floundering for a way to fix it. They didn’t know her well enough—or better put, she didn’t know him well enough to trust him. Accepting her reticence didn’t mean letting it go. She wanted him to prove his trustworthiness, a valid challenge and one in which he intended to triumph.
With care, he worked the comb through the snarls, always bracing her hair so he pulled against his grip and not her scalp. When he first touched the comb to her hair, she went utterly still. Worry coated her scent, and her knuckles whitened. Calm was the best way to deal with such upset. His wolf settled on the plan, and they worked with patience. After the first snarl combed free, she plucked another piece of bacon.
“You mentioned rules?” A faint quiver in her voice betrayed her continued unease, but Dylan grinned at the attempt to find more equal footing.
“Absolutely. First rule, I will make sure we have enough food and supplies to ride out the storm, and we can learn how many calories you need to keep your hunger at bay.” Dictating terms were easy.
“That doesn’t really seem fair.” When he finished with the second set of snarls, she leaned forward to claim her fork and dig into the eggs. He didn’t really care how fair it was as long as she kept eating. “I should contribute something.”
“What do you want to contribute?” Or maybe… “Why don’t we list our skills, then we can see who has what talent and where it’s better applied?” They had plenty of stores, but if they were here longer than three days, he’d have to hunt. Mama required a hefty amount of meat and he wasn’t sending her or the pup out until he located a safe place for both. He knew exactly how much he could eat, and how much he thought Chrystal needed. The food he’d brought coupled with the dry goods kept in the cabins would feed them for the time being.
“Ow.” She clapped her hand against her hair, Dylan eased his touch immediately.
“It’s a nasty one, can you hold on a sec?”
“Yes.” The word gritted out between her teeth, denuding it of any of her earlier uncertainty.
“Good girl.” He went for soothing, but shifted his grip so he could comb through the snarl. Poor thing had some serious ones. “One trick my mother taught my sisters if they were going to sleep with wet hair was to braid it.” The fleeting memory cropped out of the past.
“How does a braid stop the hair from matting when you shift?” Pain touched the bottom of the words, but she didn’t fight him or try to pull away. The knot gave and he smoothed the hair gently, while shifting his grip to caress her scalp. Phyllis told him once nothing felt better than a good stroke after her hair was yanked. Of course, she proved her point by fisting his hair and jerking it till he saw stars, but then he chased her silly ass for an hour until he’d gotten even. Good times. What else were little sisters for?
“I have no idea,” he admitted. “Mom told them it worked, and both my sisters swore by it.” Whether older women did or not, how the hell should he know? None of his lovers had the issue, at least not that he knew of. Of course, he enjoyed combing their hair, too. Something about the action always relaxed them.
“Oh.” Her immediate disappointment made him wish he had the answer.
“I’ll find out,” he promised.
“Thank you.” She resumed eating and he worked in silence. Her hair seemed to glow with every pass of the comb taming the unruly autumn mass. She had some curls, lots of waves, and all of it soft as satin. The hair fell easily to her waist, and he wondered how it would look spread across a pillow… And enough of that, we don’t even know how old she is. Half the time she struck him as too young, a youth—a beautiful, sexy teen blossoming into womanhood. He didn’t screw kids, and he sure as hell liked his lovers to be on par with him.
Dylan didn’t have a lot to offer beyond pleasure in the moment, but that didn’t make him a
With care, he worked the comb through the snarls, always bracing her hair so he pulled against his grip and not her scalp. When he first touched the comb to her hair, she went utterly still. Worry coated her scent, and her knuckles whitened. Calm was the best way to deal with such upset. His wolf settled on the plan, and they worked with patience. After the first snarl combed free, she plucked another piece of bacon.
“You mentioned rules?” A faint quiver in her voice betrayed her continued unease, but Dylan grinned at the attempt to find more equal footing.
“Absolutely. First rule, I will make sure we have enough food and supplies to ride out the storm, and we can learn how many calories you need to keep your hunger at bay.” Dictating terms were easy.
“That doesn’t really seem fair.” When he finished with the second set of snarls, she leaned forward to claim her fork and dig into the eggs. He didn’t really care how fair it was as long as she kept eating. “I should contribute something.”
“What do you want to contribute?” Or maybe… “Why don’t we list our skills, then we can see who has what talent and where it’s better applied?” They had plenty of stores, but if they were here longer than three days, he’d have to hunt. Mama required a hefty amount of meat and he wasn’t sending her or the pup out until he located a safe place for both. He knew exactly how much he could eat, and how much he thought Chrystal needed. The food he’d brought coupled with the dry goods kept in the cabins would feed them for the time being.
“Ow.” She clapped her hand against her hair, Dylan eased his touch immediately.
“It’s a nasty one, can you hold on a sec?”
“Yes.” The word gritted out between her teeth, denuding it of any of her earlier uncertainty.
“Good girl.” He went for soothing, but shifted his grip so he could comb through the snarl. Poor thing had some serious ones. “One trick my mother taught my sisters if they were going to sleep with wet hair was to braid it.” The fleeting memory cropped out of the past.
“How does a braid stop the hair from matting when you shift?” Pain touched the bottom of the words, but she didn’t fight him or try to pull away. The knot gave and he smoothed the hair gently, while shifting his grip to caress her scalp. Phyllis told him once nothing felt better than a good stroke after her hair was yanked. Of course, she proved her point by fisting his hair and jerking it till he saw stars, but then he chased her silly ass for an hour until he’d gotten even. Good times. What else were little sisters for?
“I have no idea,” he admitted. “Mom told them it worked, and both my sisters swore by it.” Whether older women did or not, how the hell should he know? None of his lovers had the issue, at least not that he knew of. Of course, he enjoyed combing their hair, too. Something about the action always relaxed them.
“Oh.” Her immediate disappointment made him wish he had the answer.
“I’ll find out,” he promised.
“Thank you.” She resumed eating and he worked in silence. Her hair seemed to glow with every pass of the comb taming the unruly autumn mass. She had some curls, lots of waves, and all of it soft as satin. The hair fell easily to her waist, and he wondered how it would look spread across a pillow… And enough of that, we don’t even know how old she is. Half the time she struck him as too young, a youth—a beautiful, sexy teen blossoming into womanhood. He didn’t screw kids, and he sure as hell liked his lovers to be on par with him.
Dylan didn’t have a lot to offer beyond pleasure in the moment, but that didn’t make him a
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