“Don’t stop,” she begged, shameless.
“I won’t.” Ryn bent her head and dragged her lips over the mounds of Kiara’s breasts where they showed above her dress. “I won’t,” she promised, her fingers moving ceaselessly inside of Kiara as Kiara shook and trembled around her.
Her hips rising mindlessly, desperately, to meet Ryn’s thrusts, Kiara grabbed fistfuls of Ryn’s hair and dragged her head up to find Ryn’s lips with hers. As the first orgasm ripped through her, she moaned into Ryn’s mouth and felt Ryn’s lips pull into a wide smile as she brought Kiara to her second orgasm.
“It’s not enough.” Kiara’s chest heaved as she tried to suck in enough air despite the sensations driving her breathless. “I need more. Give me more.” A sob fell from her lips. She wanted to feel Ryn everywhere: inside her, around her, under her, and on top of her until there was nothing but Ryn, until everything disappeared except the thunder of Ryn’s heart against hers and the sound of their ragged breathing and moving bodies.
As Ryn pressed another finger into her, Kiara worked her hand down between them, wriggling past Ryn’s belt until she hit the hot, taut skin underneath.
“Can I?” she asked, her voice strung with urgency.
In their past, Ryn had experienced some feelings related to gender dysphoria. She’d expressed to Kiara that she didn’t feel like a woman any more than she felt like a man, and that sometimes—especially during sex, perhaps because standard social scripts relied so heavily on heteronormative gender roles—she felt anxious, frustrated, and alienated from her body. After she’d learned that, Kiara tried to be especially careful to affirm Ryn’s boundaries and to check if she was uncertain. Ten years wasn’t going to change that.
“Yes.” Ryn moaned as Kiara’s fingertips brushed the coarse thatch of hair between her thighs, and Kiara pushed farther, fingers dipping into the wet heat and rubbing frantically at Ryn’s clit until Ryn’s hips thrust against Kiara in time with Ryn’s fingers inside of her.
Kiara convulsed around Ryn for a third time as Ryn went rigid above her. Ryn’s forehead dug into the bend of Kiara’s neck as the two of them rode the crest before Ryn collapsed on top of her, and Kiara fell bonelessly into the bench.
Ryn’s heart beat against Kiara’s. Kiara brought a weak hand up to cup the back of Ryn’s head and hold her close.
It had started to rain. Kiara wasn’t sure when, but the cool drops—not a torrent, but a gentle breaking of the storm—were a counterpoint to the heat of Ryn’s bare skin under her arms.
“It won’t be enough.” Ryn pulled herself up, and the loss of her left an ache. Kiara was suddenly aware of the wooden bench, uncomfortable against her back, and of the awkward angle of her leg. She was cold, now. It didn’t have anything to do with her forgotten jacket.
Not sure of what to say to Ryn, not trusting her voice, she pushed herself to her feet and crossed the roof to her purse. Her cigarette had gone out in the gravel, and the rain had rendered what was left of it—a good half—unsalvageable. She picked it up anyway, unwilling to litter Nathan’s rooftop, and tucked it into her purse as she pulled out the pack.
“You should quit,” Ryn called, careless of the way her long hair hung disheveled and her pants rode low on her hips.
“You always say that,” Kiara reminded her. She walked back, bent, and pressed the cigarette tip to the light Ryn offered. Old patterns returned, like breathing. A person could only stop for so long before being forced back into it.
Drawing the smoke into her mouth, Kiara dropped to the bench beside Ryn and crossed one leg over the other.
Ryn didn’t turn to face her, but gazed out at the cityscape. The rain still fell gently, and the tip of Kiara’s cigarette glowed brightly in the darkness.
With her body still thrumming from Ryn’s touch, Kiara felt the first moment of peace, real, true peace, in years. It sank into her bones like a hot bath, and she let herself settle into it. Ryn always had that effect on her—she made Kiara forget everything.
“I’m sorry,” Kiara said abruptly. “I know you don’t want to be here. I know you have your own life in Vancouver.” Without me.
“I do,” Ryn agreed. Her arm rested on the bench behind Kiara, and Kiara refused to lean back, despite everything in her that cried for the concession. She wasn’t ruled by this, by Ryn, anymore. That wasn’t who she was now.
“I didn’t know you were here.” Kiara thought it was important to say. True. If she had known she’d be moving to the same city as her ex-lover, Kiara wouldn’t have come. No matter that Jamie was here, no matter that the job offer—working with one of Vancouver’s largest construction companies—had been incredible. She’d have come up with an excuse—no, a legitimate reason. Something so solid that no one would have questioned her refusal.
Ryn shifted on the bench beside her and withdrew her arm from where it had been almost around Kiara. “I figured.”
“Not that—I mean—” Kiara stumbled over the words. She flicked the ash from her cigarette with a casual tap of her thumb. “You’re happy here. You looked happy, onstage. I’m glad.”
“I am,” Ryn replied easily. “This is a good city. Good people.”
“It’s just you, though?”
Out of the corner of her eye, she caught the quick flash of Ryn’s grin, but refused to look.
“I’m never short of lovers, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“I’m not.” Kiara’s response was too short, too sharp, and belied her denial. “I mean you don’t have a pack,” she clarified.
“No.”
That was another thing that hadn’t changed. Ryn had been adopted as a baby. She had shifted for the first time at puberty, as most young werewolves did, but she had done it on her own. She’d had no preparation for the changes her body went through. Her only context for the experience had come from paranormal novels and horror movies.
When Kiara met her in college, Ryn was a biracial, genderqueer eighteen-year-old, politically outspoken and personally unapologetic. Her lone wolf persona was an intrinsic part of her. She found Kiara’s attachment and unyielding obedience to her pack unfathomable and steadfastly refused each of Kiara’s attempts to explain the importance of pack.
“Is there any reason why… I mean, have you—does anyone know?” There were reasons lone wolves weren’t celebrated by werewolf society. Without a pack, werewolves had no one to turn to when they ran into trouble, had questions, or simply grew exhausted with the weight of their secret. A lone wolf was more likely to be so desperate for companionship, for someone they could share everything with, that they spilled their secrets without knowing they would be kept safe.
Kiara didn’t know if it was the human or wolf part of them that craved belonging. She wasn’t sure it mattered, in the end.
“I keep my secrets, Kiara.”
“The Huntsmen had to know from somewhere.”
“I didn’t tell anyone. I’m careful. No one knew before you. No one’s known after.” The bitterness in Ryn’s voice dug like a knife into Kiara’s side, and it took all she had not to flinch away from it. “Besides,” Ryn continued. “It’s not hard for one person to keep a secret. But five?” She twisted to face Kiara. “Five is a lot of people.”
“We didn’t tell anyone who isn’t in that room downstairs.”
“But were you careful? As careful as you should be?” Ryn’s accusations were sharp, as if that same knife, lodged in Kiara’s side, were twisting. “You’re sure none of you grew complacent, secure in the fact that you can always just run back to Daddy when you get in trouble?”
Indignation sucked the air from Kiara’s lungs. Ryn didn’t wait for her to regain her footing, but simply stood.
“All I’m saying is, watch your glass house. Those are some big stones you’re throwing.”
The door clanged shut behind Ryn. The sudden silence hung in t
he air, as uncomfortable as the sweat drying cold against Kiara’s skin.
It hadn’t been her pack. She was certain. They were smart; they had grown up in this world, had the rules drilled into them before they could tie their own shoelaces. Neither she, nor Jamie, nor Cole would be so reckless as to let something slip.
Would they?
Doubt added a twist to her stomach, a weight to her shoulders.
The rain was coming harder now. Kiara rose from the bench. She’d raid Nathan’s closet for something more comfortable than her dress and wait to hear from her father.
Which, she reminded herself, annoyed by the necessity, was not the same thing as running back to Daddy.
Downstairs, Ryn had locked Nathan’s front door behind her. Even though Kiara knew it was the smart, safe, thing to do, lifting her hand to knock rankled. Jamie answered a moment later, but instead of swinging the door open to let Kiara in, she stepped out. Kiara was forced to back up or let Jamie run into her.
As Jamie eased the door shut, Kiara clenched her jaw, anticipating the question a heartbeat before it came out of Jamie’s mouth.
“Are you okay?” Jamie’s voice was soft, and Kiara found the concern in her honey-gold eyes, just a shade darker than Kiara’s own, oppressive.
“I’m fine,” Kiara snapped. They were both keeping their voices low, barely over a whisper. It wasn’t for the sake of Nathan’s neighbors, who were surely asleep at two or three in the morning, but because they were well aware that the thin barrier of the door would do little to hide their conversation from Ryn and Cole.
Jamie rolled her eyes. “You are not.” Her nose wrinkled as she took a deliberate sniff of the air. “Don’t think I don’t know what you two were doing up there.”
“Let me shower then, would you?” Kiara tried to step around Jamie, but Jamie’s arm reached out and blocked her. Kiara could have moved her—it wouldn’t have been easy, but she could have done it. Instead, she stepped back. “It’s nothing. It’s… old flames reuniting. It’s what it always was with us. All flash and bang and no weight.”
“Kiara.” Rhe softness was back in Jamie’s voice, hinting at a gentle understanding that left Kiara prickly.
“Don’t,” Kiara warned. “Don’t. This isn’t you and Deanna; this isn’t something worth meddling in. Just let me inside so I can shower and we can go to bed.”
Jamie reluctantly dropped her hand and let Kiara pass.
Inside, Kiara ducked into the bathroom immediately to the left of the doorway. Someone, Deanna, she suspected, had left a stack of fresh towels on top of the toilet. Grateful that she wouldn’t have to hunt one down, Kiara pulled off her clothes and stepped into the shower.
Wrapped in a towel and a billow of steam, Kiara stepped out of the bathroom. She expected to see Nathan’s living room transformed—the furniture pushed against the walls, pillows and bedding strewn across the floor—but nothing seemed to have changed. In fact, all five people seemed to have vanished.
She cocked her head and focused—for the most part she did her best to ignore her enhanced senses. Reacting to things normal humans couldn’t hear, smell, or feel tended to make those normal humans uncomfortable, so she and the other werewolves had learned at a young age to let the extrasensory details wash over them.
Now that she focused, she caught slow, even breathing above her. There was a soft rustle of sheets, Nathan sleepily mumbling, “Quit hogging the covers,” and Cole’s quiet grunt as Nathan reclaimed what covers he could.
She must have been in the shower for longer than she’d realized, if everyone had gone up to bed already. Moving quietly, Kiara crossed into the kitchen where someone—probably, again, Deanna—had left a folded pair of men’s sweat pants and a ratty T-shirt. Grateful for the change of clothes, Kiara changed and hung the towel to dry before she went up the stairs.
Though some light filtered in from downstairs, the loft was mostly dark. On the bed, Nathan was curled up on one side, while Cole sprawled across the other. On an air mattress beside the bed, Jamie was wrapped around Deanna, who looked up to meet Kiara’s eyes.
“We decided to keep all the beds in one place. Are you okay with the couch downstairs?” Deanna kept her voice low. “You’re the only person short enough to really fit on it comfortably, and Ryn…”
In the corner Ryn had burrowed into a borrowed sleeping bag. Her back was to Kiara and the rest of the room, and, despite what Kiara was sure was an abundance of pillows, her head rested on her duffel bag, as if she was afraid someone would take it.
“It’s fine.”
“There’s some more sheets and a blanket downstairs, I left them on the armchair. Do you need—” Deanna started to move, but Jamie’s arms tightened around her waist, and even in the dark Kiara could see Deanna’s fond smile.
“I’m good. Go to sleep.” As quietly as she’d come up the stairs, Kiara glided down them.
Chapter Eight |
Ten years ago…
Kiara tried to keep a lid on her annoyance as she climbed the stairs in a stranger’s house. She wasn’t sure whose house it was and she did not intend to spend another thirty minutes downstairs waiting while Sophia hooked up with the smug asshole from their Intro to Anthropology class. She could tell that Sophia was still in the house; she could just make out the sound of her voice—breathy and excited—over the impossibly loud bass. Why her only friend at the University of Alberta thought it was a good idea to lose her virginity to some jackass who thought a thrift store vest was cutting edge was beyond Kiara, but she’d wanted to support Sophia’s choices. And, if she was being honest, she trusted nothing about the university party scene.
She’d been happy—well not happy, but not actively against—coming along, at least until the third frat boy had spilled beer on her new top in a pathetic attempt to hit on her. At that point, the bright sequins on her shirt counteracting the dark snarl on her face, she’d made up her mind that it was time to go home. And since there was no way in hell she was leaving Sophia behind, Kiara had resolved to drag her friend with her, unless Sophia was still in the middle of things—despite all evidence to the contrary, Kiara wasn’t a monster—but she was fairly certain that unless whiskey-dick had hit Smug Asshole, Sophia had long since done what she’d come to do.
Kiara spared a moment to knock on the closed bedroom door before she twisted the knob and shoved it open, deliberately keeping her eyes down. “Okay, Soph, let’s—”
“K! Oh , my god, look how cute I am!” Sophie’s excited squeal wasn’t exactly what Kiara had been expecting, but she gamely looked up, gritting her teeth in anticipation of whatever she might find.
She had a moment of thanks that Sophia wasn’t naked astride Smug Asshole and another of complete confusion. Sophia’s long, impossibly straight red hair had been lopped off, and she was preening with a pixie cut in front of a full-length mirror.
“I—what?” Kiara stared, baffled. Where was Smug Asshole? What had happened?
“Suits her, right?” Kiara’s eyes snapped from Sophia to the person lolling in the doorway of the en suite bathroom. She wasn’t sure why she hadn’t noticed them before, and Kiara’s nostrils flared just slightly as she instinctively scented the air.
Warm leather, orange peel, and the sweetness of clove overlaid the crisp, sharp scent of pine. Kiara’s eyes widened; her pulse skipped a beat as like recognized like.
A wry grin tugged the lips of the Korean girl in the doorway, and she moved forward with her hand extended to Kiara. “I’m Ryn.”
“I know it’s a huge change,” Sophia was babbling, mostly to herself, as she turned this way and that in front of the mirror. “But I love it. At first I was like, ‘Um, no, don’t touch my hair!’ But then Ryn told me that I have the perfect neck for this, and honestly, K, I think she’s right. Like, not to brag, but.” Sophia ran her fingers over the back of her neck, exposed for the first time, and be
amed. “I look so hot.”
“Kiara,” Kiara murmured absently as she placed her hand in Ryn’s. Ryn’s hand was warm, and though Kiara had expected a quick shake, Ryn kept ahold of her hand. Kiara could have pulled free. She doubted Ryn would make a show of the strength they both knew she had, but Ryn drew her closer and, despite herself, Kiara followed.
“Let me do you.”
“What?” Incredulity sharpened Kiara’s voice.
“Your hair.” Ryn reached out. It took everything Kiara had to remain still. Her pulse hammered as Ryn gently pushed Kiara’s dark hair out of her face. “You have amazing eyes.” Ryn’s hand lingered on the shell of Kiara’s ear as she tucked the offending hair behind it. “You shouldn’t hide them. Let me cut your hair.”
“I’m not—I just met—this is a party,” Kiara stuttered.
“This is what I do,” Ryn’s voice was warm, amused, and something about it was oddly reassuring. To be, after over a month, finally around someone who was her own kind dissolved Kiara’s resistance. What was the risk, really? Hair grew back.
“Come on, K! Let her, let her!” Sophia chanted.
Kiara’s hand was still caught in Ryn’s, and, without dropping her gaze from Ryn’s, Kiara gave a slow nod of assent.
***
Kiara hurried out of Fundamentals of Fluid Mechanics with her mind already focused on the assignment she had to complete for next week. She’d have to trade in the textbook she currently carried for another one and opted to make the detour to her locker now instead of after her last class of the day.
She rounded the corner and came up short. Ryn leaned nonchalantly against Kiara’s locker with her hands tucked in the pockets of a battered black peacoat. Kiara’s free hand flew up, suddenly self-conscious, to her hair. She’d tried but she hadn’t managed to style it as well as Ryn had done.
“Don’t worry,” Ryn said with a cocky grin. “You look incredible.”
Huntsmen (The Better to Kiss You With Book 2) Page 5