young man who died?”
Mia nodded. “It happened during a partial shift. He stopped breathing and never recovered. The lion-headed creature, Mr. Eden Phillpott, advises there be a mentor or guide present, like yourself.”
“Someone with experience.” Exeter bit out, making sure she understood their relationship—that of instructor and student. He leaned over the sheets and stacked a number of pillows near the middle of the headboard. “I believe it would be most comfortable for you if you would lie back—in the middle of your bed.”
As he straightened, he became aware of Mia’s gaze locked on the ties in his hands. Her eyes quickly darted back up to his face. She nodded weakly as the color drained from her cheeks.
Hoping to appear less stern, Exeter raised both brows. “I am obliged to ask, what would pleasure you most? I am willing to do whatever it is you need of me tonight.”
She turned her back and stepped out of the coverlet, letting it fall to the floor. “I thought this wasn’t to be a seduction.”
He took in every inch of her lovely lithe body—the curve of her spine, and soft shoulder blades—not too angular. He reached out to caress her round, smooth buttocks, and stopped himself. “Perhaps you might order me to do things to you . . . if the thought excites you.”
Her skin glowed in the candlelight—not the typical rosy porcelain of the winsome English lass, but something warmer, sleeker, in pale tawny-colored tones.
“Something like . . . look at me, Exeter.” Unpinning her hair, she pivoted, slowly, arching her back as she turned toward him. He felt as though his eyes devoured her breasts, which were small and perfect with brown nipples set high on the slope of the curve. Stunning. Arousing.
Last night, he had glimpsed her standing in the open window, so achingly beautiful bathed in nothing but the pale moonlight. Then later, so vulnerable—in a shivering, insensible state—her rigid body as cold as ice. He had cared for her many times in the aftermath of her return shift to human form—carried her home and placed her in a warm bath. During those times, he was her protector or her doctor—not the man who was about to become her . . . Exeter exhaled a silent groan.
Waves of chestnut hair fell down her back. Yes, he had seen her before, but this was exquisite, and sensuous. He cleared his throat and yet his voice remained husky. “Or . . . you could ask me to be more forward—more aggressive.”
Her eyes gleamed with the heat of a young woman whose sexual interest was building. “Then do to me with your hands, what your eyes are doing to me now.”
Exeter brushed a thumb over her bottom lip. “Open your mouth.”
He pushed deeper and her tongue swirled around the tip as he slipped in his thumb. She wrapped her lips around the thick digit and sucked. Exeter closed his eyes, momentarily, to temper his pleasure. He knew this would be difficult beyond measure, but he was wrong.
This, in fact, was the trial of his life.
He dropped his hands down to her breast and rolled a nipple between slick fingertips. She swayed forward, moaning in pleasure.
He cautioned himself. She must not become overwhelmed, consumed by sensation. He could not let passion overtake either of them. The doctor in him asked, “How are you feeling?”
Mia’s lovely dark eyes shimmered with light.
“So, the cat prowls.” Exeter withdrew and studied her for other signs of a shift. “What I am about to do is primarily for my safety, though it may also help to discourage a transformation.” He helped her into bed and she reclined at a comfortable angle against the pillows.
Exeter could not help but stare. “You look like a nude by Edgar Degas—one of those ballet girls he so loves to paint.” Exeter loosed one of the ties looped through his fingers. He reached out for her hand, winding the cloth around her wrist several times before he made a knot. “Too tight?”
Gleaming eyes looked at him—eyes
Mia nodded. “It happened during a partial shift. He stopped breathing and never recovered. The lion-headed creature, Mr. Eden Phillpott, advises there be a mentor or guide present, like yourself.”
“Someone with experience.” Exeter bit out, making sure she understood their relationship—that of instructor and student. He leaned over the sheets and stacked a number of pillows near the middle of the headboard. “I believe it would be most comfortable for you if you would lie back—in the middle of your bed.”
As he straightened, he became aware of Mia’s gaze locked on the ties in his hands. Her eyes quickly darted back up to his face. She nodded weakly as the color drained from her cheeks.
Hoping to appear less stern, Exeter raised both brows. “I am obliged to ask, what would pleasure you most? I am willing to do whatever it is you need of me tonight.”
She turned her back and stepped out of the coverlet, letting it fall to the floor. “I thought this wasn’t to be a seduction.”
He took in every inch of her lovely lithe body—the curve of her spine, and soft shoulder blades—not too angular. He reached out to caress her round, smooth buttocks, and stopped himself. “Perhaps you might order me to do things to you . . . if the thought excites you.”
Her skin glowed in the candlelight—not the typical rosy porcelain of the winsome English lass, but something warmer, sleeker, in pale tawny-colored tones.
“Something like . . . look at me, Exeter.” Unpinning her hair, she pivoted, slowly, arching her back as she turned toward him. He felt as though his eyes devoured her breasts, which were small and perfect with brown nipples set high on the slope of the curve. Stunning. Arousing.
Last night, he had glimpsed her standing in the open window, so achingly beautiful bathed in nothing but the pale moonlight. Then later, so vulnerable—in a shivering, insensible state—her rigid body as cold as ice. He had cared for her many times in the aftermath of her return shift to human form—carried her home and placed her in a warm bath. During those times, he was her protector or her doctor—not the man who was about to become her . . . Exeter exhaled a silent groan.
Waves of chestnut hair fell down her back. Yes, he had seen her before, but this was exquisite, and sensuous. He cleared his throat and yet his voice remained husky. “Or . . . you could ask me to be more forward—more aggressive.”
Her eyes gleamed with the heat of a young woman whose sexual interest was building. “Then do to me with your hands, what your eyes are doing to me now.”
Exeter brushed a thumb over her bottom lip. “Open your mouth.”
He pushed deeper and her tongue swirled around the tip as he slipped in his thumb. She wrapped her lips around the thick digit and sucked. Exeter closed his eyes, momentarily, to temper his pleasure. He knew this would be difficult beyond measure, but he was wrong.
This, in fact, was the trial of his life.
He dropped his hands down to her breast and rolled a nipple between slick fingertips. She swayed forward, moaning in pleasure.
He cautioned himself. She must not become overwhelmed, consumed by sensation. He could not let passion overtake either of them. The doctor in him asked, “How are you feeling?”
Mia’s lovely dark eyes shimmered with light.
“So, the cat prowls.” Exeter withdrew and studied her for other signs of a shift. “What I am about to do is primarily for my safety, though it may also help to discourage a transformation.” He helped her into bed and she reclined at a comfortable angle against the pillows.
Exeter could not help but stare. “You look like a nude by Edgar Degas—one of those ballet girls he so loves to paint.” Exeter loosed one of the ties looped through his fingers. He reached out for her hand, winding the cloth around her wrist several times before he made a knot. “Too tight?”
Gleaming eyes looked at him—eyes
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