It’s true though. I’ve scented the soft sighs of his release lots of times over the years. I’ve picked up the scent of his pleasure almost every time I’ve been in his presence. I guess he jerks it in the shower. He must because I usually catch the scent in the morning, when he comes out of his room, all clean and lovely. It’s a smell that drives me crazy. A pinch of salt, a pinch of sweetness, a heaped dose of sex—all combined with Lucien’s own heady scent.
“Rude!” he chastises, drawing his brows down sharply. “That’s, it’s…my own personal business. You shouldn’t stick your nose in it.”
“I know.” I do know that. There are techniques alphas can use to avoid overstepping like this, but they’re only so effective. They require steady, shallow breathing and intense focus. Ordinarily, I’m pretty good at it. Sadly, when it comes to Lucien, none of those techniques work at all. “I’m sorry. I can’t help it.”
Instead of pushing me away, he clings to me tighter, rubbing his nose up and down my neck. He’s needy and clingy and gorgeous. Clingier and needier than he was afew minutes ago. His next heat wave is close. It must be because there’s a faint trace of tension creeping into his limbs.
“Did you like it?” he whispers. “When you could tell I’d been touching myself?”
“No.” Oh fuck. I know what I’m going to say, and I really wish I wouldn’t. This loss of inhibition shit is really, really messing with me. “I hated it. It drove me wild with jealousy.”
“Jealousy?” He laughs like bells chiming. Like the wind whistling through the trees. “You were jealous of my hand?”
I try to tamp it down, but a rough, low sound grumbles from my chest. “I’m jealous of anyone and anything that’s ever come near you.”
He shakes his head against my neck, soft lips caressing my skin from the movement. “Such an alpha.”
I don’t move. At least, I try not to. I hold still as hard as I can, resisting until he presses his lips against my jugular and scrapes his teeth softly against my skin.
I shiver so hard, there’s no way he could miss it.
He’s right, and he’s wrong. Jealousy and possessiveness are common attributes in alphas, but we’re individuals. We aren’t all the same. Personally, I’ve never really battled with jealousy the way some of my peers do. In truth, I’ve alwaysconsidered myself evolved for not succumbing to the green monster at the first sign of trouble.
The only exception now, and always, is Lucien. He was holding my younger brother’s hand when I met him. My brother, whom I love dearly. My brother, who was dating him and had every right to be holding his hand. They were talking and looking at each other when I saw them. I didn’t know Lucy from Adam. I’d never met him before, yet the jealousy I felt when I saw them together stabbed like a knife.
I don’t remember anything about our first conversation. I had to ask Jensen later to remind me what Lucy’s name was because I kind of blacked out when he spoke.
I hated myself for it for a long time, but on dark nights, I’d think of Lucy, and of stealing him away from my brother. I’d think terrible thoughts, likehe belongs with me, not with Jensen.
Naturally, I never acted on it. There’s a difference between wanting something and acting on it. A difference between pining for someone and thinking you’re entitled to them.
I set Lucien down in the kitchen near the counter. He’s stark naked and for some reason, in this room, in this light, he looks more naked than naked. His skin gleams under the overhead light, milky white that’s nearly translucent.
He looks comfortable naked. It’s his heat and the corrosion of his inhibitions, I know that, but that doesn’t change how much it pleases me. It feels natural and easy being around him like this. Like it’s meant to be. Like it’s the way it always should be.
He issues me a torrent of advice about how best to heat a large portion of lasagna—what plate to use and what vegetables go well with the dish. I hem and haw to placate him, but end up doing what I planned to do before his input. He doesn’t seem to notice.
I stir a packet of electrolytes into a glass of water and put it on the counter in front of him.
Predictably, he pulls his nose up at it. “Ew.”
“Please drink it, Lucy,” I say, lowering my head so my voice has a direct path to his ear. I speak softly and without force, my lips close to his ear. “I want you to.”
To my surprise, he blinks once or twice and picks the glass up as though he had every intention of doing it from the beginning.
He complains every few sips but downs the whole glass.
14
Lucien
Goddamn,mylegsareshaky. I’m in the kitchen, trying to stay upright while Branson puts away a veritable shit ton of lasagna. There’s something carnal about the way he eats. He’s standing, holding the plate near his face, shoveling it in with his other hand. His throat works when he swallows. His jaw bunches hard when he chews, and I see a tiny muscle jumping despite all his facial hair.
It’s coarse, his facial hair. I thought it would be, but it’s coarser than I was expecting. It feels nice between my fingers, thick and straight. Like something I want to rub my face in.
Branson takes another bite and sets his empty plate on the counter. He chews, and I tremble. My knees knock and my thighs, calves, and ass cheeks quiver. Tendrils of heat snake up my legs and unfurl again. It’s familiar now, this feeling. No less intense than it was the first time ithappened, but I recognize it now. I anticipate it. Welcome it almost.
Hot rods solidify and slide up through my femurs and down my spinal column. Arousal aches and spins me into a vortex.
