Page 11

Eli makes a low, rumbling sound—not a growl, but something gentler.

He leans into my touch, and I grow bolder, running my hands along his neck, feeling the powerful muscle beneath his coat.

There's something freeing about this, about accepting this part of him that's so different from anything I've known.

I'm struck by the trust he's placing in me. He could tear me apart in seconds if he wanted to, yet he stands here, letting me touch him, letting me see this wild part of his soul. It's the most intimate moment I've shared with anyone in years, and we're not even speaking.

After a few minutes, I sit back on my heels. "Can you... change back now?"

The wolf dips his head in what looks remarkably like a nod, then trots over to a cluster of trees. I turn away, giving him privacy for the shift. When I hear footsteps again, I look up to find Eli approaching, now wearing just his sweatpants, his chest still bare in the moonlight.

The sight of him steals my breath all over again.

Moonlight silvers the contours of his body, highlighting the defined muscles of his chest and abdomen, the broadness of his shoulders.

A thin scar runs along his left side, and I find myself wondering what battle left that mark.

His hair is tousled from the shift, giving him a wild, untamed look that makes my pulse quicken.

"Thank you," I say quietly. "For showing me."

"Thank you for asking." His voice is a low rumble that sends a shiver down my spine, raising goosebumps on my arms that have nothing to do with the cool night air. "Most humans don't want to see that side of us."

I rise to my feet, drawn to him like a magnet. "You're not what I expected," I admit, stepping closer, close enough that I can feel the heat radiating from his skin. "Any of this. I didn't think I could ever feel safe again."

"You are safe," he says, his voice dropping lower, rougher. "With me."

My hand lifts of its own accord, tracing the contours of his chest, feeling the steady thump of his heart beneath my palm.

His skin is hot to the touch, as if the wolf's heat lingers just beneath the surface.

The contrast between his hardness and the softness of his gaze makes something ache deep inside me.

"I believe you," I whisper, and I realize with a start that it's true.

Eli's hand comes up to cup my cheek, his thumb brushing across my lower lip. The touch sends electricity racing through me, awakening parts I thought had gone dormant from disuse. When his mouth lowers to mine, I rise to meet him.

The kiss starts soft, a question more than a demand.

But when I press closer, my body flush against his, something shifts.

His arms wrap around me, lifting me easily, and I gasp against his mouth.

No man has ever made me feel so delicate, so cherished, even as desire pools hot and insistent in my core.

He tastes like wilderness and safety all at once—like the promise of shelter after a storm. His hands are large against my back, spanning my ribs, and I'm struck by the gentleness in his touch, the careful way he holds me, as if I might break or run.

He carries me inside without breaking the kiss, his steps sure in the dim light. The house is quiet save for our breathing, growing more ragged with each passing second. When he lays me on the couch, he hovers above me, his weight supported on his forearms.

"Grace," he murmurs, my name a prayer on his lips. His eyes are dark, pupils blown wide with desire, but there's a question there too. "Tell me if you want to stop."

In answer, I pull him down to me, my kiss hungry now, demanding.

His hands slide beneath my shirt, mapping the curve of my waist, the ladder of my ribs.

Each touch is reverent, as if he's memorizing me by feel alone.

The calluses on his palms catch slightly against my skin, a delicious friction that makes me arch closer.

When he tugs at the hem of my shirt, I lift my arms, letting him pull it over my head. The cool air pebbles my skin, but his hands are warm as they trace the edge of my bra, his eyes darkening as he takes me in.

"You're so beautiful," he whispers, and the naked awe in his voice makes me believe him.

I've never felt beautiful before—not like this, not with a man looking at me as if I'm something precious. The men in my past saw my body as something to use, to take. Eli looks at me like I'm a gift he's afraid to unwrap.

His mouth follows the path of his hands, pressing kisses along my collarbone, the swell of my breasts, the sensitive skin beneath. I arch into his touch, a soft sound escaping me when his teeth graze my nipple through the thin fabric of my bra.

"Is this okay?" he asks, his fingers tracing the clasp at my back.

"Yes," I breathe, lifting slightly so he can unhook it. The garment falls away, and I resist the urge to cover myself. The way Eli looks at me—like I'm something precious, something to be savored—makes me feel powerful rather than exposed.

His hands and mouth worship me, drawing sighs and gasps as he learns what makes me tremble, what makes me moan.

The scratch of his stubble against my sensitive skin creates a delicious contrast to the softness of his lips.

Every touch is deliberate, patient, as if we have all the time in the world—as if I'm not just another conquest, but someone worth savoring.

When his fingers slip beneath the waistband of my jeans, I lift my hips in silent permission, my body humming with a need I've never felt before. This isn't just desire—it's something deeper, more terrifying.

He undresses me slowly, his eyes holding mine as each piece falls away. I should feel vulnerable, laid bare beneath him while he's still half-clothed, but instead I feel desired, cherished. The weight of his gaze is like a physical touch, warming me from the inside out.

"Tell me what you need," he says, his voice a low rumble against my skin.

"Just you," I whisper, reaching for him. "Just this."

His fingers find me then, exploring with exquisite patience, discovering the places that make me gasp and arch. His mouth never leaves mine as he touches me, swallowing my moans as pleasure builds, coiling tight at the base of my spine.

"You're safe," he murmurs against my neck, his fingers moving in slow, deliberate circles. "You're strong. You're not alone anymore."

Something about his words, coupled with the skilled pressure of his touch, sends me over the edge.

I come with a broken cry, my body arching beneath his, pleasure washing through me in waves.

It's not just physical release—it's something more profound, as if some tightly wound part of me is finally unraveling.

As I float back to myself, I feel Eli gathering me into his arms, tucking my head beneath his chin.

Our hearts beat in tandem, gradually slowing as he strokes my hair, my back, murmuring words too soft to catch.

His body is a warm fortress around mine, and for the first time in years, I let myself be held without planning an escape route.

The scent of him—pine and earth and something uniquely male—fills my lungs with each breath.

His chest rises and falls steadily beneath my cheek, the crisp hair there tickling my skin.

I trace idle patterns across his ribs, marveling at the contrast between us—his size, his strength, the roughness of his skin against my softer touch.

"What is this?" I ask finally, my voice barely audible in the quiet room.

His arms tighten around me, one large hand coming up to cradle the back of my head. The gesture is so tender it makes my throat ache.

"Something real," he says, pressing a kiss to my temple. His voice vibrates through his chest, rumbling against my ear.

I let out a shaky breath, fear and hope warring within me. The men in my past made promises too—pretty words that dissolved like sugar in rain the moment things got difficult. But none of them looked at me the way Eli does, like he sees past my defenses to the woman beneath.

"I need to go slowly," I whisper, hating the tremor in my voice. "I don't know how to do this. How to stay. How to trust that it won't all disappear."

"Then we go slow," Eli says without hesitation, his hand still tracing soothing patterns on my skin. "I'm not going anywhere, Grace. Neither are you, unless you choose to."