I tilt my head back, parting my lips and offering them to Branson. He leans down painfully slowly. Tortuouslyslowly. My hand tenses in his hair, but I don’t pull him down. I don’t need to because the same feeling of well-being I felt when he stroked my mark last night has washed over me again.
I could take control of the situation if I wanted. I know I could. I could pull Branson down to kiss me or lift my head to kiss him. I could take the kiss I want, but I don’t. Not because I don’t have the ability or the right, and definitely not because I don’t know what I want or how to get it. I don’t do it because Branson is here, and the scent of him is thick in my lungs. He’s here, and he has me.
He asked for the kiss, and I want him to take it.
He leans in a little closer, and the space between us crackles with a current that makes my lips tingle.
My dick stiffens, and the ability to move my limbs leaves me.
Branson shifts his hips and our cocks grind against each other. We’re both hard, straining to get closer to each other.
After a lifetime, an eon, of looking at me, he stamps the softest, sweetest kiss on my lips. My entire body responds. I arc off the mattress, crushing our lips together, hungrily sliding my tongue into his mouth to find his.
He kisses me back so deeply that by the time we come up for air, my arms are limp at my sides and there’s a massive wet spot in my underwear.
“Beautiful omega,” he moans into my mouth. “My lovely little mate.”
22
Lucien
Bedshavebeenstripped,curtains have been drawn, and the heat has been turned off. Everything I brought with me to the cabin has been crammed into my luggage—I even managed to squeeze all the murder mystery costumes in and close the zipper. We’re all packed up and ready to leave.
Branson is ambling through the cabin, checking rooms for left possessions and closing doors. He’s moving steadily from one side of the house to the other.
I’m dragging my feet.
The cabin has changed so much since I got here. It was unfamiliar when I arrived. Unwelcoming. I felt strange and removed to be so far from the city. Odd, like a duck out of water.
Now it’s a haven. A safe place. A nest. The walls of the building hold memories. My memories. Some are vivid.Others are dreamlike and misty. The floorboards have absorbed the echoes of my heat. The sounds of hot halcyon days have been stamped into them so deeply that I still hear them when I close my eyes.
This place is part of me now.
“I’m scared to leave the cabin,” I whisper to Branson, too embarrassed by the admission to say it any louder.
Branson is wheeling my luggage down the hall, holding my hand, as I trail behind him. I’m not exactly trying to stall him, but I’m also notnottrying to stall him.
Branson stops moving and squeezes my hand. “Why, baby?”
“I don’t know. It’s just… I’m just used to it here now. I feel safe here, and I…” My voice quivers pathetically, silencing the rest of my sentence. Thank goodness for that, because I’m pretty sure what I was going to say isI don’t want to be with people who aren’t you.
The thought shocks me, even though, technically, I understand where it comes from. Branson and I are newly mated. The urge to be close to each other is completely natural and beyond our control. Bonding Syndrome occurs in all newly mated pairs. It would be abnormal if I didn’t feel like this. New mates can’t be parted for two full lunar months after mating occurs. Close proximity is required to strengthen the bond. It’s biologically essentialfor newly mated couples to be together all the time, day and night. Everyone knows that.
Over time, the need for close proximity will ease, and things will go back to normal.
A new normal, I guess.
“I know how you feel, Lucy,” Branson says. “I feel it too. It’s quiet and peaceful here, and I like having you all to myself, but we have a lot to sort out back in the city, and you’ll be happy to be home, you’ll see.”
Bya lot to sort out, he means we have to find a way to tell Jensen what’s happened—and we have to do it in a way that doesn’t torch our relationships with him. We need to make arrangements to work from home for the next couple of months. Branson has to move into my apartment, and we have to find a way to merge our entire lives into something cohesive.
I’m on the fence about whether I want to go home at all when I think about all that, but I don’t argue because I vividly remember complaining my ass off about being stuck up here in the first place.
Branson checks the windows and draws the blinds in the living room, and I stand idly by, watching him and wondering if he’ll bring that woody, wild honey scent with him when we leave here.
As I watch him move around the room, I rest my hand on the back of the sofa. The upholstery is well-cushioned and durable. Textured but soft to the touch. Warm against my skin. I run my hand along the back cushion absently, and out of nowhere, an intense flashback slams into me.
It’s the most vivid one I’ve had yet. It’s more than a memory. It’s a movie set in the past. A movie with soft lighting and sultry choreography.
