“Channing?” Beneath my ear, his breathing is slow and regular, his heartbeat steady and strong. I don’t know how long we’ve been sitting in the micro-mini-car still on the side of the road mere minutes away from the cottage in this tiny village.
But here we still are.
In flagrante delicto.
Because my mate is a werewolf, and s*x—any place, any time, any way—isn’t a question.
It's a 'yes, don't mind if I do'.
I am pretty certain after the wild adventure of having s*x in here, we both fell asleep, though God knows how. The evidence is in the chill in the air and the formerly fogged up windows now shimmering with beaded droplets. Many of them have merged, gobbling up the ones below them on their wet tracks down the windows.
It’s also in the connection still fusing me and my mate, now
