“If you don’t, the leather can be hard, too stiff, unforgiving, and—” That brow lifted higher, and she leaned against the table. “I’d say ‘go on,’ but I have the worst case of saddle soreness known to humankind.” Shaking his head, he smiled and closed the distance between them, grazing her cheek with his fingers. It was a surreal pleasure to stroke her without worrying about his claws harming her, and he couldn’t get enough of her smoothness, of touching her, everywhere she wanted, in the way she wanted. “If you’re sore”—and he was, too—“I have the perfect cure for that.” Shuttering her eyes
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