Eve grabbed some deep breaths until the discomfort faded.
"I'm sorry. I wish I could—"
"Don't be sorry. There are bound to be times when one of us can't deal with having sex."
He crouched across and placed a tender kiss on her forehead.
"And you won't dump me for somebody less mishap prone?" He giggled.
"Not a chance."
Here it is, 'Tarot reading by Arwen for Ethan Wolfensen.'" Ethan had carried Eve's laptop to her bedroom and stretched out beside her.
Eve, still nude but covered with a sheet, rested with her foot propped on a pillow. "Read it out loud."
Ethan had seized a glance before carrying it to Eve and made sure nothing prejudicing, like his year of birth, 1912, was illustrated. He wasn't willing to clarify that werewolves aged at a much slower rate than humans.
Hell, he wasn't inclined to demonstrate he was a Lycan at all! Fortunately, Arwen referenced his birthday simply as December 12.
