Wilson doesn’t answer but when I glance over my shoulder, he’s watching me with an expression I can’t quite make over. He hovers the pen above his notepad, jaw shifting as he weighs words. I hate that. I hate that he’s so careful, even around us, aroundme.
“So—where are you staying, Wilson?”
His shoulders tense and I mentally curse myself for prying. He’s like a beautiful, wounded bird, curling into himself every time I push too hard but I don’t know anything else. Pushing too hard has always gotten me what I wanted.
“I have a place.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“It’s what I’m giving you.”
Lorenzo would let it go. He’d file it away and bring it up later, with perfect timing and a careful approach. But I kill the bar lights and cross the floor to Wilson’s table, his coffee-and-leather scent growing stronger with each step.
“You’ve stayed past close three nights this week,” I say, pulling out the chair opposite him before sinking into it. “You show up early, you stay late, and you eat whatever I put in front of you like you haven’t eaten since the last time. I’m offering you a bed in a warm apartment with people who want you there. That’s it.”
“Oliver.”
“Yeah—my name.”
“You know what I mean.”
“I know what you think I mean. I mean a bed. A guest room. A door that locks from the inside if you want.” I lean back, hands in my lap, giving him space. “You can say no. I’ll drop it.” Everything in me begs to drag Wilson up the steps and into bed with us, maybe even into my nest if he’d let me.
His fingers tighten around his pen as he fiddles with his collar in that habitual rhythm I didn’t realize I’d memorized. He opens his mouth, shuts it, then looks back at the paperwork. “I’ll think about it.”
“That’s not a no.”
“It’s not a yes either.”
“I can work with not-a-no.” I grin. He fights the small smile at the corner of his lips, small enough to satisfy my curiosity.
Wilson grabs the papers from the table and pulls them into a tidy stack, tapping their edges twice before sliding them into a folder. When he closes it, his hands fall flat on the table, his gaze meeting mine
“Why are you doing this?” he asks, voice low, stripped of his usual sarcasm. The bare honesty in it makes my chest ache.
“Because I want to.”
“That’s not a reason.”
“It’s the only one I’ve got.”
I have no idea why I latched onto Wilson out of everyone else I could have that evening. I have no idea why it matters or why I still need this Beta. Our usual one night stands consist of little more than fun and chaos before we’re off to find the next person. Lorenzo and I do just fine on our own. I even chose him over my own family and their wishes.
But Wilson…
I watch several emotions pass through his expression, the Beta’s guard dropping by fractions, the wall thinning just enough that I can see through it to the person underneath who is tired and lonely and trying so hard to hold all of it together by himself.
Before I can think better of it, my hands find the arms of his chair and I swing my leg over his lap, settling onto his thighs with my knees braced on either side of his hips. His breath catches in this throat as his hands come up instinctively, hovering at my waist without making contact, his fingers trembling in the air an inch from my skin.
“Oliver—”
“Tell me to get off and I will.”
His hands close on my waist, his fingers pressing into the fabric of my shirt, and the sound that leaves his throat is raw enough to make my skin prickle. I cup his face in both hands, my thumbs tracing along his jaw, the stubble there rough against my palms.
His pupils widen with desire, his breathing shallowing, each exhale warm against my chin. I can feel him hard beneath me, his cock pressing up against the seam of his pants, and the heat of it sends a pulse through my whole body.
Slick gathers around my hole, threatening to undo me completely as I dip my head in for the kiss I’ve been starving for since we met just over a week ago.
