attempt to get her naked.
She sighed. What the hell was it with males, anyhow?
But her shifter’s instincts had been so clear last night. He was somehow meant for her—she’d known it. Why the doubt this morning? Probably some sort of fog caused by a temporary addiction—the night of great sex had only made her want more. And sex with Tyler had been a few levels above great; it had been remarkable. He was working on a whole new level, and to tease her with his offerings, only to take them away immediately, seemed cruel.
Men sometimes seemed content to wander the world, spreading themselves around among the female population as though it were some noble act of generosity. A night of passion with a woman might be enough to satisfy a man like him before moving on to his next victim, even if she’d woken up wishing for a thousand more nights just like it.
Naomi rose from the bed, wondering if her first instincts about Tyler had been too on the ball. He was troubled deep inside, and that might mean that real intimacy might be impossible. He was a runner. Maybe she should have gone for Quinn, the wealthy wolf shifter. He was probably stable, at least.
Fuck it. I saw the guy possibly hitting on a way-too-young woman at the gala. He’s probably no better. As she threw on her robe, she reminded herself not to regret choosing the lion over the wolf, and to hold him to his word, at least for the time being. He might call. No. He would call. He’d said so. She was filling herself with doubt because it was the easy way out. Being angry with him was far simpler than admitting that she’d quickly begun to feel for him as she’d never felt for anyone in her life. And it scared the living hell out of her.
But for now, she’d be a grown up and drink her coffee, trying to forget temporarily that between her legs her body was still purring with pleasure. She’d write her damn book. Something told her that today’s chapter would involve a spurned, angry woman. A woman whose heart had opened ever so slightly; just enough to let in a shred of fondness, desire and hope.
Stupid, stupid hearts. Fictional or not, they were organs of betrayal and foolishness. And hers was no exception.
----
A s Tyler stretched out his arms in the cab’s back seat, the vehicle surged towards his destination, its driver seemingly oblivious to the fact that the man behind him had spent several hours engaged in mind-blowing sex with the sexiest woman he’d ever met.
His eyes glazed over as he recalled the first thing he’d seen when he’d slipped out of Naomi’s bed that morning. Standing by the window, he’d turned to look at her as she slept, the newly rising sun projecting its first rays through the thin curtains that draped the large windows. It was earlier than he usually got up—not yet 7:00 a.m. But he was unaccustomed to sleeping with a lover. Lovers, historically, were only required for his own temporary satisfaction, a respite from the voices in his head condemning him as unworthy of their attentions.
But as he’d stared at her, pulling his tuxedo pants on, the voices in his head migrated to his chest. Naomi was so lovely. Her makeup was all but gone, hair tousled by their eventful night. His fingers had locked into that mane of hers more than once, and her fingers in his, pulling, pleading, demanding, the animals within them dominating their instincts as they’d possessed one another. And yet at moments they’d been gentle with one another, almost loving.
And now she was peaceful and quiet, the previous night’s passion mostly erased from her face. Though her lips, slightly parted, were still swollen pink and inviting—more evidence of their activities the night before. She was an angel, if angels gave incredible blow jobs and had pussies that a man’s cock could live in forever. If angels made a guy feel important, entertaining, and valued. And if angels walked the earth and shifted into ferrets—which seemed like a long
She sighed. What the hell was it with males, anyhow?
But her shifter’s instincts had been so clear last night. He was somehow meant for her—she’d known it. Why the doubt this morning? Probably some sort of fog caused by a temporary addiction—the night of great sex had only made her want more. And sex with Tyler had been a few levels above great; it had been remarkable. He was working on a whole new level, and to tease her with his offerings, only to take them away immediately, seemed cruel.
Men sometimes seemed content to wander the world, spreading themselves around among the female population as though it were some noble act of generosity. A night of passion with a woman might be enough to satisfy a man like him before moving on to his next victim, even if she’d woken up wishing for a thousand more nights just like it.
Naomi rose from the bed, wondering if her first instincts about Tyler had been too on the ball. He was troubled deep inside, and that might mean that real intimacy might be impossible. He was a runner. Maybe she should have gone for Quinn, the wealthy wolf shifter. He was probably stable, at least.
Fuck it. I saw the guy possibly hitting on a way-too-young woman at the gala. He’s probably no better. As she threw on her robe, she reminded herself not to regret choosing the lion over the wolf, and to hold him to his word, at least for the time being. He might call. No. He would call. He’d said so. She was filling herself with doubt because it was the easy way out. Being angry with him was far simpler than admitting that she’d quickly begun to feel for him as she’d never felt for anyone in her life. And it scared the living hell out of her.
But for now, she’d be a grown up and drink her coffee, trying to forget temporarily that between her legs her body was still purring with pleasure. She’d write her damn book. Something told her that today’s chapter would involve a spurned, angry woman. A woman whose heart had opened ever so slightly; just enough to let in a shred of fondness, desire and hope.
Stupid, stupid hearts. Fictional or not, they were organs of betrayal and foolishness. And hers was no exception.
----
A s Tyler stretched out his arms in the cab’s back seat, the vehicle surged towards his destination, its driver seemingly oblivious to the fact that the man behind him had spent several hours engaged in mind-blowing sex with the sexiest woman he’d ever met.
His eyes glazed over as he recalled the first thing he’d seen when he’d slipped out of Naomi’s bed that morning. Standing by the window, he’d turned to look at her as she slept, the newly rising sun projecting its first rays through the thin curtains that draped the large windows. It was earlier than he usually got up—not yet 7:00 a.m. But he was unaccustomed to sleeping with a lover. Lovers, historically, were only required for his own temporary satisfaction, a respite from the voices in his head condemning him as unworthy of their attentions.
But as he’d stared at her, pulling his tuxedo pants on, the voices in his head migrated to his chest. Naomi was so lovely. Her makeup was all but gone, hair tousled by their eventful night. His fingers had locked into that mane of hers more than once, and her fingers in his, pulling, pleading, demanding, the animals within them dominating their instincts as they’d possessed one another. And yet at moments they’d been gentle with one another, almost loving.
And now she was peaceful and quiet, the previous night’s passion mostly erased from her face. Though her lips, slightly parted, were still swollen pink and inviting—more evidence of their activities the night before. She was an angel, if angels gave incredible blow jobs and had pussies that a man’s cock could live in forever. If angels made a guy feel important, entertaining, and valued. And if angels walked the earth and shifted into ferrets—which seemed like a long
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