I’m dizzy and boneless, and the rush of oxygen caused by inhaling his laughter goes straight to my head. It spins. It rolls upside down and rights itself again. A tendril of humor snakes down my torso and winds itself around me.
Every time Lucien laughs, it tightens.
A thick, vicious fog invades every crevice in my brain. Rational thought flits away. So does reality. All that’s left is a heavy, liquid laugh that makes me feel giddy as it ricochets out of me.
Lucien’s perfect face contorts, incisors glinting and pretty eyes closing tightly as a barrage of giggles batters him. He laughs so hard that his ass twitches, which makes us both come again.
That makes us laugh harder.
We laugh and laugh.
Until we can’t breathe. Until tears stream down our faces, and I never want this day to end.
“Why are we laughing?” he sputters between bursts of laughter. “I don’t even know what’s so funny?”
That makes me howl.
And my howling makes him howl.
“Delirium,” I wheeze. “We’re laughing ’cause delirium issofucking funny.”
17
Lucien
Myeyelidsflutter,openinga crack and stinging. I hiss at the light streaming into the room and blink several times to restore some semblance of order to chaos. I lick my cracked lips and swirl my tongue around my mouth, attempting to swallow down acrid dryness.
The room spins nauseatingly when I attempt to sit up.
Something is amiss. I’m in my bed—the bed in the room with the nice view, not in my nest. The sheets are fresh, and I have a blanket draped over me. Something is off. The air is different. No, I’m different. The burning heat that has seared me for days has lifted. I’m under the covers, and I’m not hot at all. The temperature is perfectly comfortable. Around me and inside me. The air in the room is light, not heavy or pungent. There’s a brightness to it, an absence of horny haze that I haven’t been aware of for a very long time.
I cast my eyes around the room and find that I’m alone. The curtains are open. The closet doors are closed. There’s no alpha in bed with me.
There’s no alpha in the room, or anywhere near me for that matter.
I can’t feel his presence.
I can’t hear his breathing.
I can’t even smell him.
A terrible, pathetic panic curdles in my belly and makes me whine.
I push it down hard and try to get up again. This time, I manage to pull myself into a sitting position. My entire body objects. My abs pang as though I’ve been worked over by a deeply sadistic personal trainer, and my lower back humbly suggests that I take it to see a physiotherapist posthaste. My legs are wobbly as hell, and my inner thighs and hamstrings are on fire. My shoulders are tense and my throat hurts when I swallow.
All of that pales in comparison to how my ass feels.
I notice a pile of clothing, my clothing, neatly folded and placed on the end of the bed, so I get up and get dressed, putting on layers in an order that feels strangely unfamiliar. The fabric of my pants is scratchy, but I’m suddenly uncomfortably aware of my nudity. I struggle withmy socks, wincing every time I lean forward, straighten, or make the mistake of clenching my hole even slightly.
I limp down the hall, socked feet a flight risk on the polished timber floor. My gait is slow and very, very careful. As I walk, I am assaulted by what I can only describe as every emotion in existence.
Relief hits first. Blooming in my upper chest and warming me. I’m relieved, obviously, that my heat is over. I’m relieved that I survived in one piece and lived to tell the tale. Of course I’m happy about that. Anyone would be.
I’m also confused, and that’s normal too. The last thing I remember was being knotted to within an inch of my life and laughing my head off about it. I’ve lost time. Serious time. I have no idea when I took that knot, or how much time has passed since then. I have no idea what happened between receiving that first knot and waking up in my own bed a few minutes ago.
Physically, I’m weakened, which is to be expected. I’m lightheaded and dizzy. I have no idea how long it’s been since I’ve eaten anything, but I’m trembling in a way that lets me know my mood is likely to suffer if I don’t eat something fast.
Emotionally, I’m weakened too. I must be because it’s taking everything I have to hold tears back. My heart is sore. My chest is heavy. There’s a weight on my sternumthat’s making it hard for me to get a good breath. I’m sad. Inexplicably sad. Sadder than I can ever recall being, and even sadder because I know that what I’m sad about makes absolutely no sense at all.
