Page 7 of Softer Than Stone (Fangs & Felons)

WARU

Hair tickled my nose. I moved my face left to right, trying to scratch and stop the tickle. Warm skin, sweet-smelling sweat… lion. Chris.

Stilling, I tuned into his heartbeat, right next to where my face was pressed against his barrel chest. A steady thump didn’t clue me into whether he was awake or not, so I focussed on his breathing.

One exhale. Two.

“I can hear you thinking.” The deep rumble of his voice wrapped around me. Goose bumps sprang to life, covering my arms quicker than I could fully appreciate his scent or the position I’d woken in.

As I debated whether to move or not, Chris’s strong, bare arms enveloped me. My breath caught before I melted against him, happy for him to make the decision for the two of us.

“Have you been awake long?” I asked, my voice gravelly and rough with sleep. From the faint light spilling into my bedroom, dawn had not long broken, maybe for an hour or so from the brightness of the room.

“Not really. Maybe fifteen minutes or so.”

I nodded against his chest, enjoying how his hair rubbed my cheek.

It had been a long time since I’d shared a bed with anyone.

Since opening Kurranba seven years ago, life had been all work and fairly limited play.

Sure, in the last couple of years I’d made a greater effort to find balance by staying closed on Mondays and hiring a manager who I still hadn’t allowed to take the reins, but balance still felt out of reach.

Maybe if I had someone who encouraged me to take time out and reminded me the world existed away from the restaurant, that would be all the push I’d need. Maybe.

“You’re not at work today, right?”

“No,” I answered, finally building the courage to angle my head a little to peer up at him, albeit awkwardly.

“Do you need to get going?” In my exhausted state yesterday, I thought he mentioned having a couple days off, but I couldn’t be certain.

The past week had been stressful. The past twelve hours had been…

hell, they’d been tense as fuck and dove right into being traumatic.

He shook his head, his lips pressing against my forehead before I could process.

My brows shot high, but if Chris thought his kissing me was odd, then he didn’t show it.

Instead, a slow smile formed as he angled to see me better.

“I’m all yours for the day if you don’t have plans and want me to stay. ”

I blinked up at him, caught between my usual composure and the way my body buzzed with awareness. Chris’s smile was lazy, content, and devastatingly sexy. I was pretty sure I looked like I’d just fallen out of a gum tree.

“I, uh…,” I stammered, heat creeping into my cheeks. “Yeah. That’d be nice.”

His arms tightened around me slightly, and the motion pressed me closer to the hard planes of his chest. I became acutely aware of his warmth, the solidness of his body, and the way his scent—earthy, with a faint hint of spice—wrapped around me like a blanket.

Then I realised exactly how draped over him I was. My legs tangled with his, my torso flush against his, and, fuck, my morning wood pressed uncomfortably close to his thigh.

Awareness shot through me, and before I could control it, my cock swelled further, throbbing against the hard muscle of his leg. My breath caught. I tried to shift away subtly, but the motion only made things worse.

Chris’s eyes dropped, his gaze drifting down my body. Heat flared in his golden eyes, slow and intense. He didn’t say a word for a long moment, just looked, and my heart threatened to burst out of my chest.

“Chris, I—” I started, scrambling for an apology.

“Give me your hand,” he said, his voice quiet but filled with a rough command that sent a shiver down my spine.

I froze, staring at him. The air between us was thick, tension bubbling just under the surface, ready to snap. Slowly, I lifted my hand and placed it in his.

His fingers curled around mine, warm and sure, and he guided me downwards, under the sheet. He moved slowly, giving me plenty of time to pull back if I wanted to. I didn’t.

When my palm brushed against his cock, thick and hot, I swallowed hard. My brain short-circuited, and all I could do was hold him, feel the solid weight of him against my hand.

“Chris,” I whispered, his name a mix of reverence and desperation.

He didn’t reply. He didn’t have to. The way he looked at me, like I was the only thing that mattered, stole my breath.

I yanked the sheet back, exposing him fully, and tugged his boxers down. His cock sprang free, impressive and perfect. I wasn’t one to focus on size, but Chris was all thick length and weight, and my mouth watered at the sight.

“Off,” he said, his voice rough with desire, and his gaze flicked to my boxers.

I didn’t hesitate, pushing them down and kicking them off. The way he groaned, low and appreciative, sent a thrill through me.

Before I could act on the desperate urge to take him in my mouth, he grabbed me, his hand firm on the back of my neck, and pulled me into a kiss. His lips were soft but demanding, and his tongue teased mine until I was dizzy.

When he broke the kiss, I barely had time to catch my breath before he shifted me effortlessly, his strength undeniable. He spun me around, pulling me into a 69 position.

I didn’t have time to be self-conscious before his mouth was on me, hot and wet and sending jolts of pleasure through my body.

“Oh, fuck,” I gasped, my hands gripping his hips for balance.

I returned the favour, taking him into my mouth as best as I could. He groaned around me, the vibrations pushing me closer to the edge.

Tentatively, I let one hand drift lower, brushing against the tight ring of muscle at his entrance. I hesitated, unsure, but when he shifted his hips, opening for me, I pressed a spit-slick finger inside.

He moaned, the sound wrecked and beautiful, and I couldn’t get enough… of him, his arse, this moment. I sucked hard as I drove one, then two fingers inside his channel. He gripped my fingers. Fuck, with Chris around my cock, I’d be in heaven given half the chance.

He gripped my hips, yanking me deeper and so far into his throat, I saw stars. I shuddered, my body trembling while I tried to focus enough to make him come undone. Sucking my cheeks in, I went for the kill shot. I pulled him into my mouth, held my breath, and swallowed around his length.

Chris tensed, gripping me so hard and perfectly, I’d wear his bruises.

When he came, spilling hot and thick into my mouth, his body went pliant against mine. Still sucking me down, his movements slow but thorough, he tugged my balls, sending bright relief into my vision as I came long and hard, shooting ribbons of cum down his convulsing throat.

We collapsed side by side, breathing heavily, our limbs tangled.

I stared at him, dazed and completely wrecked. “Chris,” I said softly, “I think I need to call my manager.”

His brow quirked. “Oh?”

I grinned, brushing a hand over his chest as I turned myself around to be closer to his face. “I was supposed to do a stock take today, but spending the day in bed with you sounds a hell of a lot better.”

His laugh rumbled through me, low and warm, and I knew I’d made the right choice.

“So,” Chris began, leaning back in his chair and wiping the corner of his mouth with a napkin, “who taught you to cook? What made you fall in love with it?”

I didn’t answer right away, too caught up in watching him. His plate was nearly clean—a testament to the barramundi I’d pan seared with lemon myrtle butter, served alongside a roasted beet and macadamia salad and a pepperberry-infused damper roll.

He ate like it was the first time he’d tasted food, his every movement deliberate. The way his fork lifted the last flake of fish to his mouth, or how his tongue darted out to catch a stray drop of butter clinging to his bottom lip—it was foreplay on a level I’d never experienced before.

Chris let out a low groan of satisfaction, his eyes half lidded as he chewed. “You’re gonna ruin me, you know that?”

Heat spread through me, pooling low in my belly. As much as I wanted to crawl under the table and go for round six—or was it seven?—this moment, us talking and getting to know each other, was just as good. Maybe better.

“It was my dad,” I finally said, leaning back and resting my elbow on the table. “He was the one who got me into cooking.”

Chris’s gaze sharpened, curiosity sparking in his warm golden eyes. “Your dad?”

I nodded, a small smile tugging at my lips. “Yeah. He was a big fella—tough as they come—but he had this incredible passion for food. He used to say cooking wasn’t just about feeding people; it was about telling a story, connecting with them.”

Chris’s lips quirked into a smile, and I could see him picturing it.

“He loved teaching me how to make the traditional stuff—damper, kangaroo stew, wattleseed pancakes. But he was also a master of fusion. He’d take bush tucker ingredients and mix them with techniques from all over the world.

I used to watch him cook, and it was like watching a magician at work.

Every meal was an experience, you know?”

Chris’s smile grew wider. “So you inherited the magic.”

I snorted, feeling heat creep up my neck. “I don’t know about that, but yeah, I guess he passed it on. When I cook, it’s like I’m carrying a piece of him with me.”

He reached across the table and placed his large hand over mine, his touch grounding and reassuring. “Your dad sounds like an amazing man.”

“He was,” I said softly. “And he’d love this.” I gestured between us. “Sharing a meal, getting to know someone over food—that was his thing.”

Chris’s thumb traced a slow circle over my knuckles, his gaze locked on mine. “Then I owe him one for passing that on to you.”

My chest tightened at his words, the sincerity in his tone. This man, who ate my food like it was his last meal on earth, who held my hand like it was something precious, was undoing me in ways I didn’t even realise were possible.