I like it so much I have no choice but to touch it.
His lips are soft to touch. Warmer than the rest of his skin. Delicate flesh, mostly hidden by coarse facial hair. I trace the seam of his lips from left to right with my fingertips, and when that’s not enough, I lean up and trace it with my tongue.
Branson’s body tenses, his fingers digging into my hips, but he doesn’t move. He doesn’t blink. He doesn’t pull away. Bloodshot eyes track down my face and a heavy gaze sinks to my lips and doesn’t budge.
I lean up a little more, turning my face upward and curling my arms around his neck. His hands travel from my hips to my waist and circle me so fully, so deeply, my entire body breaks out into goosebumps.
His lips are inches from mine. One inch, maybe two. It makes no sense whatsoever why they’re there, when I’m here, so I pull him down toward me and brush my lips against his.
Branson emits a stunned, punched sound and his body tenses again, harder this time. A hand travels up my back, curling around the back of my neck, holdingme steady.
The space between us is back. An inch now, no more.
Branson’s eyes are on mine, dark and slick with arousal. His lips curl up microscopically. With desire and something else. Something hotter. Something hopeful. I see the space between his lips, the tiny gap, and shove my tongue into it. Our tongues meet, delivering such a fierce bolt of electricity that I almost pull away. Maybe I would have if Branson weren’t holding me so tightly.
It’s a kiss that starts with heat. Open-mouthed and almost angry. We kiss like that, tongues ferocious, fighting, until Branson pulls away, panting. He turns off the water, chest heaving, and pushes his hair back off his face with both hands.
Then he leans in and kisses me again.
It’s a different kiss now. A slow kiss with an alpha at the helm. My alpha. He licks into my mouth so gently, so tenderly, that it stops snowing outside.
The planet stops turning.
My bones dissolve.
It’s the full moon at midnight of kisses. A knee-knocking, head-spinning kiss that’s so good, so captivating, so mesmerizing, it almost drowns out my next heat wave. It almost drowns out the little sting, the little shock, of an alpha dick sliding into my rectum.
Branson fucks me in the shower, against the tiled wall, holding me up like I’m weightless and he isn’t exhausted.
My alpha lies on the sofa naked. He looks like he’s been dropped from a great height. His head is lolling to the side, his mouth ajar, and one of his arms hangs off the sofa.
Bless him. Poor thing has been run ragged. He looks a mess, and he’s snoring softly. A gentle purr more than anything else. It’s like his voice, like the rest of him, sexy as fuck.
I know, I know. I didn’t think people could snore sexily either, but they can. They definitely can. Or Branson can anyway.
I let him sleep for ages. Hours. I watch his chest rise and fall, hypnotized by the motion. When he’s sleeping, he looks almost beautiful. Almost soft. Almost sculptural. Each feature is strong and hard, blurred at the edges, and a work of art in its own way.
I’m tempted to touch him. To run my hands through his hair or trace the ink on his arm. I don’t do it, though, because I’m not sure what it means that I’m looking at him like this when I’m sated.
And I’m not sure I like what I think it means.
No.
I shouldn’t look at him like this. The best thing would be for me to stop looking at him right now.
I wrench my eyes off him and fix them on the little bulge of uneven plaster above the fireplace. It’s painfully boring. So boring that my eyes roll in a big circle and find their way back to Branson.
Because I really don’t think I should spend any more time on his face, I let them settle on his cock. It’s soft now, and I think it might be the first time I’ve seen it soft. It’s still damn big, resting comfortably on his thigh, but I know enough about him now to know he’s a grower.
Goddamn, that thing grows.
It’s hard to believe it can grow any more than it already has, but I know it can. It definitely can because he hasn’t knotted me yet.
His knot will be massive, I’m sure of it. So thick that it will probably break my brain.
I’m not sure why the idea appeals so much, but it does. In fact, I can hardly think of anything else.
Just thinking about it makes me ache. It’s a deep ache. Low down. It feels like longing. Like loneliness in my body. In my soul. Sadness that I’m alone, even though Branson is sleeping right beside me. It’s a horrible feeling.
