to say so.

“You’re the first.”

He frowned. “I don’t think so.”

“Ass.” I shoved myself off him, scooting backward in the water. “I didn’t mean first, first. I meant first person I’ve ever brought here. This place is special, but you, Doctor, are not.” I began to swim home.

He caught me before I reached the colder, faster rushing water of the creek, grabbing me around the waist and hoisting me against him. I struggled, but he was bigger, stronger, more determined than me.

“Hey.” He set his forehead against mine. “I’m sorry. That was ... stupid.”

“You think?” I kicked him in the shin. Since I had no leverage and the water dulled the blow, it was a childish gesture, but I felt better.

“I’m sorry,” he said again. “I’m no good at this.”

“What? Speech? Social niceties? Tact?”

“All of them. Since my wife—” His chest rose and fell against my own. “I haven’t been with anyone and I’ve never been very good at keeping what’s in my-head from shooting out of my mouth. I like you and I didn’t want—” He broke off. “I’m making a bigger mess of this now than before, aren’t I?”

“I don’t think that’s possible.” I pushed against his shoulders, and this time he let me go.

“I don’t sleep around. This is a really small town, and it’s bad for business.” I shoved my hand through my dripping hair. “Sleep with a guy, he expects privileges.”

“What kind of privileges?”

His face had hardened, his biceps, too, as his hands curled into fists. I

found myself charmed by his defense of me, as well as the flex and flow of his muscles. God, I was pathetic.

“Fixed parking tickets. Free rein to speed wherever and whenever. Leniency for all his kith and kin.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

“I can see why you’d be leery. So why me?”

I didn’t want to explain about two years of celibacy, exacerbated by the way he smelled, the way he looked, how he’d made me feel when he’d touched me. I was pitiful, but I didn’t want him to know that.

I let my gaze wander from the top of his sodden feather to where his spectacular chest disappeared into the water. “Why not you?”

“You don’t think I’ll ask for favors?”

I tilted my head. “Will you?”

“No.”

“We’re adults,” I said. “We both needed the release. We can just leave it at that and go back to being...” I spread my hands. “Whatever.”