Page 47 of Wishing for a Werewolf
“No, not like that.” I cup his cheek and get him to meet my eyes. “It turns out the hardwood floor is, well, hard.”
“You’re sure you’re okay?”
“I am.”
He gives me a knowing look. “You said ‘next time.’”
“You heard that, huh?” I grin. “Damned fae hearing.”
“It’s very good.” He touches the tip of his ear, a wicked smirk curling the corners of his mouth. “I especially like hearing you scream my name.”
“Yeah, you’d scream too if all you’d had for the past few years were BOOs.” My cheeks heat the moment the words leave my mouth. I can’t believe I just told him about my vibrator! Some guys get weird about those.
“BOOs? The little shapes of draped white cloth people have started decorating with?”
I muffle a laugh. We saw a ton of Halloween decorations while shopping, but they’resonot Mr. Good Vibes. “Thoseare ghosts, who do say boo, but I’m talking about BOOs, battery-operated orgasms.” At his puzzled frown, I add, “My vibrator.” Or vibrators plural, but we don’t need to go there.
“I still don’t know what that is.”
“Well, uh… where’d I put my purse?”
One long arm reaches out and snags it from the couch. I dig inside and pull out the small bullet vibrator I keep in case of emergencies, Mr. Buzzy. After handing it to Rune, I show him how to turn it on. It springs to life in his hand, buzzing with a solid hum.
His eyes narrow as he studies it, and my stomach drops. How is he going to react? I suddenly feel even more vulnerable having admitted I use sex toys—it’s private info I usually only mention to my besties, and even then it’s more of a vague joke. Post-orgasmic Autumn is clearly an overly chatty Autumn.
Rune runs the vibrator across his opposite palm, then smiles at me, hot and wicked. “Human technology is a marvel. I want to learn more. I’ll use this on you.”
My mouth drops open even as my thighs clench. He wants to play with sex toys? He really is perfect. I match his grin. “Then your new mission, should you choose to accept it, is Mission Make Autumn Scream with Pleasure.”
“I accept.” He comes off the floor with me in his arms as if I weigh nothing and carries me to his bedroom.
The next morning, bright light pulls me from sleep, and I moan a quiet “No” as I burrow into the warm covers and start to pull a pillow over my head.
Wait. What?
My bedroom has blackout curtains. My eyes snap open. Hoo, boy. This is so not my room. The blue blanket sparks a hint of familiarity, cutting through the haze of sleep. It’s the blanket I picked out for Rune. I’m in his bedroom.
Yesterday replays in my mind in a glow of contented joy. The way we spent the whole day together, shopping. The fun of his constant amazement over all the things humans have and his occasionally hilarious confusion, like when he almost decapitated the skeleton decoration that jumped out at us on an automated spring. It was so rewarding to make his house more of a home, to show him how to enjoy living in it. The way he cooked me dinner, each movement achingly precise, his attention completely focused on doing everything perfectly so we’d have good food.
The blindingly hot sex, where he used that intense focus on me and my pleasure. Then the evenmoreblindingly hot sex, using Mr. Buzzy and his mouth to make me come again and again. And finally, he made me ride his cock with the vibrator pressed tight to my clit until he wrung a yet another orgasm from me.
He surprised me once again with cuddles. Who knew a big guy like him would love to snuggle? But he seems to like it even more than I do, holding me close and keeping lots of skin-on-skin contact. We finished up the night with one last treat when I introduced him to ice cream, which we ate curled up naked in bed.
It was the best day I’ve had in years, and my best dateever. Let alone the sex—hoo, boy, the sex was better than I ever knew it could be.
“Dear god,” I whisper. “The man has effing ruined me for anyone else.”
“What does that mean?” Rune’s deep voice rumbles.
I roll over to find him lounging in a chair, wearing only a pair of gray sweatpants and sketching on a small pad.
Deflect, Autumn! It’s way too soon to get serious.
I sit upright, clutching the covers to my chest, my body aching in unfamiliar and wonderful ways from last night’s activities. “What are you drawing?”
He turns the notebook around to show the most amazing portrait of me. I’m asleep, my face more peaceful than I ever see in the mirror. I’ve got one hand flung outward in unselfconscious abandon, and my hair flares across the pillow like a corona.
I look beautiful. Even my freckles look great, the shaded dots dusting my nose and cheeks like cinnamon sprinkled across foam.
