“But you’re not going to come, are you?”

   “The pain keeps getting in the way.” I looked down at him lying between my legs, his hand on my thigh now. “I’m sorry.”

   “Don’t apologize, Anita. We’ve all been hurt.”

   “But you can shift and heal.”

   “Not everything,” he said. He kissed my thigh, and then again a little higher up.

   “I couldn’t bear it if you went down on me and I couldn’t go; that would almost be too much frustration for me.”

   He rose up from kissing his way down my thigh. “You turning down oral sex means you’re hurting even more than you’re letting me feel.”

   “One of us hurting this much is enough.”

   He laid his cheek on my thigh and gazed up at me with those startling eyes of his. Maybe if he’d been a more consistent lover for me, I would have gotten used to them by now, but we’d never made a habit of each other, so every time I looked into his eyes like this, the alien beauty of them in his face thrilled through me. If I’d been a different kind of person it would have thrilled me and frightened me, because the eyes screamed different, not one of us, not like me, so hard, but differences weren’t bad to me, so the thrill turned to seeing it as beautiful like a rare orchid, or like a painting that was all bold colors and movement, so that even if you didn’t know what the artist meant you still liked the energy and color of the art.

   “There, that’s better,” he said, and he was right. Something about staring into his eyes had calmed me, and once I calmed down the arm didn’t hurt so much.

   “I’ve lost the knack of coping with injuries like this. I’m like a pain wimp now.”

   He laughed, softly. “You will never be a wimp about anything, Anita, but you are out of practice coping with injuries.”

   “It hurt more because I wasn’t expecting it to hurt this much.”

   “And now?” he asked.

   “Better, as long as I don’t abuse it too much.”

   “I think we can find something to do that won’t abuse your arm.” He kissed the top of my thigh, then rubbed his cheek lower on my thigh.

   “Whatever could you have in mind?” I asked.

   He grinned up at me as he kissed his way lower on my thigh. “I’ve been practicing more since we did this last.”

   “Have you now?”

   He nodded, rubbing his face against the inside of my thigh as he did it.

   “Show me what you’ve learned.”

   He smiled with his lips against my thigh. “I learned part of it watching you go down on Jade with Jason’s girlfriend helping.”

   “J.J. was a very good teacher,” I said, and felt the heat start to rise up my face, as I thought about the blond ballerina.

   He gave a low chuckle that ended in a rolling bass purr. That last sound made me shiver in a good way, but it shivered the muscles where I’d been stitched up, too, which wasn’t nearly as fun.

   “I’m not sure if I can translate this pain into pleasure.”

   “You’ll just have to hold still when you orgasm,” he said.

   “I don’t know if I can.”

   “I’ve heard stories about you holding still when you have to for it.”

   I frowned at him. “Who’s been talking?”

   “Hmm-hmm,” he said, lips against my thigh, “no kissing and telling.” He kissed my thigh again, this time just at the edge of that deep curve on the inside of the very upper part of the thigh. He laid the next kiss inside it, letting his breath come out warm and soft against my skin. I fought not to shiver again, or at least to keep my arm still. I sort of succeeded.

   He kissed my mound, and blew another soft breath. It was so warm, it was almost hot against my skin. It sent my breath out in a long sigh, eyes closing, and he chose that moment to lick between my legs, one quick teasing line.

   It made me look at him, half laughing.

   The look in his eyes stole the laughter away and left me breathless, my body already tightening. Every man has that predatory look in him somewhere, but this one was coming from a pair of eyes that belonged in the striped face of a real predator. His tiger gazed up at me, and the thought of him putting his mouth on such intimate bits of my body made me shiver for more than one reason. I’d almost made peace with the fact that a little fear with my sex, a little danger with those I trusted, just flipped my switch. As he began to lick around the edges of me, careful to take his time and warm me up for what would come next, I admitted that part of the thrill was not the gentleness, but the thought that even human teeth could do damage. When you think about it, oral sex is one of the most trusting things we do with a lover. If that lover is a shapeshifter who has real fangs and claws inside him, it’s even more about trust.

   I let myself relax into the feel of his tongue circling around the edges of me, licking in long strokes on either side, coming closer, but never quite touching me where I wanted it most. I finally asked, “Please, please.”

   He rose up enough to ask, “Please what?” but the look in his eyes let me know that he knew exactly what, but I played the game.

   “This all feels wonderful, but please make me come, no more prep work, no more teasing.”

   “It’s called foreplay, Anita, not teasing.” He licked to either side, but purposely avoided the one last spot I wanted him to touch.

   “Domino, you’re driving me crazy. Just do it.”

   “You mean this?” He licked a quick line from my opening up, and barely touched the one spot I wanted him to touch the most.

   I laughed half in pleasure, half exasperation. “Domino!”

   “When I make you come, I want you to say my name.”

   I almost said out loud that I tried not to use anyone’s name, because I didn’t want to cry out the wrong name. I’d done it a few times, and so far everyone had been a good sport, but it wasn’t flattering to have your lover call out someone else’s name in the middle of sex. It just wasn’t, but as I stared down the line of my body into those flame-and-sunset eyes, what else could I say but yes?

   He brought me with his tongue, his lips, his mouth, licking and sucking over that one sweet point, and because he’d done so much foreplay the orgasm was bigger, more all-consuming, so the orgasm washed over me in wave after wave that left me quivering and screaming, my hands trying to find something, anything to dig my nails into, to hold on to as one orgasm spilled into the next, or maybe it was the same one over and over like waves against the shore; it’s all the same ocean, but not the same wave.