Page 30 of Love the Way You Lion
“That’s why you intrigued me. Strong chits always do. But you—there’s fire under your scars. You know your own sharp edges and don’t apologize for them.”
Her eyes glint. “I love you, and I’ll keep you away from uncomfortable situations, even if it ends bloody. Not just at this shindig, either.”
That nearly undoes me.
“That, my love, is bloody perfect.”
She leans forward, kissing me like she means it—like she’s sealing a vow with her mouth. Her warmth floods into me, and for a second, the world disappears. Just her lips, her breath, her skin, and me, anchoring in it.
Eventually, I grin against her mouth. “How about we get some clothes on and find something to eat? I think the outfit picking is going to take it out of us. I have these binders, you see...”
She laughs, a real, full laugh, and it vibrates through me.
This is what home feels like, I think. Not a place, but a person. A blade-spinning, chaos-making, kiss-stealing person who owns me without trying.
The pencils roll from my lap and clatter to the floor. I don’t reach for them. Not yet.
She kisses me again, deeper this time, and I let myself fall forward into her heat, her chaos, her gravity. The storm is already here, and I’m not trying to outrun it. I’ve already found the eye.
It’s her.
And gods help anyone who tries to pull me out of it.
The Cat Talks Clothing
DELILAH
“That was one hell of a ‘welcome home’ present,” I murmur as my tail coils delicately around him, our bodies entwined in the quiet intimacy of the moment. The Beast, sated and tender, relaxes against me while my form melts unwaveringly into his strong embrace.
A low, rumbling chuckle escapes him as he murmurs, “No more so than the wee one reaching out and touching us. She’s a powerful mite. She’s going to be like her mum.” His voice carries equal parts amusement and awe.
I return his smile with a soft, affectionate rub of my cheek against the warmth of his chest. “Sure is.”
For a moment the air thickens as he hesitates, his gaze searching mine for understanding. “I know it didn’t go well today at the gnome’s house. You blocked everyone from the details. You kept quiet about the specifics. Talia said it worried Rafe.”
A long sigh escapes me, the memory of fleeting blissovershadowed by the inevitable spill of darker moments. “It did not,” I confess, my tone heavy with the residue of heartache.
“Tell me,” he implores, his voice a blend of concern and gentle insistence.
Closing my eyes to steady the torrent of memories, I try to compress three agonizing hours into a few simple words. “Sari spent the entire time explaining why she needs this, why she wants to do it, and why I’m awful for not helping. Every word tumbled out, steeped in her own insecurities, yet I’m painted as the villain for choosing to sit this one out. I’ve made my peace as best as I can, but I still cradle my pain like anyone who’s lost someone dearly. I simply cannot allow her to tear open my raw, healing wound and douse it in gasoline. That makes me seem selfish, self-centered—just another accusation.”
His muscles visibly tighten as he fights the swell of anger that threatens to burst forth. “I see.” His voice softens further, “Can I ask you something somewhat related?”
“Why not?” I reply, a spark of intrigue mingling with my concern.
He continues, “The other day when she lashed out at you, you told her that Wilde was never really yours, that Victor was never truly yours, and even that Rafe wasn’t entirely yours—at least, not all yours, right?”
I offer a relaxed shrug, embracing the truth in his words. “It’s true. I’ve always shared people. It’s not meant to demean anyone—I just can’t claim every part of who they are. I don’t love Rafe any less, nor Victor.”
His eyes narrow as he pauses, then adds, “What about me?” He stops, tilting his head as confusion mingles with tenderness. “Wait—instead of answering, let me explain something: I AM yours. Talia and I, we’re the best of friends, lovers, entwined in everypossible way—but it’s never been like what we share. That doesn’t take anything away from her; it’s simply different. I needed you to know that.”
A soft smile spreads across my face as I gently stroke his rugged features. “It always felt as if, in some subtle way, even a little, you were mine. I would never dare to ask you for more.”
“Since the gnome seems intent on making you feel like every fragment of you is flawed, I wanted to remind you of something that’s true.” His sincerity radiates, grounding us in this tender interlude.
I pull him even closer, arms wrapping around his strong frame with a fierce protectiveness mingled with adoration. My heart aches with both love and an impending need to untangle the lingering bonds of my past so I can offer him something no one else ever has—complete, unreserved unity. With Wilde’s death, we’ve grown closer, edging out the chaos of conflict... or at least, that’s how it felt once upon a time.
Then he shifts the conversation, his tone lightening again. “Now, love, what’s all this about an outfit for that damn fetish thing you’re still madly obsessed with?”
