Page 27 of Beware of Dog (Lean Dogs Legacy #6)

“Listen, sweetheart.” His voice was all gravel, breath warm on her face.

“I’m not a martyr, so I’ll give you the spiel once, and I’m not gonna torture myself about it afterward.

I’m too old for you. You’re smart, and you’re talented, and you’re going to school—you ought to change your name and run as far away from the life as you can get.

Marry some dopey little shithead art nerd.

Your old man’s a spooky short weirdo, and he’s absolutely gonna kill me for this.

But fuuuuuck , I love you.” He pressed his forehead to hers.

“I oughta play the better man and tell you to get lost, but I’m not gonna.

If you want me, I’m never gonna tell you no. ”

Her breathing was doing a funny dance between hyperventilating, and sobbing, and giggling. She touched his face, the sharp edges of his jaw, his lean cheeks, the roughness of his stubble. “ Frank .”

He rubbed his nose against hers, and it was such a sweet little gesture, coming from him. “Yeah?”

“Yes, please.”

He made another of those punched-in-the-stomach noises from earlier, leaned back in, and kissed her again.

It was gentler this time. Soft, and slow, and sweet. Cass had no idea what she was doing, and amidst a flush of embarrassment tried to follow his lead, pliant and responsive.

He touched the very tip of her lower lip with his tongue and then drew back.

“Wait,” she murmured. She’d die if he decided she was lousy at this, and she wasn’t worth the effort.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he murmured, and his voice was pure sex.

It sent a jagged bolt of heat straight up from between her legs and she was glad he had hold of her, because she might melt right through the floor otherwise.

He tilted his head the opposite way, brushed their noses again, their lips, just a tease. “You ever done this before?”

He was perhaps the only person in her life she’d never wanted to lie to. She offered a breathless, ashamed little, “No.”

“No?” His voice was so quiet. “ Fuck .” Another kiss: a press, and then light tugging pressure at her upper lip. How could something so simple and delicate wreck her so completely? “That’s okay, baby. That’s my girl.”

“Oh, Christ .” She shoved her hands into his hair, shocked by how soft it was on top, the gel loosened from his helmet.

He pressed in again, and hummed an encouraging note against her lips.

She opened her mouth, and he fitted their lips together more securely.

Again, and again, achingly slow. Building her a rhythm, she realized— teaching her one.

Her embarrassment started to melt. She felt her jaw relaxing, her mouth parting a little more on each kiss.

“Mm. Yeah. There you go.”

She snuck her tongue up against his lip, flirting with the edges of his front teeth.

He made a pleased noise, then pressed at the hinge of her jaw with his thumb, and drove into her mouth with his whole tongue.

A whimper built in the back of her throat, and no doubt he could feel it, because when he drew back and rested their foreheads together, he huffed a quiet little laugh.

Up close like this, his smile was a blur.

She smiled back, automatic reflex, delighted by the sudden knowledge that, yes, her insides were melting, and she might be having a heart attack…

but that she felt giddy as a child at a carnival, too.

Like she’d been told she got to have ice cream for dinner, or that she’d just won tickets to her favorite band’s concert.

She stood up on her tiptoes, pressed flush against his front, and wrapped both arms around his neck. Her voice came out breathy and uneven. “You’re very sweet, for a shithead.”

His resulting chuckle vibrated through her chest, and her nipples tightened painfully. “Back atcha, brat.” He licked her smile, and it was silly, and dumb, and shouldn’t have been sexy, but somehow was. “Come here.” He picked her up around the waist, and then tossed her over his shoulder.

“Hey!” she yelped, indignant, which made him laugh again. So she grabbed his ass with both hands in retaliation, which quickly turned into a distraction. “Ooh, you don’t skip leg day, do you?”

“Skipping leg day is for jackoffs.” He smacked her ass, lightly, and strode down the hall.

An incredibly fuzzy memory bubbled up as she swayed against his back, enjoying her view of the frayed seams of his Levi’s pockets. “Hold on. Did you carry me like this the night I called you from the party?”

“Yep.” He sounded unrepentant.

“How chivalrous.”

“Hey.” His bedroom door creaked open, and inside, it smelled strongly of him, Speed Stick, cologne, and an undernote of something warm and comforting that was just skin. “I can be chivalrous.” He swung her around—but then caught her, and set her down feather-light on the end of the bed.

Cass pushed her hair off her face, looked up at him, and couldn’t breathe for a moment, struck soft and stupid by the intensity of his gaze.

It was, in so many ways, the same regard he’d always shown her: frank, and honest, and like he gave a shit.

Like she was a peer, a friend, and not the bother he sometimes said she was.

But he’d stripped off whatever shield he’d used to hide that he wanted her.

And it was so much want, too much and too ferocious to be faked.

His voice was achingly gentle when he said, “I came to get you, didn’t I?”

Oh, fuck . “Yes.” She had to wet her lips and swallow. “You said you always will.”

“Yeah.” He nodded. “I will.” He shrugged his jacket and cut off in one go, and they hit the carpet with a quiet sound that echoed inside her belly like an explosion.

This was happening. It was really happening.

Sometimes, it felt like she never got what she wanted, but she was about to get the thing she wanted most , and that thing was Shep , and he wanted her back …He told her he loved her…

Oh, damn, her eyes were stinging.

Shep dropped his hoodie and t-shirt, and frowned when he saw her blinking furiously. “What?”

She’d been pressed up against him lots, front, back, and side, and his constant string of white tees left very little to the imagination.

Still, his naked torso was a revelation for her, spare, and toned, with the lightest dusting of hair on his sternum, darkening to a thick stripe at his waistband.

In addition to the mermaid on the back of his left arm, he had a big running black dog tattooed on his ribs, wrapped around his right side, and a line of script on the inside of his right bicep.

It was absolutely unacceptable that he thought anything was wrong.

Cass reached for him. Then scooted back at his waved urging and let him climb up onto the bed to kneel between her legs.

He caught her face in one big, rough-skinned hand, thumb tracing sweetly over her cheek.

His gaze, those lovely dark mean-but-not eyes she loved, flicked back and forth as he took in her trembling mouth, her wet eyes.

“You okay, sweetheart?” He sounded almost frightened that she might say no. “Cassie?”

The skin of his chest was warm, and surprisingly smooth when she laid her hands on it. His heart beat a fast rhythm against her palm. He was nervous, worried.

She blinked some more, and smiled, but there was nothing to do for the wobbliness of her voice. “I just realized I didn’t say it back.”

His brows drew together.

“I love you.”

Beach sunsets had nothing on the transformation of his face, the wave-swept-sand softening of brow and jaw and mouth. “Yeah, baby. I knew that.”

He kissed her while she was rolling her eyes at him.

~*~

“Sooo,” Shep drawled, where he lay propped on his side next to her. The slow, steady passes of his hand across the smooth plane of her stomach made her want to squirm, grab his hand, and shove it lower. “You’re a virgin, right?”

“Ugh.” She covered her face with her hands so she didn’t have to see his no-nonsense, expectant expression. “No, Shep. I’ve never even kissed anyone, but I’ve shagged loads.”

They’d kissed until her mouth felt bruised, but she wanted more of it, and wanted a whole lot more than that, too.

He’d laid her down across the mattress, and some of the initial, shocked urgency had melted into something gentle and unhurried, and, honestly, more comfortable.

His jeans and all of her clothes had come off one piece at a time, and now they were down to their underwear.

For him that meant black Nike boxer-briefs that clung to his tight ass, narrow hips, and the fat, curved swell of his cock.

For her, it meant a simple, and honestly ratty black cotton bra, and panties printed with a mortifying pattern of little cartoon cats.

She had not gotten dressed this morning with the thought she might get laid.

“Is that a yes?” he asked, and she could hear the smile in his voice.

She cracked her fingers, and he was watching her with amusement, eye crinkles out on full, adorable display. “What do you think?”

“I think if it is yes, that’s a good thing, because it means I don’t have to kill a teenager.”

Slowly, she lowered her hands. When they settled just under her breasts, he slid his hand up and tangled their fingers together. “You don’t mind?” she asked with a wince.

He made a disbelieving face. “Why would I mind?”

“Well. You know.” Her face heated. “That’s what people always say. ‘I want a woman who knows what she’s doing.’ ‘Who has time to teach a stupid virgin how to do it right?’”

He snorted. “Kids spend way too much time on the computer worrying about what everyone else fucking thinks.” He leaned down to kiss her.

Her mouth ached, but she opened for the press of his tongue straight away. Let go of his hand so she could spear her fingers through his hair. It was thoroughly mussed at this point, and she loved that, and loved that she’d been the one to muss it.