Oh fuck, what have I done?
Images of the last few hours whip through my head at breakneck speed, all too embarrassing to look at closely—everything is too raw right now—but I gasp at one memory in particular.
“My back!”
Immediately, Ilian picks me up from where I’m cuddled into his side, maneuvering me like I weigh nothing.
This stokes the dying embers of my arousal, and I silently curse the needy flesh sack that I call a body.
Isn’t it enough that I have to feed and water it constantly—now it’s lusting after a monster?!
I scowl as Ilian turns me in his arms, positioning my body until I’m straddling the entirety of his right arm.
My bent legs hang off either side, and my stomach trembles against the fur tickling me there. Surprisingly, it’s rather comfortable—minus the fact that my bare pussy rests on his hairy bicep.
Ilian smooths his hand down my back, his claws lightly prodding the surface, and goosebumps break out over my skin.
Shit, I need to think of something—anything—else except this man and the crazy reactions he pulls from my body.
New Year’s resolutions!
Closing my eyes, I ponder what useless pledge I’ll make to myself this time. It’s hard to focus with the monstrous man’s heat seeping into me or the fact that my ass is glued to his torso, but I try.
Oh, bingo—I promise I won’t grind anymore on Ilian Yaniqu.
It’s probably the most sensible resolution I’ve ever made, much better than my paltry promises to lose weight.
“Zhuliya—”
“I’m going to lose weight!”
My stupid brain fritzes when Ilian whispers my name, and I blurt out the mortifying words. I close my eyes and pray this isn’t real.
Too late for that.
“Zhuliya? Zhuliya!”
“What?” I croak.
The giant Ithaqua curls his arm until I’m sitting up straight, my back nearly plastered to his chest.
“You do not need to lose weight.”
He doesn’t ask me why I said it or what I was thinking. No, he just utters this single sentence laced with absolute conviction.
“I don’t?”
Ilian scowls when I twist my head to the side to catch his eye. “Who told you that?”
A bubble of laughter builds inside of me. “Oh, every doctor, magazine, and scale I’ve stepped on.”
His fuchsia gaze burns brighter. “Get a new doctor, fuck those magazines, and stop stepping on scales. They sound like land mines for your mental health. You’re perfect.”
He punctuates the words with sexy, little growls that send my actual New Year’s resolution into oblivion.
How do I not grind on the man when he makes sounds like that?
“Is my back ruined?”
Ilian tilts his head. “Ruined? Oh—no, it’s not. It’s…healed.”
“Healed? Already? How?!”
“Zhuliya, I’m not sure how to tell you this, but I imprinted upon you.”
“Um, what’s imprinting?”
He shifts, jostling my entire body which is still draped across his arm. “It’s where an Ithaquan male imparts a piece of his soul into his mate.”
Piece of soul.
Into mate.
“Oh, no. Oh, no, no, no, no!”
The horned man cringes, running a claw down my back. I’m unsure if it’s a gesture of reassurance, but it soothes me all the same—which is bad.
Very bad.
