Page 79 of Tail, Dark and Handsome: Celestial Mates
Lost in thought, she took her glass and wandered the house in the quiet. Every creak in the floorboards seemed louder while the occupants slept. Before she realized it, she found herself outside the heavy semi-circular door to the attic.
Mari pressed her palms flat against the wood. She knew she needed to rein in her curiosity but, honestly, what was so bad it needed to be locked away? Joseph would tell her to stop, that Winter stashed his dead wives in the attic and she needed to stop poking. It was just like that old Earth story. She needed to stop, but the house was in agony and it radiated out from behind this locked door.
“What are you doing?”
Mari jumped. The glass fell to the floor and splashed her legs.
Winter blocked the top of the stairs, glowering. If Mari thought the house was infected with negativity, she didn’t have to look far to find the source. Even on the first night back, his body tightened with tension and stress. His mood soured as he stalked from the vehicles to the house like he was looking for a fight, and day by day he grew darker, like a gathering storm.
Moonlight filtered in through the small window in the stairwell. His tail whipped from side to side, the pressure fizzing inside him, waiting to break. This man wasn’t the man she met on the island. He wasn’t even the man she left sleeping in her bed an hour ago. Anger fueled him. His eyes were cold, as if he needed a target to punish and she would do.
“I’m sorry,” she said, heart thumping in her chest. “I think I was half-asleep. This heat makes my head funny.”
“That room is off limits,” he growled.
“Understood.”
He watched her, sharply, like a predator waiting to pounce on his prey.
She wanted to run, but he had her trapped on the tiny landing. Heat confined in the upper levels of the house hung thick in the air, making her feel groggy and slow.
“Would you like to do a sunrise meditation with me?”
He blinked, bemusement replacing his chilled anger. “Marigold,” he said in a tone that said no. “Come back to bed.”
He held out a hand. Moonlight caught on the slivered edges of claws.
She held her breath, uncertain. The pressure in the air felt ripe, like a storm was about to rip open.
“Marigold. There is nothing in there but dust and old furniture.”
“Right. Of course. This heat. I can’t sleep.” She reached for him. Strong fingers wrapped around her wrist and yanked her forward.
She lost her footing, slamming into him. Her heart raced. Lightning flashed, turning his features cruel as he grinned down at her, all fang. Thunder rumbled in the distance, but it could have emanated from deep in his chest. He liked this.
“A cold shower will help,” he said, lips brushing against her ear.
The pressure eased with each step down. Rain pattered against the windows. His grip turned to a caress. His tail brushed against her as they made their way back to her bedroom.
Gently, almost reverently, he stripped her of her shirt and shorts before leading her to the shower. The water cooled her skin, but his gaze kept her warm. His mouth explored her, bringing her close to the edge of climax but never letting her fall over. He tormented her, leaving her trembling and gasping, begging for release.
Damp and desperate, all hands and mouths, they tumbled onto the bed. Lightning flashed, and the winds picked up. He pushed her belly down to the mattress, his hand on the back of her neck, pinning her in place. The entire house groaned, masking her groans and gasps of pleasure.
He whispered words, half of which the implanted translator did not recognize, but they felt loving from their tone. Sweet words. In that moment, when her body welcomed him, he was that man who only wanted to protect those he loved. This was the man she trusted. This was the man she wanted to wake up next to.
She wanted to see his face every day. She wanted his joy and kindness. She wanted his anger and sorrow. If it would make his burden easier to bear, she’d welcome his ghosts. The dark and the light; she wanted anything he would give her.
The thunder grew faint when they fell away, sweating, panting and satisfied. The air cooled.
“Try to sleep,” he said, pressing a kiss to her forehead.
Winter
Happiness floated like a soap bubble, shimmery and delicate. Winter held his breath, waiting for the inevitable end.
The house felt different. Lighter. He noticed the small changes: crystals in windowsills that caught and reflected the light; plants.
Marigold was too curious. He could restrict her exploration, but that would increase her curiosity. He could threaten her, for her own good, but the idea nauseated him. Threats did not work, and he did not want to be that male.
