Chapter Twenty-Five

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

She wasn't bothered by what had happened. In fact, if she was being honest, him panicking made far more sense than him getting excited over her ever had. Clearly, werewolf hormones and weird mating bonds could only give him a certain level of lust for her. They could make him want to touch, to squeeze, to test things out.

But when it came to the crunch, when it came to actually doing more than rubbing against each other or talking dirty, he hit a wall he just couldn't get over. Because, sure, he hadn't meant to insult her body back in high school. He didn't like the idea of hurting her. And sometimes it had seemed as if he wanted more to take place between them.

But that didn't add up to delight at the sight of her naked body.

And that was fine, it was okay. She didn't need that from him. The only thing she needed was knowing he respected her, and never wanted to hurt her, and liked her as a person. All of which were there, regardless of anything else. She could see they were, the second he returned, the next day. He came into the kitchen, hands stuffed deep into his pockets, expression caught somewhere between pained and embarrassed.

And it was obvious he wanted to explain.

Even though she prayed he wouldn't.

Just say nothing , she thought at him. But no such luck.

"Cassie, about yesterday," he started to say.

So she held up a hand, before he could go any further.

"It's okay. I get it," she said. "When the time came, you just didn't want to. Which is perfectly understandable, all things considered. It doesn't hurt my feelings. We're just going to have to be more practical. Like maybe do it in a really dark room, with tons of clothes on."

She was proud of how businesslike she sounded.

Because that was how it had to be. Almost like a transaction.

Yeah, a transaction was what he needed. Even if he just looked more freaked out by the idea than he had about actually fucking her. His eyebrows practically sailed over his forehead. He went to speak, and the words seemed to gag him. Then finally, finally he managed to squeeze something out. "What the heck do you mean, Cass? That sounds even worse ."

After which, it took her a second to reply.

She had to wait until her own confusion died down, before she could.

"Well, I don't see how, I mean, if you're struggling with the idea of doing me to the point where you flee, that seems like the best option. To make it just about the act, and not about who you're with."

"But that wasn't the problem at all."

"Then what was?"

He hesitated. "I don't know."

"You can't I don't know your way out of this, Seth. This is slowly killing us. I'm starting to not be able to sleep or think or eat. And I know it's the same for you. You actually look like you're losing weight."

"Because I am. All I can think about is devouring your—" He stopped himself. Swallowed, thickly. Like he was thinking about the word he wanted to use, anyway. Then he started again. "All I can think about is doing certain things."

"So then help me help you get those things done."

"I can't. I don't know how to explain, exactly."

"Start by knowing it's okay to tell me what I did wrong." There, she thought. Now he could make it as plain as possible. Then she could better navigate whatever the problem was. But he just looked shocked, then frustrated beyond belief.

"Cass, you didn't do anything wrong. It just wasn't what I had imagined it was going to be," he burst out, and as soon as he did she could tell he hadn't meant to. Or at least, that he hadn't meant to put it quite like that. Because he seemed to freeze, and his cheeks went from zero to bright red, and then he was fumbling. He was reaching for a way to make his words sound a little less like whatever they currently did. "And by that I mean, you know. Since this all started… Since this started I have sometimes thought about how it might go down. And it was never like that in any of my thoughts. It was never so… mechanical."

Then he seemed to look at her in this tense, expectant way. Like he was waiting for some emotional blow that she had no idea how to land. Or even wanted to land. Because if that was all, what was the big deal? That sounded fine, that sounded cool, and most importantly: that sounded like something she could fix.

Easily. Quickly.

All they needed was an action plan. A good, practical action plan, laid down on paper, with bullet points and everything. All of which sounded so good, she went ahead. She grabbed a notepad from the kitchen table, and a pencil, and gave him her best We can do this expression.

"Okay. So hit me with all the ways you want this to be," she said, sure this would work.

Though it still kind of shocked her when all the tension immediately went out of him.

He even gave her a half smile. And she could tell the words were coming, before they did.

"Well, you know. Not in a kitchen, for starters," he blew out, and even more tension went out of him when he did. Partly, she suspected, for her reaction.

She immediately scribbled his words down.

"Got it," she said, as she did. "No to the kitchen."

Then suddenly this was just a thing. He shared. She made it seem normal.

"And there wasn't a sentient microwave and a talking raccoon so close by."

"Honestly, I was thinking the same thing. It was very weird that they were right in the next room, and you are completely correct to raise that as a concern. Zero creatures from a movie made by Amblin Entertainment while we do this."

She nodded, as she added that to the list.

Despite the chitter of protest from Pod, who was currently rummaging through the pantry for the cookies she'd hidden. And the readout from the microwave, very disturbingly informing them both that this wasn't fair, because it was kind of getting into the idea of them boning, now.

Just focus on this conversation , she told herself.

Which wasn't hard, because Seth was certainly starting to warm to the topic.

"And the lighting. I don't want it to be dark, okay? But maybe less bright."

"So you want, like, a lamp or something?"

"Or you know. Candles could be good."

She scribbled it down. "Candles, okay."

"And maybe we could also have some music on."

"We can do music," she said. "What kind were you thinking of?"

"You know. Like a playlist. Of the sort most people make when they do this."

"Seth, I have no idea what other werewolves listen to when they bone."

"I wasn't talking about werewolves. I was talking about ordinary people being—you know. Intimate. And the kinds of music they might listen to. Like, to set the mood. To make things seem sexy."

She stopped scribbling and looked up from her notepad.

Because the candles thing—well, that had almost made her wonder about what exactly he was suggesting. But sexy mood music on top of that? Yeah, that definitely took what he was saying from make things less sterile to something else entirely. Something that made her want to laugh.

Much to his exasperation.

He took one look at the trembling near-grin she was trying to suppress, and didn't just roll his eyes. He rolled his whole body. "See, this is why I didn't say anything. I knew you'd find it weird," he said. So now she had to somehow explain that her amusement wasn't mockery.

Without letting on what had actually caused it:

An absolute cavalcade of purest joy, of the kind she could hardly contain. God, she almost wanted to burst with it, for a moment. To tell him something inadvisable, like how much that did her heart good to hear. But then she remembered she wasn't supposed to be doing good in the heart department. She was supposed to be problem-solving.

And reined herself back in.

"I'm not finding it weird, Seth. I just wasn't expecting this."

"Well, you should have. You know I like things to be a certain way."

"So this is like creating a nice study environment, but for fucking."

She gave him a single incredulous eyebrow. But he just snapped his fingers. "Yeah. Yeah. Let's say that. Let's put it that way," he said. And okay, that was a little bit more practical than she'd expected. But that was good. It helped her maintain an air of professionalism about this.

Less glee. More straightforward questions.

"Okay, so what else would help?" she asked, briskly, and almost wavered over the delighted grin he gave her. It lit up his whole face. She came close to leaning forward and licking it, and was only saved by him speaking.

"Well, I mean, we had almost all our clothes on."

"So that was a bad thing to you. You actually want me completely nude."

"Maybe not completely. I mean, I can see your tortured expression at the very idea."

He pointed at her face as he said it—as if she didn't know what was there. It was fine though, because her expression was already turning into something better. Something that felt like relief, at his acknowledgment. And it deepened, when he added, "But you know, I thought possibly we could be a little less dressed. Like we could be dressed in something that's more the kind of thing people wear when they have sex."

Because oh, she knew what he meant.

And it made her words come out a little breathless.

"I feel like this is a roundabout way of saying sexy lingerie."

"It doesn't have to be lingerie. Or sexy. Just whatever is most you."

"Most me would be that nightdress you saw me in, in the basement," she said, sort of laughing. Only somehow his eyes went bright and big the moment she said the word. And the weirdly thrilling realization sank in. "Which you are apparently into. You are into that. Despite the fact that it makes me look like an old lady."

"It doesn't make you look like an old lady. It makes you look like—"

"Like what? Someone more middle-aged, maybe?"

"I was trying not to say Nancy from Nightmare on Elm Street , but since you keep insulting yourself, you've forced my hand. So you better not say anything else about it. In fact, just pretend I didn't tell you."

She immediately went to laugh and ask him what the problem with that was. After all, it was a nice thing. It was a cute little compliment, no big deal. But then her brain made the connection, and oh. Oh. Oh no, she didn't know how to react then.

All she could do was stare, head full of how he had once thought of Nancy. He had spent almost a whole summer obsessed with her. Watched the movie over and over, talked endlessly about how lovely she was, how cool she was. Hell, she even remembered him drawing her, in his algebra notebook. Then tearing out the page, to keep in his wallet.

She had been his number one final girl.

His favorite, unquestionably.

And now he had said that she looked like, or was like that, in a way that would be easy to read too much into. So obviously, he had tried to head that off at the pass. He was still trying now, in fact. He was looking at her like come on, just get what I'm saying.

And though it took her a second, she did.

She shook off that weird feeling she got, when the memory of those drawings and that love first struck, and shrugged. "I don't have to pretend. I know you don't mean anything by it. I know you don't mean anything by any of this. You've just been addled by supernatural sex nonsense, and so should therefore feel free to say whatever you want about how hot I look in a nightdress," she said.

She even managed to look mischievous on the end.

Like this was all a big joke. A goof.

"Kind of liked hearing it, huh?" he asked, and so she kept that joke going. She held two fingers a tiny bit apart.

"Little bit."

"I don't blame you. I'd like it too, if you told me what I look hot wearing."

"Well good, because I was thinking of suggesting those sweatpants of mine."

"You mean the ones that are three feet too short?"

"The three-feet-too-short thing is what made them sexy," she said, and she could see a response on the tip of his tongue. A question, she thought.

But then he clocked her awkward blush—the one that gave away that she hadn't meant to confess her attraction so plainly—and she knew he realized what she'd meant. His expression slid from puzzled, to that heavy-lidded, lusty gaze she was starting to find very familiar. And if she was being honest, enjoying way too much.

Doubly so when it came with a side of low, soft words.

"So you liked that, then. You liked seeing what I got," he said.

And this time she didn't even wonder if she should be honest. Honesty just came out of her. Desire came out of her. Like it was winning the game of what's okay to do, in her head. "I think I came within an inch of running my hand over it."

"Want to try sliding your hand over it now?"

"If you want me to," she said, and for a second she really thought he was going to say yes. He took a step toward her, until he was close enough that she could feel the heat rolling off his body. She could smell him—all summer skin and winter furs.

But then he stopped and took a few calming breaths. He forced out some frustrated-sounding words. "I do. Oh god I really do. But see—this is the other issue. Everything is just way too fast. It goes from zero to seven thousand, every time, and I don't know. I think maybe we should try a five hundred first. Or maybe even an eighty-seven," he said. Which was annoying, given how close she had come to racing headlong into this, without as many worries. And how hungry his words had made her feel, for something she was so close to getting. A little more, and her almighty ache would end, it would be over with, she wouldn't have to tremble through it another second.

But the problem was, his idea also made sense.

"Okay, so what do you consider an eighty-seven? Third base?"

"Maybe not quite third base."

"So you're thinking more like heavy petting."

"Honestly, even that is a little bit more than I was going for."

"But I don't even know what there is before that, screwing-around-wise." She spread her hands, palms up, and let out a short, frustrated laugh.

And in response he looked sheepish. He ran a hand over the back of his neck. Then he glanced away, as if searching for the right words to explain himself. "Maybe what I'm thinking of is not like screwing around enough, then. Possibly it's too nice and soft and like we're a real couple. Even though I swear, I totally get that we're not. I'm not trying to make it more real. I just thought this one step we could take might make it all a little easier."

And she knew, as soon as he said it, what he meant.

It sank in, slow and sweet as syrup, through her body.

"Seth, is the thing making out?" she asked, and oh, the way the sheepishness all over his face deepened. He actually toed the floor with his Converse-clad foot, and wouldn't meet her gaze, when he answered.

"Kind of, a little bit, yeah," he said.

Because he was a fool. A total fool. Who apparently had no idea how adorable he was. Or how much that made her heart race, against all her better judgment. In fact, she had to give herself a second, before she replied. Because otherwise, she knew her words were going to come out all breathless. When what she wanted was deadpan.

"And you honestly thought I wouldn't want that," she said.

And thank goodness her poker face seemed to have worked. He winced, instead of wondering why she was suddenly even hornier, over something as ridiculous as being asked for a kiss.

"Well, how would I know otherwise? You've not told me anything about what you might like," he sighed. But then he had more to say, and oh no, oh no. "Which to be honest, kind of sucks even more than the speed and the clothes and the weird lighting. Because you know the thing is, it feels like almost everything we have done or are going to do is for me. You talk dirty until I come, or you make me magic lube so I can come, or you spread your legs and I climb on and fuck you. And there's nothing in that for you at all. Which seems super unfair to me."

Because ohhhh, that was hot. Way hotter than it should have been.

So now she had to somehow force herself to be neutral.

Instead of telling him the twelve things she wanted him to do to her, right now. "And what did you have in mind, to make it fair?" she asked, in a voice that shook just a little. And got this , for her efforts:

"I don't know. Maybe kissing you on more than just your mouth."

Then he held her gaze, so steadily and so pointedly that there no longer seemed to be much point in holding back. "So maybe my throat."

"Oh yeah, that sounds good."

"And after that a little lower."

"By lower, do you mean, like, unlacing the front of that nightdress?"

Yes, oh yes please, she thought. But managed to be more nonchalant, in reply. "Been thinking about that, huh? About that bow right over my breasts."

"It just looked like it would hardly take anything at all to untie."

"Yeah. You barely have to pull, and the material just parts."

"And then I could just slip my hand inside."

She almost moaned to hear him say it. Yet somehow kept it in.

"If you want to," she said, almost like a shrug in word form. Though of course, he didn't take it that way. Instead, he made a very un-casual sound. A desperate groan, of the sort that made her melt. And his eyes roamed almost feverishly, over everything she had just said he could touch.

"I do. I want to stroke you, softly," he said, voice so low and hoarse she could hardly hear it. She had to lean forward, she had to strain for it. And when she did, the hand he had clenched at his side lifted. His fingers unfurled. Like imagining it was so powerful, it almost felt like he was already in the middle of doing exactly that. He could see the parted fabric, and her arching into a touch he wasn't actually giving.

All of which she only wanted to encourage.

"That sounds really good. You can do that."

"And then I could follow it by kissing you wherever I've touched."

"Oh that's even better. Go on. What next?"

You know what's next , her brain informed her. She couldn't feel embarrassed by it, however. She was too busy devouring every word she knew he was going to say, notepad forgotten, everything forgotten, just every part of her open to wherever he was going to escalate this to. And oh, he did escalate it. He leaned down, his heaving breaths all warm against her face, her lips. One inch away from kissing her, as he answered.

"I do it until you're squirming. Until you're begging me to make you come."

"And you would, wouldn't you."

"Of course I would."

"You'd do that to me."

"It's all I want."

"Tell me how, then," she said, and he broke. His words came tumbling out in a great rush.

"By burying my face between your legs—the way I've been dy ing to for days, for weeks. God, do you have any idea how desperate I've been to do that? How wild it makes me to catch the scent of your slick pussy? Knowing what a mess you've made of yourself, and what a mess you'd make of me if I just licked and sucked and kissed you there?" he said.

Then just as she thought he was going to do just that, just as she was sure he was actually going to cross that line, he groaned, "Oh, we're starting out at seven thousand again."

And somehow she had to force herself back. To return to the sensible person she'd almost been a moment ago. To call what they were doing setting up a study area, or booting up the Nintendo console, or making it all just basic and straightforward.

"I'll go sort everything out," she said.

While inside she still burned from everything he hadn't meant to say.