Page 99 of The Badger in His Burrow

“What’s wrong?” he asked, softly, and I wasn’t sure about the tone of his voice—whether he was upset or confused or— “It’s okay if you want to keep talking.”

I sighed, bending forward to rest my forehead against his again. “I’m sorry,” I mumbled, emotion pushing at the back of my throat. This wasn’t how I’d wanted tonight to go. I’d wanted the sex, hot and sweaty and tender. I’d wanted cuddling, gentle caresses and kisses and shared thoughts.

I hadn’t really wanted to have an awkward relationship talk, but I had been the one who started that. Sometimes I’m my own worst enemy.

Fingers threaded into the hair on the back of my skull as he held our heads together. “Don’t be sorry,” he said gently.

“I over think everything,” I grumbled.

That got me a barked laugh. “Oh, baby, you haveno ideawhat it means to over think something,” he said.

I pulled my head back to look at his features more clearly. “What do you mean?” I asked him.

His lips twisted wryly. “How long did it take me to admit to myself that I’m in love with you?” he asked me.

I gaped at him. Literally. Mouth-hanging-open gaped.

His mouth twisted further. “Well, that’s not a good sign,” he remarked, and I could almost taste the bitterness that ran under the forced humor.

I grabbed his jaw and kissed him with everything I had—every sleepless night, every tear of frustration, every fantasy spent into tissues or water running down the shower drain, every hope and wish and prayer I didn’t believe had power, every ounce of what I had felt for him since the day we met and had tried, desperately, to keep from blooming into what it had become.

Did I love him? I honestly had no idea. I’d been quashing my emotions for so long that I wasn’t completely sure what I felt anymore. I knew I cared about him. But I didn’t know if this was love.

I wasn’t even sure what love was supposed to feel like—or if I’d ever even felt it before. Sure, I had wanted Devin to be The One. I’d thought he was. But the way he’d made me feel was different than what I felt for Elliot. Yes, both of them were hot, in their own ways. I’d wanted to please Devin, wanted to make him see me as his sun and moon and stars. I was willing to do whatever he asked—I did what he wanted in bed, made the food he liked, kept the apartment the way he liked it, let him make the decisions about decorating and finances… and I’d told myself that letting him do all those things was love. I’d wanted him to be happy—because if he was happy, thenwewere happy.

It wasn’t like I’d disliked his choices—I’d mostly not had an opinion about most of them. He’d generally compromised orgiven in when I had voiced an opinion, it just didn’t happen very often. I’d been content, I’d thought.

I wondered now if I had been, or if I’d just been so quietly desperate for love that I was willing to give in on a hundred thousand things just to get a taste of it.

What I felt for Elliot was different. Like a banked-low fire that lived in my belly, tightening my chest with both anticipation and worry, slipping into my mind at strange moments as this thing reminded me of the way Elliot tilted his head, or that thing reminded me of his tendency to rub his fingers together when he was thinking. Reminders that warmed my blood and brought a half-smile to my lips.

I wanted him to think of me with the same warmth, but I never once felt that I had to change who I was, what I thought, what I wanted. I didn’t have to compromise.

Or maybe it was just that I’d stopped compromising, and when I turned around, Elliot was there. Watching. Waiting, maybe, for me to figure all of that out. To know who I was and what I wanted from my life before asking me if I wanted to share that life with him.

Or maybe it was just coincidence.

I don’t think I’ll ever know.

All I know is that in that moment, my heart was full, and while I didn’t have the words to try to explain all of that, I was going to do my best to show him.

I dropped my hands from his face to tug at his long-sleeved t-shirt, and he obligingly drew back so that he could pull it off over his head. I ran my fingers over his skin, reveling in the heat of it, the smooth softness of its texture, the way the muscles shivered beneath it as I touched him.

I bent my head to put my mouth against his neck, feathering kisses from the top of his trapezius up the column of his throat, taking the time to give extra attention to where the line of scartissue cut across it, then to the soft spot beside his jawbone under his ear. He let out a soft gasp as I gently sucked on his skin.

I ran my tongue around the edge of his ear, and he shuddered. “I have never wanted anything as much as I want you in my life,” I whispered to him.

He let out a soft moan, and one hand threaded fingers into my hair, pulling my lips back to his. I leaned into him, pushing him a few steps back until he bumped against the counter. He let out a soft growl, then shoved my shirt down my arms. I let it fall to the kitchen floor, his hands already tugging at the undershirt underneath. It joined my button-down on the floor.

I pulled him closer, wanting—needing—to feel the heat of his skin against mine. His hands slid up my back, and he broke from our kiss to push his face into my neck, inhaling deeply with a half-growl. I turned my head, pressing my nose into his hair, drawing the rich, complicated scent of his earthy, heavy musk and the sharp soap of his shampoo into my lungs and my heart.

“El—” I couldn’t manage more than a single syllable.

“Seth,” he countered, the word half-spoken, half-growled into my skin.

“I need you,” I gasped, as his hands pushed into the back of my waistband. “Please.”

Another growl, and he slid his hand around to my stomach, gripping my waistband at my fly, using it to pull me across the room, then into the hall, and then into his bedroom. Then he undid the button and the zipper, pushing them off my hips. I half-kicked, half-stepped my way out of them as Elliot pulled me toward the bed with his hands on my face, his lips once more glued to mine.

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