Emins’ Mate(22)

AJ turned back to the margaritas. Kissing she could talk about. Sex, not so much. She felt like a real hypocrite dishing out advice on something she'd never done before.

"But I'm old enough!" Glory insisted. "27. And wherever he touches me, I get warm. And it makes me want to bite and lick him all over."

AJ choked on her margarita while Dora just laughed. "Well, if you're sure you're ready. No harm in getting the ball rolling, I guess. Just as long as you're clear on the fact that no matter what happens, you can ask him to stop, pause, or slow down."

"Stop, pause, slow down," Glory repeated solemnly. She recognized the terms from the DVD player that Maxim had showed her how to work last week. "How do I get him to hit play? And then fast forward?"

AJ and Dora both laughed.

"Well, just off the top," Dora said, "you could touch his arms, hold eye contact. Kiss him, on his lips, on his neck. Get naked. Any and all. AJ, can you think of anything else?"

AJ wracked her inexperienced, yet very creative brain. She had a lot of man hours logged in the fantasy world of what she would do if she had a few willing moments alone with a certain Malashovik brother. "Tell him exactly what you want to do to him and what you want him to do to you."

"Nice," Dora said, going up for a five.

Glory took all the notes, solemnly. "Okay. I’ll do it all." She bit her lip for a second. "What if he doesn't want me?"

"Trust me, Glorious," Dora said, crunching on a chip. "Not. Possible.”



***





His annoying sister-in-law had insisted that Glory wasn't into Anton. But it was damn near one in the morning and Glory was nowhere to be found. If she was somewhere in the woods tangled up with his brother, Emin swore he was going to rip-

He heard a sound on the porch. A scuffling sound. The door to his cabin banged open and Emin sat straight up from where he was lying on the floor in the nest of blankets that had become his bed since Glory came into his life.

A tiger padded in and nudged the door closed behind her. He winced as the door slammed again. She was louder than usual. He furrowed his brow when her tail knocked over a painting as she padded over to him. And then he was biting back a growl as she shifted in front of his eyes. She was naked, creamy and auburn and pretty as sin in front of him.

"Glory," he groaned, slamming his eyes shut. "Put on clothes."

"No," she smiled at him, crouching down and suddenly gripping his shoulders.

Emin's eyes came open in surprise at her sudden touch and his breath came short as her eyes stared directly into his. Her eyes were pure springtime, bright green and wide and... a little blurry?

She leaned forward and he froze. This was wrong. But he wasn't sure he could stop it at this point. Until he tasted the tequila on her breath. Her lips almost on his.

She was drunk.

Kill him. Kill him now.

He twisted his face away from hers. If he wasn't taking advantage of her when she was sober he sure as fuck wasn't taking advantage of her when she was drunk. But the move freed up the line of his neck to her and he growled when her open mouth came in contact with a cord in his throat.

She nibbled it. Tested it with her teeth, gave teasing little kisses up to his ear.

He meant to push her away, but somehow his hands were tightening around her plush, naked waist. The move crushed her breasts against his chest and she made an excited little noise.

The noise echoed through his skull and it had him ripping at his own leash. Jesus, that innocent little noise.

"Glory," he breathed. "You are drunk."

"No," she insisted, wiggling herself further onto his lap. "I'm just a little... sparkly."

"Yes, that is what drunk feels like." He pried her off his lap and sprang to his feet. She knelt before him in the nest of blankets, warm from his body heat, and looked up at him.

Holy god. What the fuck had he done in a past life to deserve this torture?

"Clothes," he choked out. "You need clothes."

He turned and blindly rummaged through his drawers. Why the fuck did he have a hundred loose socks and no shirts or pants? Oh, because he was digging through his sock drawer. He slammed it shut and commanded his brain to start working right.

"I don't want clothes, Emin."

He ignored her, finally locating a shirt long enough to cover the goods and tearing it out of his drawer. He strode over to her and lifted the shirt over her head, attempting to put it on. But she sidestepped and batted his hands away.

“I said that I don’t want clothes, Emin. I want to be naked. And I want you to be naked.”

His hands stuttered for a moment but then he had the shirt over her head. Now he just needed her arms.