Finally, after neither of them knew how long, Summer had to stop kissing Isaac — he couldn’t breathe enough. Much as he wanted it, Isaac was not air. He stared at the werewolf, breathing hard, his heart in his eyes. After another moment, he managed, “I told you there was nothing different about me.”
Panting and licking at his kiss-bruised lips, he smiled and reached out to brush his wet hair away from his face. “I know. You’re still my Summer.” He beamed and kissed him gently this time, before pulling back. “No matter what, right?”
“Through alphas and magic and all manner of strange things,” he replied, grinning back. Reluctantly, he disentangled himself from Isaac and reached for the soap. “We’re using up all the hot water.”