But that’s the thing: I don’t think I’d regret it. I don’t think I’d regret letting Rourke or Asher or Mason in. In a way, I think letting them in is the only way I’ll be able to survive. Physically, emotionally, spiritually; I need them, and pretending I don’t is only hurting us.
“You’re right,” Rourke replies huskily. “We shouldn’t.” If spoken any other way, in any other circumstance, those words might cut, but with how close he is, and how obviously he doesn’t agree with them, they do anything but.
“I want…” Admitting to yourself that you were wrong in what you wanted is hard, but as it turns out, admitting what youdowant is even harder. I am speechless after that, unable to say anything else.
“I know,” Rourke says. “I want that, too, but I want you to get everything you want, and if that means we need to wait, then—”
Out of everything I could’ve done right then, I do the one thing I don’t think either of us expect: I turn my head and press my mouth against his. I do it so fast, before I can think better of it, and once our lips are locked, neither of us pull away.
His mouth is both softer and rougher than I thought it’d be. I can feel the faintest traces of stubble on his chin, but it doesn’t matter. Rourke responds to the sudden kiss by deepening it, by moving the hand on the side of my face to the back of my head and cradling me with all the care in the world. The rumbling inhis chest only intensifies, growing stronger as the embrace goes on. My eyes are closed, but I see stars.
My back arches as he leans down into me. I can’t imagine the position is comfortable for him, but he doesn’t pull away, doesn’t complain. My lips part, and the moment our tongues meet, fireworks go off in my body.
Is this what it’s like? Is this what I’ve been fighting against this whole time? God, I was so stupid.
I don’t know how long we’re like that, but I do know that by the time he labors to pull his mouth off mine, we’re both utterly out of breath, our skin on fire. I’d bet anything his heart is beating just as fast as mine.
A mere six inches away from my face, he’s so close and yet suddenly so far when he whispers, “You’re not making my job easy, you know.” The corners of his mouth turn upward when he says that, a delicious smirk forming, and my first thought is:I want to kiss that smirk right off him.
“I…” I don’t know what I want to say right then, but I do know my lips still feel all tingly and warm from that kiss. It’s a feeling that lingers, and somehow I know it’ll continue to linger long after he’s not nearby.
That was my first kiss. My first kiss, and it sure was a doozy.
“It’s okay,” he tells me. “We’ll figure everything out together, one step at a time, I promise.”
I never thought I was someone who wanted to be taken care of—acting out, trying to be independent; those things may have just been reactions to my aunt and the trauma that brought her into my daily life in the first place. Maybe having other people help me, people I actually trust, won’t be so bad. Maybe I need them, as much as I’m hesitant to admit.
“We’ll get you through this,” he says. “Your heat, and whatever comes after. You have the full force of Alabaster Security behind you now, and you have the two alphasdownstairs, whether they admit it or not. We all care about you here, and we only want to help you. Let us. Let me handle that will. Right now, I want you to focus on getting that ankle better before your heat.”
As he speaks, I wonder just what he means. How could he handle the will? I want to ask, but before I have the chance, a knock on the bedroom door alerts us to someone else’s presence.
Rourke pulls back from me, allowing me to see the door is cracked open, and Asher stands in the hall, carrying a tray with a glass of some dark pop and a plate full of food. “Looks like the chef has brought you dinner.” His blue gaze twinkles when he looks at me. “I’ll leave you two alone.”
I watch as he walks away from the bed, well aware the heated kiss had awoken something inside of him, something that now currently presses against his already-too-tight slacks.
A mere kiss made him hard. I shouldn’t make any jokes though; if we would’ve kept kissing, I don’t doubt some slick would’ve appeared. Can’t forget about that wet dream I had not that long ago.
Asher gets a pat on the back before Rourke goes, and though I’m not alone, I still feel the loss of his presence in my soul. It’s how it is with scent matches, I guess. I really was stupid for thinking we were anything but.
Soon enough the tray is set on my lap, and I take a few moments to survey the contents of the plate. Mashed potatoes, green beans, and some kind of meat. Maybe pork? Regardless, it smells delicious, and I say so, “It smells so good, Asher. You really never cooked before all this?”
He gingerly sits on the side of the bed near me, and he shrugs. “I mean, I cooked a little, but no fancy meals like this.” He rubs the back of his neck. “I… guess I want to impress you. Is that silly?”
“No,” I say, knowing he needs to hear it to feel better, but I also can’t stop myself from adding, “and yes, because you don’t need to impress me.” I pick up the fork and go for a green bean. I am so very hungry all of a sudden; didn’t realize it until I had this big plate of food in front of me.
Asher studies me. His blond hair is dry, if a little greasy from being rained on. “You and Rourke looked… close.”
With a green bean in my mouth, I ask, “Saw that, huh?”
He smiles. “Yeah. It’s okay, though. Maybe when we first got here I might’ve been a little, uh, jealous, but I’m not anymore. It’s weird, but I can’t explain it.” As he says all that, I understand exactly what he means, so much more than he knows. “If you’re scent matches, it really was just a matter of time.” He angles his head up, his nose sniffing the air. “You smell so good.”
I blush, or maybe that’s leftover heat from the kiss Rourke and I shared. Either way, I mumble a soft, “Thanks.”
He watches me eat for a few moments, something clearly on his mind. I think I know what it is, but I don’t want to bring it up. If he really wants to talk about it, he can be the one to say it.
“I,” he pauses and swallows hard, “want to talk to you about what happened ten years ago.” When all I do is wait for him to say more, he explains, “I was a dumb kid. I didn’t want to step out of the crowd. When you came back, I shouldn’t have ignored you. I should’ve talked to you. We could’ve gone back to the way things were before—”
Before my parents died and I spent most of the next year in the hospital? Yeah, I don’t think that would’ve worked.
