Warmth and scent and my face against Corin’s mostly smooth back—and the fact that it’s Saturday so no alarms going off—combine to make me want to linger in bed as long as I can.
My bladder argues otherwise.
Grunts and soft moans punctuate my slipping out of bed but no one seems to wake. Corin rolls over into the warm spot I vacated, head resting close to Nathan’s. One of the cats shifts to snuggle into the curve of Corin’s back.
It’s just as well Max isn’t here. Nathan must have neglected to mention he had cats, because Max was allergic and would probably have given Nathan a hardnoat the get-go if he’d known. I’m not sure what he’d have done if he learned later, once he’d grown to care for Nathan, but Max was definitely anti-cat. I’m more on the side ofwhy not keep warm furry critters around?
Leaving the bed is a tough call, despite the pressing needs of my body. Lying close in a row, the men are beautiful to behold. Nathan and Dan align, torsos and limbs positioned similarly; Dan has an arm slung across Nathan’s waist, though, and Nathan’s other hand wraps up to hold him there.
After taking care of business, I opt for the same kind of comfy clothes as the night before, granted, today I select matching lingerie—pink of course—to go under my sweatpants, and a simple blue shirt Corin once complimented. Bunny slippers on my feet, I head down to start coffee and breakfast.
All these alphas in the house, and for once, the beta gets to be the provider. I’m not a great cook, but I can manage oven-baked blueberry pancakes and protein smoothies to give us a good start to the day. Yesterday’s hint of snow has turned to rain, lashing against the kitchen window; it’s a good day to stay inside and talk.
The work of making breakfast and the distance from the alphas give me space to think, to feel, to get in touch with my instincts other than the need to take my turn caring for them.
Yesterday’s moment of clarity still holds. I want what Nathan and Dan have, however temporary, and no matter how accidentally it came about.
Question is, who do I want it with? Also, am I ready for the permanence that bonding implies?
For that matter, can I even handle bonding since lasting bonds require matching bites on both sides? I can’t initiate, but if I don’t reciprocate the bond will fade. My stomach churns at the thought of even trying, so I set that problem aside.
Then, there’s the issue of speed. Instinct is all well and good, but less than a week has passed since reconnecting with Dan and Nathan. I now know that Nathan was working toward this after we parted nearly a year ago, but until yesterday, I didn’t. I’m still adjusting to learning this, quite apart from all I’ve learned about Dan’s life since we parted, which can’t be more than the merest highlights.
Further, it’s been less than a week since I startedsleeping with Corin and sliding into sex, but that feels more like a natural evolution.
I’ve wanted a pack, mourned not having one, yet now that I’m on the verge, I’m afraid. Classic case of ‘buyer beware’ or ‘wisher’s regret’ or whatever?
Hester suggested I go with my instincts, beta though they are, and they’re saying,yeah, go for it,or at least,give it a solid try.
Except for the biting issue.
All I’ve seen and read makes it seem like biting to form bonds is natural, instinctive, for alphas and omegas.
Unfortunately, folks don’t talk about betas—except the whole ‘not-able-to-initiate-bonds’ thing. My parents never mentionedtheir bonding; then again it happened well before I was born, though I’d catch them touching their bite marks now and then. Same with my siblings, all but one who packed up, each of them being alphas or omegas. I was the only beta in the bunch.
Overall, bonding is intimate, not shared, not public. You just show up to work one day and say you’re bonded, whether the bites are visible or not, and people congratulate you, human resources and the state give you some forms to fill out, and life moves on.
Distant thuds overhead and muffled voices overhead suggest the alphas are waking and moving about.
Excellent timing, for the lovely aroma of blueberry pancakes baking fills the house. A peek through the glass suggests it needs just a few minutes more.
I lay a wager with myself as to which set of footsteps belongs to whom as one after another trots down the stairs—who will arrive first—and promptly lose when the cats precede the humans.
They mill about my ankles, rubbing and meowing. I tell them I don’t know what they get fed or how much or when, but they either don’t believe me or think they can convince me to provide some milk or whatever else it is they eat.
Corin is the first of the humans to arrive, dressed similarly to me in sweatpants. His green long-sleeved t-shirt stretches over his chest, drawing attention to the muscles above the gentle curve of his belly.
Maybe my gaze goes to his neck as well. He shaved, and there are a few nick marks here and there that will heal quickly enough. That’s the traditional place for bites, and given yesterday, I can’t help but wonder what he’d look like with one, two, or three bond marks.
All while doing my best not to think about the process ofmakingsaid marks.
He heads right for me. How much he caught of me looking at him, I don’t know, for I’ve turned back to the blender. But instead of spooning in yogurt, I set container and spoon down.
Just in time.
“May I?”
We talked about this in the dark of the night. I gave him permission to touch without asking first as long as he doesn’t startle me and stops if I say so. Asking isn’t required, but we’re still new, and there’s a note of hesitation in his voice.
