Chapter Twelve
Enimton
I’ve been on plenty of dates.
I’ve known a good share of women.
I’ve never enjoyed the simple act of sharing takeout food more. We were sitting on the floor, eating Chinese and letting our conversation ebb and flow like the waves hitting the shore.
Sara made even the most mundane activity feel like something I’d remember for the rest of my life. Her smile. The way her eyes lit up when she laughed. I couldn’t get enough of her.
There was comfort in our shared silences, but I also wanted more. I wanted to know her . . . all of her. “Tell me something you think about that you wouldn’t share with most people.”
For a moment, she seemed uncomfortable with my request, but then her lips pursed, and she said, “Sometimes I wonder if we’ve robbed complex language from domesticated animals, reduced them down to essentially the caveman version of their species, and forced them for centuries to try to learn our language because they lost their own. ”
It was not what I expected her to say, I thought she was joking, but when she didn’t laugh, I laid down my chopsticks and replayed her words in my head. “Since that’s something I’ve never thought about, I’m going to need you to explain why you think that.”
She shrugged. “I don’t think it . . . I wonder about it.
I’m not an animal behaviorist or even particularly well-versed about animal communication, but let’s take Sparkles, for example.
It’s likely she was removed from her mother at the eight-to-ten-week mark.
I don’t know exactly how old that is in dog years, but let’s say it’s a toddler.
If you took a human toddler from their parent and put them with .
. . elephants . . . and they were raised only by them and never saw other humans .
. . how would they learn English or any other commonly spoken human language? ”
“They wouldn’t.”
“So, how do dogs learn whatever language canines commonly speak?”
“Instincts?”
She shook her head. “I don’t buy it. I have a working theory that if you took a wolf and introduced it to a dog, the wolf would see the dog as limited in intelligence and language the same way we would look at the toddler who was raised by elephants as limited in both.”
“That’s quite a theory.”
“It’s definitely a rabbit hole I wandered down.
When I started thinking about how many generations of dogs we’ve raised in homes without their canine language .
. . I started to wonder if when you have two dogs in the same household for an extended period of time, do they create their own language?
And is that partly why they’re so sad when their companion dies because with it went the only other creature who spoke their language? ”
Sara’s eyes were bright, hands gesturing wildly, and I grinned at how her mind worked—sharp, curious, a little wild, like her hair. Perhaps it was the writer in her, but she noticed and thought about things few others did.
I’d read about wolves and ongoing studies of them.
Her theory wasn’t just a whim; it had claws, and recent studies backed her up.
“You’re onto something,” I said, keeping my tone light but serious enough to match her spark.
“Wolves have this . . . language, almost. Not just howls, though those are complex, with individual signatures in pitch and rhythm, like a wolf’s calling card.
” I paused and loved her intensity on the subject.
“They use subtle stuff too. Ear flicks, lip curls, even the way they tilt their head to signal play or a warning. Scientists have seen wolves coordinate hunts without a sound, just using glances and posture. Dogs? They’ve been rewired for us to wag their tail, bark, and respond to our vocal language.
You may be right. A wolf might look at Sparkles and think she’s stuck babbling like an infant. ”
Her mouth quirked, a spark of delight breaking through. “You didn’t dismiss my idea.”
“Why would I?”
She took a moment before responding, “I’m used to people having little tolerance for my less conventional ideas.”
I leaned closer, the air warming between us. “Do not go where the path may lead, go instead where there is no path and leave a trail.”
“Steve Jobs?”
I chuckled. “Ralph Waldo Emerson. Although I do believe Jobs once said—People who are crazy enough to think they can change the world are the ones who do.”
She sighed. “I’m not as well-read as you seem to be.”
My humor dimmed. “Reading is something I’ve always had a lot of time for.”
She was holding back questions. I could see them in her eyes. It was tempting to spill everything to her, but it didn’t yet feel right to. So instead, I asked, “So, should I learn wolf for Sparkles and teach her?”
Her expression tightened. “Will she ever meet a wolf?”
“Probably not.”
“Then you’d be putting a lot of time and effort into something that won’t matter.”
“Valid point,” I acknowledged but another thought came to me that I couldn’t hold back. “But some things are worth the try, regardless of the outcome. Kindness matters.”
“Yes, it does,” she said softly. A moment later she nudged my knee with hers, playful but weighted. “Look at you: Enimton, future wolf whisperer.”
My real name hung heavy in the room, making me half wish I hadn’t revealed it to her. I didn’t want to be Enimton. I wanted to be Ashen.
To lighten the mood, I let out a low howl that made her chuckle.
Nodding at the still mostly full containers, she asked, “Are you done?”
I stood and began to close up the boxes. “I am. Where would you like them?”
She rose to her feet as well. “Don’t worry about cleaning up. I can do it.”
With a few of the boxes already in my hands, I said, “I don’t mind. Just tell me where you want them.”
Her eyes darted to the kitchen. “Okay. Thanks. Let’s clean up together.”
On our way to her kitchenette, I asked, “Do most men not offer to help after a meal?”
She opened the refrigerator and began to place containers inside. “I don’t bring men home.”
Heat flooded through me.
Damn.
As my cock surged to attention, I tried to convince it to stand down. Sara and I were taking things slowly. The invitation to her place didn’t include an invitation to spread those amazing legs of hers and taste her all night.
Or to strip her down and kiss every damn inch of her before lowering her onto my cock and losing myself inside her.
Or to shove her against the wall, lift up that skirt of hers, rip off whatever she had on beneath it, and pound into her.
“Give it to me. All of it.”
“What?” With a face that flushed hot, I fought to breathe.
“The rest of the food. Unless you want to keep standing there holding it.”
“Oh. Yeah. The food.” I shoved one of the boxes into her hand. “You want the food.”
We walked back into the living room. She sat first, choosing one end of the couch. I inhaled deeply and sat at the other end.
She picked up the remote. “What kind of movie would you like to watch?”
“Anything,” I said in a strangled voice. Normally I might have had an opinion, but I was struggling to shed images of us naked and tangled together.
She gave me a long look. “Action film?”
“Perfect.”
After a brief scroll she chose one, I didn’t care enough to have an opinion on. “Hey,” I said.
She glanced over.
Our gaze met, held, and heated. In a low growl, I said, “If I told you to get the fuck over here and snuggle with me, what would you say?”
She chewed her bottom lip and looked away.
The silence that followed gave me enough time to regret I’d been so forward.
I was about to apologize, when she stood, closed the distance between us and sat down right beside me without looking me in the eye.
It was painfully awkward and cracked the rest of my reserve away.
I wrapped an arm around her, pulled her to my side, and kissed the top of her head.
Tense and immobile, she let out a shaky breath.
The silence was heavy, electric. “Sara,” I murmured, her name settling in my bones.
“Yes.”
“Being with you is healing parts of me I didn’t think ever could. You’re remarkable.”
She stiffened. “Don’t say that.” Her hands shook as she began to push away from me.
“Why shouldn’t I?” I asked, soft, like coaxing a stray, while holding her to me. “It’s true.”
She met my gaze. “You don’t know me.”
“I know enough.”
Her eyes darkened. “Watch the damn movie.”
I chuckled and she relaxed against me. The movie might have been good. Can’t say because it was impossible to pay attention to it when I was excruciatingly aware of every place our bodies were touching.
Sara seemed equally distracted, but also troubled by something. I ran my hand through her hair. “What are you thinking about?”
She shifted closer, knee brushing mine, and the air thickened, sparking.
Then she spoke, voice low, confessing to the dark.
“About someone I’m missing,” she said, looking at the floor, her fingers clenching her dress.
It was impossible to not feel a twinge of jealousy as I wondered if she was about to tell me she was still in love with this someone.
“My mother and I were living an unconventional lifestyle. One that could have landed her in jail and me in foster care. But instead of judging her, he offered us a chance for a normal life. He was a good man. The kind that didn’t bend, didn’t break, and was willing to risk everything for what he believed in. We were happy for a long time.”
“Sounds like an amazing man.”
“He really was. He taught me the importance of integrity and responsibility. He wasn’t a judgmental man, but he had a strong moral compass that nothing, not money, not threats, could sway.
He walked away from a career he’d built up to save us, and if he ever regretted it, he never showed any signs of it. ”
I kissed the top of her head again and simply listened.
Her voice lowered, “He made me feel safe.”
“What happened to him?” My heart began thudding overtime as the need to protect her from any and all pain surged.
Her voice cracked. “He died. They say it was a heart attack.”
Her words hit like a fist. I watched her lips tremble, shoulders curl inward, folding around the memory. She lost the person who made her feel safe.
She continued, “And that changed me.” A shudder passed through her. “And I’m not sure in a good way.”
I hugged her closer. She buried her face in my chest. Had I ever felt safe? If so, I couldn’t remember the feeling lasting long. From what she shared, I guessed her early life might have held the same kind of uncertainty mine had.
Imagine losing the person who saved you from that.
Her loss hit me as hard as if it were my own.
A switch flipped inside me and my view of everything from my family to my recent mistakes changed. For a long time, too long, I’d allowed myself to exist in survival mode. I didn’t fight for anything because I felt I had nothing to fight for. Sara was changing that. “What was his name?”
“Max,” she murmured. “My biological father left my mother as soon as he found out she was pregnant and broke her heart. Max pieced it back together.”
“Like you’re doing with me.”
One of her hands fisted on my chest. “I’m not Max.”
I didn’t know what to say to that. She was hurting and all I wanted to do was comfort her. I covered her fist with my hand, picked it up, and brought it to my lips.
Her head lifted and my pulse roared. “Sara,” I said, low, giving her a chance to stop me. She didn’t. I leaned in slowly.
Her lips met mine, tentative, then hungry, like she’d been starving as long as I had. With a groan, she shifted so she was straddling my lap and clutched my shoulders.
I groaned into her mouth, her taste—sweet and wild at the same time—was my undoing.
Mine.
Mine to have.
To pleasure.
To protect.
“Enimton,” she whispered.
“Ashen. Call me Ashen,” I commanded.
“Ashen,” she whispered.
The sound of it split something open inside me. A name I’d never owned was now a banner she raised over us like a vow.
Her fingers fumbled with the buttons on my shirt, popping them one by one, then giving up and yanking the rest of it open, desperate. Next her hands flew to my belt and the clasp of my pants. I arched so she could pull the material down and free my eager cock.
I gripped her thighs and lifted her so her dress spread over both of us, then settled her back down against my excitement.
Only the thin material of her panties kept me from plunging into her.
Sliding my hands beneath her buttocks, I slid her back and forth over my erection, up and down, while I kissed her nipples through the material of her dress.
She whipped her dress up and over her head, tossing it to the floor and exposing her glorious breasts to my attentive mouth. Her hands were greedily everywhere. She moved back and forth over my cock with growing speed that had me moaning against her skin.
The couch groaned beneath us, but I didn’t care. Let it break. Let everything break except this.
Her curls fell into my face, soft as silk, wild as wind, and I pushed them back so I could see her. She was flushed, pupils blown wide, lips parted. Beautiful and undone. I traced the column of her neck with my lips, slow, reverent. Her pulse fluttered like a caught bird.
Sliding a hand beneath her sex, I slid her underwear aside and slipped a finger into her welcoming wetness. She spread wider for me, and I thrust another finger while working her clit with my thumb. I could have gone gentle and easy, but she was pumping me deeper into her.
“Don’t stop,” she growled, fierce and shaking. “Please, don’t stop.”
“Sara, this is just the beginning,” I growled into her ear. “I’m going to make you come until you beg me to stop.”
She made a sound, a half-laugh, half-broken sob that sent me over the edge. I fumbled for my wallet and pulled out a condom. She grabbed it, opened it with trembling fingers, and rolled it on me so slowly I nearly came from that touch.
Her hands were bold. But her body? It trembled. Her breath was ragged. There was a battle raging within her, holding something back while also giving in. I didn’t know what it was, but I swore I’d honor it.
I took her mouth hungrily while she lowered herself onto my cock, inch by inch, taking me deeply. The brush of her breasts over my chest were a temptation that drew my hands to them.
Our tongues swirled and danced while she began to pump up and down on me. I thrust upward and met her rhythm. There were no words exchanged as this fucking went from passionate to primal.
I pushed off the couch, still inside her, and stepped out of my pants. Claiming her mouth with mine, I held her by her ass and pounded into her. She wrapped her legs around me, widening, welcoming, taking me as deep as I could go.
This was next level sex.
Fucking the way it was meant to be.
Mindless.
Freeing.
So good it hurt.
Her nails dug into my back. I’d gripped her ass so hard I’m sure I left bruises.
When she came, her cries were lost in our kiss, and I didn’t stop.