14. Lynn #2
“He’s never done this before,” I say, trying to pry my pet off my, whatever Milo is. “He’s usually so docile-”
Milo finally manages to detach Darcy, holding him at arm’s length while the hamster glares with beady-eyed fury. Then Darcy twists, drops onto Milo’s discarded wet shirt, and-
“Did he just-” Milo stares at his shirt, where a tiny hamster turd now sits. “Did your hamster just defecate on my clothing?”
“He’s establishing dominance.”
“He’s the size of a dinner roll.”
“Size isn’t everything.”
Milo and Mr. Darcy engage in what can only be described as a glare battle, alpha lycan versus territorial hamster, neither willing to back down.
“I’ll eat you,” Milo says flatly.
Darcy plays dead.
Like, fully commits to the bit, goes limp, closes his eyes, doesn’t move.
“Oh my god,” I say. “Darcy, stop being dramatic.”
“Is he - is he faking?”
“He does this when he loses arguments.”
“Arguments. You have arguments with your hamster.”
“He’s very opinionated.”
The lights flicker.
Then they go out completely.
The storm must have knocked out power to the building, because suddenly we’re plunged into darkness. The only light comes from the occasional flash of lightning outside, illuminating Milo’s face in brief, stark bursts.
“Well,” I say. “This is atmospheric.”
“I can still see you.” His voice is closer than I expected. “Lycan night vision.”
“Show off.”
“You can’t see anything?”
“I can see vague shapes. And lightning flashes.”
“Hmm.” I hear him move, and then his hand finds my waist, warm and steady. “I should tell you - your neighbor. The one who overheard us before.”
“Priya. She mentioned the thin walls earlier.”
“We need to be careful.” His thumb traces circles on my hip through my shirt. “I could hear her heartbeat when she was talking to you. She’s curious.”
“She thinks I’m sneaking a man in.”
“You are sneaking a man in.”
“Technically you snuck yourself in. Through my window.”
“A technicality.” His other hand comes up to cup my face in the darkness. “If it becomes a problem, I could make her… disappear.”
I go still. “I’m sorry, what?”
“The neighbor. If she threatens our privacy.”
“Milo. Are you - are you joking right now? I genuinely can’t tell.”
A pause.
“Yes,” he says, but something in his tone suggests otherwise. “Joking. Obviously.”
“You’re not selling it.”
“I’d never actually harm an innocent human.”
“That’s a very specific caveat!”
“I’m a very specific person.”
I’m about to press further when his thumb brushes across my cheekbone, and suddenly the question of whether my boyfriend might casually murder my neighbor seems significantly less important than the way he’s touching me.
“Lindsay.” His voice is low, rough. “Can I kiss you?”
“Yes.”
His mouth finds mine in the darkness.
It’s different from before, slower, more deliberate. He can see me even though I can’t see him, and there’s something thrilling about that. About being the one who’s blind while he navigates by senses I can’t comprehend.
My hands find his chest.
Bare skin. Warm. Still slightly damp from the rain.
I trace the lines of his muscles, feeling the way he shudders under my touch. His abs contract when my fingers drift lower.
“You’re so-” I don’t have words. “You’re so-”
“Nervous,” he admits. “Terrified, actually.”
“Of what?”
“Of wanting you too much. Of going too fast.” His forehead drops to mine. “Of ruining this.”
“You won’t.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do.” I kiss him again, soft. “I know you.”
“You’ve known me for two weeks.”
“Feels longer.” I echo his words from before. “Feels like I’ve known you forever.”
He makes a sound, something between a groan and a prayer, and then his hands are moving.
He undresses me slowly.
Reverently.
In the darkness, with only the storm for soundtrack, he peels away my layers one by one. Shirt first, lifted over my head with careful hands. Then my bra, unclasped with fingers that tremble slightly. His mouth follows, pressing kisses to each new inch of exposed skin.
“Beautiful,” he murmurs against my collarbone. “So beautiful.”
“You can see me?”
“Every inch.” His lips trace the curve of my breast. “You’re glowing.”
“That’s sweat.”
“It’s radiance.”
“It’s definitely sweat, I’ve been stress-cleaning for three hours-”
He silences me with a kiss.
My pants go next, jeans, fumbled in the darkness, his knuckles brushing my thighs as he drags them down. Then my underwear, and I’m naked in my own dorm room with a lycan professor I’ve known for fourteen days, and I’ve never felt more right about anything in my life.
“Lie down,” he says.
“Where-”
His hands guide me, and I realize we’ve migrated to my bed at some point. I didn’t even notice. His hands on me are the only thing I can focus on.
I lie back. The sheets are cool against my overheated skin.
“I want to taste you.” His voice comes from somewhere near my knees, and then his hands are spreading my thighs, and oh.
“Milo-”
“Tell me if you want me to stop.”
“Don’t you dare-”
His mouth finds me.
The first touch of his tongue makes me arch off the bed, hands fisting in the sheets. He groans against me like I’m the best thing he’s ever tasted, and the vibration sends sparks shooting up my spine.
“Fuck.” I’m already close. How am I already close? “That’s - you’re-”
He doesn’t answer. He’s too busy destroying me with his tongue, long, slow licks interspersed with targeted attention to exactly the right spot. My hands find his hair, still damp from the rain, and I hold on for dear life.
In the darkness, every sensation is magnified.
I can’t see him, but I can feel everything. The rasp of his stubble against my inner thighs. The pressure of his hands holding me open. The obscene wet sounds of his mouth working me over.