Jensen: Maybe it should make it worse, but I don’t know, in a weird way, it makes it better.
Jensen: Not much better, so don’t think I’m not still mad at you. I am. I’m fucking irate.
Jensen: It just helps to know that this is something you want, not something that will make you miserable.
The words on my screen blur as I tear up. I type a message back as fast as I can.
Lucien: You’re a good friend, Jensen.
Lucien: The best friend I could ever ask for. I’m sorry for hurting you.
Lucien: Will we be okay?
He takes longer to reply this time. Three dots appear and disappear several times before a message hits my inbox.
Jensen: It’ll take a minute. But yeah. We’ll be fine. You know I can’t stay mad at you for long.
The relief I feel when I read the message is so profound that it makes Branson look up. The way he smiles at me is nothing like how he smiled at his screen. This smile is so big that I don’t think you could ever describe it as cool. It’s toothy and gummy and affects every single part of his face.
I pad over to the desk and stand close to him, holding out my phone so he can see the message from Jensen. He leans in, crowding me slightly, as he reads it. The relief I feel is mirrored in his eyes.
“If it’s time he needs, we’ll give it to him,” says Branson. “We’ll follow his lead, and when he’s ready, we’ll be here for him. We’ll make this right with him, okay?”
I nod in agreement and remain standing at Branson’s side.
I don’t realize that I’m waiting for his touch, wanting it, until he doesn’t offer it. His body is so close to mine that I can smell his hair. His skin. I can see the indent of the mark on his neck.
I’m stone-cold sober, not in heat, not exhausted, not overwrought, yet the current caused by my proximity to him trickles down my body. A familiar warmth pools in my groin and makes my dick stiffen.
I realize with a jolt that I want him.Iwant Branson. Me. My mind. My rational self. Not my body or my biology.
I want my mate.
26
Lucien
We’vebeenhomeforalmost a week. We’ve done laundry, gone grocery shopping, and cooked meals together. We’re both working from home, obviously. Going into the office and being apart for hours at a time would be tantamount to torture at this point in our relationship. Branson owns his own company—a sustainable company that makes outdoor gear—so he can set his own hours, which is handy. Fortunately, my manager Sadie is great about this kind of thing, and she’s gone out of her way to accommodate me.
It’s been a surprisingly peaceful week, despite how much has changed in my life. Branson and I have found an easy rhythm. A give-and-take I wasn’t expecting. Or at least, I wasn’t expecting this soon. I thought I’d find it hard to have someone in my space all the time, but it isn’t. It’s comforting. I thought I’d need time alone to recharge, butBranson’s presence is so steady, so calming, that I don’t feel overstimulated by it. And I don’t have the need to recharge.
We’ve done everything together this week. We’ve slept in the same bed. We’ve sat next to each other on the sofa. We’ve eaten meals together, watched TV, and talked into the night.
The only thing we haven’t done is the thing I’ve started to crave.
The ache arrived stealthily. A gentle tap at the door rather than a loud thud. It’s very different from the way my arousal approached when I was going into heat. This time, it’s slithered under my skin, humming softly rather than yelling and shaking me. It started as something that made me long to be close to Branson. Physically close, not just sexually. It was something that made me want to hear his voice and see him smile.
Something sweet.
Something warm.
That time is over. There’s nothing sweet or warm about it anymore. It’s piping hot now. A thick knot of arousal I feel when I walk. When I sit. When I stand. I feel it every time I move. Every time. Everywhere.
It’s a rough, agitating itch. A permanent pang I can’t ignore. It’s not that I want to ignore it as such. It’s thatI know that the next time we have sex will be different. It will be in a sober state of mind. Our body temperatures will be the same. I’ll be completely present and so will he. I won’t be burning, and I’ll remember everything about it. For now.
And forever.
In the past, with previous partners, I never really found it all that difficult to ask for what I wanted in bed. But then again, in the past, I never really found myself wanting something out of the ordinary.
