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     on me, taking his legs out from under him. He hit hard. I leapt and had my fist drawn back, my other hand tangled in his silver-scarred
     shorn hair.
    “Give up?” I asked, sweetly.
    A fine sheen of sweat highlighted each plane of his face. He blinked, a cat’s quick flicker of eyelids. “You haven’t won yet.”
    I grinned, lips pulling back from teeth. “Wanna keep going? Best two out of three, or should we take this somewhere else?”
    “Don’t know if you’re ready.” An answering grin, but his teeth kept well hidden.
    Oh, I’m ready.
I was ready for more than just sparring.
    He heaved up, I pushed him back down. A few more seconds of wrestling ended with me still on top for once, the scar burning
     against my wrist and hot strength spilling through my bones. “It’s looking like you’re the one not ready, catkin.”
    “Just biding my time.” He surged again, I pushed him down and realized my mistake a split second too late as his knees came
     up, my balance off by a critical fraction. A confused welter of movement, his forehead hit me in the mouth, and we rolled.
     Judo took over, and I began fighting in earnest. Reflex turned me into a dangerous snake writhing in his arms, but Saul knew
     how to handle this.
    He always did. Or at least, he always
had.
    Stinging salt, my body suddenly just a welter of reaction. Saul held me down, silver chiming as his head dipped. Smell of
     leather, of cherry Charvil smoke, the good scent of a healthy male and the dry sleekness of catfur. We became one body with
     twisting limbs, rolling and seeking advantage, the floor a hard sea we only touched the surface of.
    His mouth found mine, and it was no longer tossing on an ocean. It was a softness blooming, nailing me in place. My body loosened,
     tingles flooding me. It was a far cleaner feeling than the scar’s sick heat. I kissed him with my heart flooding out through
     the play of tongue and lips. He was purring, a rumble spreading out in waves. Each concentric circle of that purr stroked
     along my skin.
    I broke away to take a breath. He nuzzled down my jawline, his mouth settling lower, just over my pulse. I quieted, the instinct
     of struggle sliding away.
    “Saul,” I whispered.
    “Hm?” He nipped, playfully, and I arched.
    “I think we should take this somewhere else.”
Like a bed. Like
our
bed.
    “Here’s nice.” He nuzzled again. I squirmed in a new way.
    “Saul—”
    “Shhh.”
    I stilled. He inhaled deeply. Let out the breath in a chuff, a warm spot on my vulnerable throat. My pulse strained toward
     him. I held still as long as I possibly could. Finally wriggled a little bit, and he didn’t immediately move. “What’s wrong?”
     My wrists, braceleted by his fingers, both throbbed. He was holding me a little too tightly.
    “Nothing,” he whispered back. “I just want to hold you.”
    Goddammit. I want something else entirely.
But I breathed in, the urge retreating low in my pelvis, a dull ache spiking for a moment as bloodflow reversed itself.
I’m going to be cranky if this keeps up.
“Okay.” I swallowed, my throat moving against his lips. Another slight touch; it became very difficult to throttle my hormones
     back.
    Mikhail had always been on me to control my pulse. I was much better at it than I ever had been, but one whiff of my cat-boy
     and the hormones started jacking me up again.
    As problems went, it was a nice one.
    Deep breathing. My eyes closed. The dark behind my lids was safe for once. Pushing the feeling down and away, reasserting
     control.
    It used to be damn near every sparring session ended with us rolling around in an entirely different way to take the edge
     off. Since Saul had come back from the Rez with his hair cropped, it hadn’t happened. He wanted to be close, and wanted to
     be held.
    I was okay with that. But the no-sex thing was beginning to take its toll.
    God, Jill, how selfish can you be? His mom’s dead. For a Were, that’s like the end of