The second I enter the room, Branson’s nostrils flare. His chin drops and his eyes darken. He takes two long strides toward me before catching himself and coming to a dead stop. My hole has an unfortunate, quivery reaction to the interaction. It flutters lightly at first. A gently flurry that I could ignore if I really set my mind to it. A flurry that quickly builds in intensity. A flutter that fades and leaves a deep, dull pulse in its wake.
Great. Just great. In addition to the heated face, boiling blood, mood swings, and relentless boner, I now have a throbbing hole to contend with.
This is, without doubt, the worst getaway I’ve ever been on.
6
Lucien
Istopchewingabruptly.The stew, which was hearty and tasty a minute ago, has turned to cardboard. I swallow it with difficulty and push my plate away.
Branson quickly moves both of our plates out of my sight. “Had enough?” he says neutrally.
“Mm,” I manage.
The hunger I’ve felt for days has left me. Snuffed out without warning. What’s left in its place is heat. Nothing but heat. I still feel the heat all over my body, but as the day has worn on, the most intense part of it has sunk in. A heavy, hot weight that pools in my groin. In my dick. In my ass.
Branson’s hands are on the table a few inches from mine. He eyes me with concern and possibly a little fear. There’s an awful tension between us. For the first time, I let myself look into his eyes without allowing my gaze toslither away. What I see are whiskey-brown irises filled with compassion.
His pinky creeps toward me, slowly climbing over my forefinger and squeezing gently.
“Oh God,” I say as it hits me.
I’m such a selfish prick. I’ve been so busy spinning out about how this affects me that I haven’t given a second’s thought to how it affects Branson. He’s had this situation thrust on him too. The only difference is he’s not the one who ignored messages and cajoled an old alpha into driving him up a mountain during a snowstorm. And he’s definitely not the one who forgot to pack his suppressant.
Now he’s stuck here with me, and thanks to his biology, he’s as much at the mercy of my heat as I am. In a matter of days, he’s going to lose himself and fuck me whether he wants to or not. Whether he’s attracted to me or not.
I drop my head into my hands. “Sorry, Branson,” I whisper. “This is all my fault. I messed up, and now you’re in a terrible position. You’re stuck here with me, with no choice but to…you know, and, and you can’t get away from me because of the snow.” My voice spikes unpleasantly, which is usually a sign I should stop talking, but as always, I do the opposite. “I’m sorry if you hate me, and if you find me super gross and unattractive, and I’m really sorry about everything I said about Odysseus and global warming. I’m also sorry for eating all the strawberries without offering you any, and for being snippy all day today and crying about s’mores, and…”
“It’s okay, Lucy. It’s not…terrible. I mean, it’s not a punishment or anything like that because…” His voice rolls over me. Through me. A warm blanket shaken out and gently draped over me. He meets my gaze, and as I look into his eyes, I see a tiny flicker, a glimmer of light. “I like how you smell.”
My spine snaps into a more upright position and my jaw drops. My hand flies to the base of my throat.
In the old days, the Old Ways, there wasn’t a more sweeping, more swoonworthy statement an alpha could make to an omega. No compliment, no words of praise, no declaration of love came close to conveying the gravity of the words he just said to me.
“I, er, what do you mean you like how I…?” I splutter. “Since when?”
“Since always.” He shrugs a shoulder and a faint blush of color creeps up his cheeks. “Since the day I met you.”
“But, but, when I met you, I was with Jensen.” I remember it clearly. Branson came to our college dorm to drop something off for him. Jensen and I were walking hand-in-hand down the hall, a happy omega couple, when we bumped into him. “I was holding his hand.”
He shrugs again, broader and more evocatively this time. There’s a cocky arrogance to his movements I can’t help noticing. An arrogance I can’t help finding appealing. “I caught your scent before I met you,” he says, “and I recognized it immediately.”
His lips curl up like paper that’s been singed. Old paper exposed to a flame. I know what I want to say, and for once, I have time to think it through. To decide whether it’s the right thing, rather than blurting it out and being as surprised as anyone else by what I’ve said. I know it’s flirtatious of me to say it. It’s forward. There’s no other possible way it can be interpreted.
It’s just that right now, I don’t care.
“How do I smell?”
His eyes smile at the question. Tiny creases form at the corners as amber begins to light up. He leans forward, raising his hand toward me but not quite touching me.
“May I?” he asks.
My entire body has gone rigid. There’s tension and heat in every one of my muscles. Every one of my joints. I don’t need a mirror to know I look like a fool. A stunned, swooning fool. A stunned, swooning fool on the cusp of full-blown heat.
I manage the tiniest of nods.
Branson gets to his feet and bows with gallant, old-world charm. His hand makes contact with the hair on the back of my neck. Big fingers comb through it. Gently the first time. Harder the second. The third time, he pulls just hard enough to pluck every nerve in my spine, playing it like an electric guitar.
