The Werewolf On My Doorstep

:The Werewolf On My Doorstep:3: Happy Birthday

The Werewolf On My Doorstep

I've had a killer cold all week and when I haven't been sleeping I've been writing this and I've got part of the next chp wrote out, but I don't know when I'll be able to post anything.

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Chapter Three:Happy Birthday

Warm and cuddly, you know I don't remember Charlie ever being this warm or cuddly. Actually the last time I tried to cuddle with her she smelled so badly that I ended up bathing her four different times the next day and in the end I was the only one that ended up smelling like dog shampoo. But that wasn't my point, my point was that... wait, I think I forgot.

A rumbled sound of contentment, that almost sounds like a purr, sounds in my ear, making the bed vibrate as I snuggle closer to the warm, non-furry body next to mine. I sigh happily when an arm wraps around my shoulders, tugging me closer as another purr like sound reaches my ears.

Its funny, because Charlie doesn't really like cuddling with me and I don't remember her ever smelling this good. Not even when I accidentally spilled a whole bottle of perfume on her. But this scent is woodsy, like the forest before a storm and entirely masculine.

A loud bark sounds from some far corner of my room as a car passes by, the loud rumbling of the engine making it very hard for me to slip back into my sleep. Charlie barks again and I groan when the arm around my shoulder slips down to my waist, letting the cold air sting my bare skin.

“Charlie shut the hell up.” I shiver and scoot closer to the warmth beside me, freezing when a sudden thought occurs to me. If Charlie is across the room then who am I cuddling with?

Hesitantly, I open my eyes and stare in shock up at Xavier's sleeping face. This is so not where I fell asleep at last night. But damn, if he doesn't look cute. Slowly, holding my breath, I push myself away from his body, breathing out roughly when his grip tightens on my waist. Swallowing tightly I pull his arm away from me, eyes wandering when the blankets ease down his chest. Damn it, I need to stop looking at him when he's asleep at least when he's awake I don't have the guts to ogle him.

He shifts in his sleep, inadvertently pulling the blankets farther down his chest, revealing smooth, toned muscle with barely a scar from the bullet wound that had been there last night. What the hell?