Page 77 of Tail, Dark and Handsome: Celestial Mates
Later, after the evening meal, they watched a serialized drama in the lounge. The wind still howled around the house, but the building maintained power. The credits rolled, and the next episode began to play. Zero announced he would read in his room because the show was nothing but boring adults being boring with their dumb problems and staring at each other with music in the background.
Winter thought it a fair assessment.
Alone, they stretched out on the couch. Marigold fit against his front, her ass brushing against him as she settled into place. He rested a hand on her hip, trying to pay attention to the program, but it was exactly as Zero described. The human actors seemed to be more fixated on their emotional conflict than whatever the plot had prescribed. He honestly could not say what the show was about.
The tumble of Marigold’s hair over her shoulders proved much more interesting.
She sighed and shifted against him. “I keep thinking about the key to the attic.”
This again.
“I will retrieve it tomorrow.”
“Only I don’t think Asan, Karil, or Brae have it. If they did, the staircase would have been swept. Brae keeps everything tidy. No one’s been in there for years. I don’t even think they know about it.”
“Then perhaps the key is in my workshop. I will check. Tomorrow,” he added, stressing the word to indicate that the conversation was finished. Some things were not for her to know.
“I guess.”
He brushed back her hair, revealing her shoulder. This proved far more interesting than dusty attics and lost keys.
“Are you trying to distract me?” she asked.
“Yes.” He pressed his lips to the nape of her neck.
“Don’t you want to know who the killer is?”
“It is the husband,” he said. The signs were obvious, and watching the investigators stumble their way through the plot was an embarrassment to everyone involved, including the audience.
“Oh.” She made a humming noise, as if weighing his solution against the other possibilities. “Don’t spoil the show,” she said, which meant he was correct.
His mate interested him far more than the program. She wore a skirt, of which he approved, as the fabric hiked up her thigh. His hand skimmed along the curve of her, stopping at the fabric of her undergarments. His thumb brushed the material. “What color is this?”
“Blue.”
“Just blue? Do better. Tell me about blue.” He enjoyed the way she described colors, all emotion and evocative, as if he could experience it through her.
“Blue like your eyes. Pale. Icy. Sometimes cold but not, you know, when you let your guard down.”
“Let me convince you to let your guard down.” A claw tip slid between the elastic band at the waist, fabric bunching as he pushed it down over her soft skin.
Her shoulders trembled.
He paused. “Did I scratch you?”
“No, but that was the worst come-on I ever heard.” Laughter welled up.
He snatched his hand back, remembering a time when his last mate laughed at him.
Marigold rolled to face him, the couch creaking under their shifting weight. She smiled and pressed a quick kiss to his lips, then rubbed her cheek to his. “Like you expected my panties to fly off with that?”
His breathing relaxed. She did not mock him.
His hand returned, savoring the feel of her against his palm. She arched her back, pressing her round ass into him. A low moan escaped as his fingers stroked her slick folds. He found the external bundle of nerves, that delightful quirk of human anatomy, and her thighs clamped down around his hand even as she mewled with hunger.
With his other hand, he covered her mouth. “Not a sound,” he ordered. The sounds of her desire were for his ears alone, and he was greedy for them. Greedy for so much of her. He burned with a need to touch her, to make her quiver and beg for release. Before, his desire had been one-sided, his pursuit of pleasure and little else. Now he marveled at how she responded to his careful touches and strokes.
Humans were built for pleasure, it seemed, and he wanted nothing more than to watch her come undone.
