Buck Moon - Part Three

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CHAPTER SEVEN: BUCK MOON - PART THREE

Russ stood, slightly panicked, in Dawn’s apartment. He clutched his half-drunk boba tea cheese whatever cup in his hand, the plastic straining with a sloshing crunch. Okay. Calm down. This was no big deal. He’d been here, in her home, many times over the past few months. 

But never quite like this. Standing in the middle of the living room, terrified to move, he listened to the spray of water coming from Dawn’s bathroom and tried very hard not to think of her wet and naked, her soft, sleek body covered by nothing but steam.

Fuck.

He should have let her go alone to grab a few things from her apartment, to freshen up and get changed. But she’d asked him to come. To stay so he could carry some of her things back to his place. To be a nice and helpful mate.

But this was fucking torture, waiting for her, wanting her, and not touching her. His thoughts swirled, unbidden, around images of warm water raining down on soft curves. Of hands touching satiny skin. Of how good it would feel to join her, to help her get clean before getting them both thoroughly, debaucherously dirty. When the shower finally shut off, he listened, still not moving a muscle — too afraid his body or instincts might get any funny ideas — as she puttered about her bedroom, drying and dressing herself, and felt himself go slowly out of his mind.

By the time she emerged, sweet and fresh, from the bedroom, he felt flustered, hot, and uncomfortably tight in his own skin. Quickly, he tossed the now ruined cup that felt like condemnable evidence of his questionable control. “God, that feels better,” she said on a full-body stretch that made his eyes widen and his body burn.

“You could have showered at my place.” He shouldn’t have said it. Not if he didn’t want more images of her slick, soaped-up, and smelling like him to fill his head.

She shrugged. “It felt weird; I didn’t want to invade your privacy any more than necessary.” 

“I wouldn’t have minded,” he said, shoving his hands in his pockets and canting his hips in an effort to hide just how much he wouldn’t have.

He followed her to her kitchen and watched her clean out her fridge, looking more relaxed than she’d been… well, more relaxed than he’d ever seen her. He looked down at his feet and wondered how much of that was due to the fact that she knew, without a doubt, that Tucker wasn’t in his apartment. 

It was why, with Tucker safely at the cafe, Russ had suggested that they head to her place and pick up things she might need. He’d thought she’d grab clothes and toiletries — which she did, tucking them into her satchel — but she’d also emptied a bunch of moving boxes so she could fill them up with food.

“They’ll go bad, if we just leave them in here for too long. Might as well use them,” she said as she stacked leftovers, bread, eggs, milk, and produce into boxes. “Plus, it’ll save you a grocery trip.”

They made their way back to his place, both their arms full, the promise of whatever savory dish she’d made yesterday making his stomach growl. She laughed, letting him put the groceries away as she reheated food on his stove. Reflexively, she pulled out her phone and started to play some slow, sweet playlist, smiling at him. “For someone who’s always hungry, you don’t have a whole lot of food on hand, you know.”

He shrugged as he leaned against the counter to watch her stir her pot, her tail swishing happily to the music’s beat. “I haven’t been eating here much lately.” He’d been over at her place more often than not.

She chuckled. “I suppose this is a more efficient way of feeding you.” She looked good in his kitchen, in his home, like it was already hers. Like she belonged there. With him. He listened to her hum along to the tune, her voice pretty and carefree, as her hips swayed. He inhaled as two different kinds of hunger grew within him. The simmering scent of stew mixed with Dawn’s smooth, mellow contentment and made Russ feel mesmerized, marveled and a bit baffled as to how someone like him ended up here. With her.

It was strange how, just a few months ago, he’d felt damned, had holed himself up in this looming castle of an apartment complex, so sure it was the only way to keep his darkness and danger from bleeding out onto everything and everyone around him. Yet here she was, looking like home and shining like the sun, making him feel light, unburdened. Making him wonder if there was more than one way to break a curse.

She turned and held out her spoon to him. “I don’t know how you feel about spice; too much or not enough?”

Keeping his eyes on her, unable to tear them away even though he knew his every thought — fanciful and luridly yearning — must be clear on display, he bent his head to touch his lips to her spoon, the hot, savory taste delicious on his tongue. As their gazes met and held, he saw her breath hitch as she watched him, her dark eyes heating in a way that made him want to groan. “It’s good.” Even he could hear desire roughen his voice. How was it that this woman could twist and turn him so easily, both soothing some feral restlessness inside him while stirring something just as fierce that reached for her and never wanted to let go?

“Yeah?” she asked, sounding breathy. She brought the spoon close and blew pursed lips over the steaming bite, making him feel each tiny puff like a blow to his senses. He swallowed hard as she parted that pretty mouth, before she let her tongue lick where his mouth had been. He watched that brief, pink slide, heard her murmuring moan, and felt his stomach clench, imagining that slick length run — linger — along other places. “Good.” A heavy awareness hung over them as she met his gaze, a questioning fire sparking those black depths. “Hope you’re hungry.”

And, just like that, his control — that hadn’t been all that strong to begin with, not since her shower’s spray started, not since he’d first seen her all those months ago surrounded by lush greenery like some goddamned goddess in his garden — snapped. Surging forward, he shut off his stove and pulled her close in one fluid motion. He heard her gasp as she fell into his arms and told himself to slow down. To make it good for her. To make sure she wanted this just as much as he did, if that was even possible. With deliberate movements, he took the spoon from her and set it aside. He placed one hand on her waist and let the other slide into — tangle in — her still damp hair. He looked down at her and swallowed hard. “I’m hungry.” He felt fucking starved. For her. He rubbed the back of her nape, holding her closer. “Is this okay?”

“Yes.” The word was a sigh on her parted lips as her eyes drifted dreamily shut. Leaning close, she tipped her face up to him eagerly.

For a moment, he just drank in the sight of her, willing and wanting in his hands. He leaned down, his lips a breath from touching hers. “I,” he hesitated, feeling uncertainty creep and cool along the edges of his desire, “haven’t done this in a long time and I—” 

“I know,” she said, her words a hot, delectable breath in his mouth. “It’s okay.”

Right. He’d told her that. They’d talked about that. But he should say more, right? Talk to her and all that. Let her in. He stroked and stared at her, feeling like he was touching something precious and fragile in his massive, fumbling fingers. “I just want you to—” He shook his head, trying to jog the words from his lust-fogged brain. Talk. “Just… whatever you want.” He’d give her anything. “And nothing you don’t.” He’d wanted her so long and so hard that he didn’t trust himself to know, for sure, the difference. And the idea of hurting her with his heated desire made his heart ache and his blood run cold. 

You’ll need to be more careful around her but, as you’ve also seen, you can be.

Right. He could do this. God knew, he wanted to, damned near felt like he needed to. So he touched her gently, tempering his passion as much as he possibly could. “Just tell me.” Please.

He moaned when he felt her soft lips smile beneath his, the movement causing them to brush together. “I’d like you to kiss me,” her voice was low and shaky, as if maybe she was just as wrecked by the crackling tension between them as he was.

So he did; how could he not? Taking her lips, he let his mouth — his body, his fucking soul — sink into her, feeling her softness give in to him. Nothing in his life had ever felt so good.

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