Page 27 of Claimed

He advances, so I retreat, but this puts my back against the wet tiled wall.

Greyson loses a touch of the intensity as he flashes me a disarming grin before squirting more shower gel into his hands and dropping a stealthy, firm kiss on my lips, which startles me.

He was so angry before. He doesn’t look angry now.

But before I’m able to comprehend what he’s doing, what mood he seems to be in while he does it, he’s grabbing my hips with both hot hands that confidently work their way up and down my legs as he lowers into a squat, paying close attention to what he’s doing while biting his full bottom lip.

For some reason, I feel extraordinarily self-conscious all of a sudden. He’s staring at me so…strangely.

He’s now on his knees, his eyes devouring my skin as they follow his movements. He pays close attention to the task he’s taken up. The task appears to be getting my body soapy as he lathers up my hips, moves down my thighs to my knees, then works down my shins to my ankles, grazing over the tops of my feet until his hands move back up again. And I’ve got goosebumps everywhere, without being cold.

When those strong hands get to my thighs again though, instead of going back down to my knees, they move horizontally.

I watch his face as he gets the cheeks of my rear end in each hand. He squeezes. And for some reason, I find it insanely attractive. I don’t like being pawed at, touched by men. I’vebeen subjected to way too much of it and have always found it repulsive.

But the look on his face, the water traveling down his skin, the way it feels to have his strong hands on me... I’m feeling strangely different. Strange in general. Warm, gooey, and as if there are bees buzzing in my veins, butterflies in my tummy, jelly under my kneecaps. Heat between my legs.

“Stacy,” he says in a raspy voice.

I look into his now-silver eyes, and I sway a little. They’re glowing, but without anger. They’re absolutely beautiful.

He smiles big as his nostrils flare and it’s like the smile in the diner. It lights me up inside. Now it’s like there are fireflies inside my veins.

“Move your feet apart just a little.”

“Hm?”

“So you don’t tip over.”

“So I don’t tip over?” I ask softly as I move my left foot just a little.

“Hands on my shoulders.”

I hesitate.

“Now, Blossom,” he urges, molten eyes flashing with urgency.

I comply.

His tongue moistens his lips as his right palm skates down behind my knee and then it’s being lifted up, resting in the crook of his arm, as his face disappears between my thighs.

Some of his fingers on his left hand slide easily inside me from behind as he takes a deep inhale between my legs before his mouth latches over my center.

“Oh my goodness,” I manage to verbalize my surprise amid intense tingling. It’s quickly followed by, “Oh… oh, wow,” as sensation sparks and floods my body. All of it.

His eyes light up with something beyond salacious as I clench his shoulders and melt into the wall. Or melt into his face, maybe.

I’m wet and slippery between my legs, so the plunging in and out that his fingers are doing doesn’t hurt for a change. In fact, it does the opposite of hurt; it feels good. And what he’s doing with his lips and tongue? I’ve never felt sensations like these before.

I’m so lost in them, my body is quaking.

This gorgeous man is on his knees, making out with an area of my body that I don’t enjoy having any attention paid to. In fact, I loathe it. But this isn’t like it usually is. This isn’t remotely like anything I imagined I could feel. All the books I’ve read, all the movies I’ve watched, I couldn’t connect with anything romantic or sexually arousing, even watching a video of an act such as this did nothing for me. I figured I was either deficient in sensation or else those things were mostly for human women, rather than shifter females.

I’ve seen couples look happy, be affectionate, but I’ve never enjoyed a man’s touch and neither do any of the other women in my pack. Aunt Shea is the closest thing to a mother I’ve had since I was a small girl and my grandmother died, and to say Aunt Shea is a man hater is putting it mildly. And who could blame her after all she’s been through?

I’ve kind of related to Aunt Shea because I’ve never wanted a man’s attention. The closest I’ve gotten to attraction is how I felt when this man right here paid attention to me in the diner. Although I can find the male form pleasing to look at, used to get shy or flustered around attractive men when I was a teenager, normally I find a male’s physical attention revolting. They oftenlook at me with a hunger that makes me feel gross. I’ve had to bend over for attractive males before, but they’ve never made my body feel likethis.

But this?

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