His mouth opens under mine immediately, his hands pulling me closer, his tongue sliding against mine with a desperation that tastes like someone who’s been starving and just found food. He kisses me like he’s trying to pour something into my mouth that he can’t say, his fingers twisting in my shirt, his hips rocking up against me once before he catches himself.
Then he stops.
His hands release my waist and press flat against my chest, pushing back gently. His forehead drops against mine, his breath ragged, his eyes closed.
“I can’t.”
“Okay.”
“I want to. I just can’t.”
“It’s alright.” I press my lips to his forehead and hold them there. His hands tremble against my chest and I cover them with mine, stilling the tremor, feeling his heartbeat slamming against his ribs. “Good night, Wilson.”
It takes all of my self control to climb off his lap. Every single nerve in my body screams at me to stay and to wrap myself around him and kiss him until whatever is holding him back crumbles. Instead, I head for the stairs, leaving our apartment door unlocked just in case he decides to take me up on that offer.
The apartment is dark except for the lamp in the bedroom that Lorenzo always leaves on when he knows I’m closing alone. I barely make it a few steps inside, veering away from the bed and into the nest off to the side.
I built it months ago out of the weighted blankets Lorenzo bought me for my birthday and the pillows I’ve been stealing from every hotel we’ve ever stayed in. It’s a mess of fabric and softness that smells like both of us, the one place in theapartment that’s entirely mine even though Lorenzo’s scent is woven through every layer.
I strip off my clothes down to my briefs, crawl into the nest, and yank the thickest blanket over my head. Hot tears slip out before I can stop them, ones born of wanting something so badly my body can’t contain it. I bury my face in the pillow scented with my Beta and let the sobs take over.
I’m not sure how long I stay there, curled up in the pillows before Lorenzo wraps himself around my back, his arms wrapping around my waist and pulling me against his chest.
“He kissed me,” I whisper into the pillow. “I kissed him. He kissed me back, then he stopped.”
Lorenzo’s lips brush the nape of my neck at the base of my spine but doesn’t say a word.
“He’s falling for us, Zo.” The nickname slips out, reserved for nights like this. “He’s so close, and every time he pulls away, I can feel how much it costs him.”
“I know, baby.”
“Someone broke him. They stole something from him, something he’s terrified to want back.” I shift in his arms so I can see his face. “Lorenzo, someone taught him that craving touch is shameful.” I’m not sure how I know but I do. It’s the only explanation why he would flinch between us, why he wouldn’t readily reach for me even though I could see in his eyes that he wanted to.
Lorenzo’s thumb traces along my cheekbone, gathering every last tear.
“We need to find out where he’s sleeping,” I say. “He dodged me tonight. I think it’s his car, or somewhere close. We’ve got the guest room.”
“We do.”
“Will you ask him? He’ll say no to me because he thinks I’m impulsive. If it comes from you—”
“I’ll handle it.”
My hand closes around the chain at his throat, pulling him down until our foreheads meet. “I’m awful at this—being patient, watching him hurt three feet away because he hasn’t given us permission to get closer.”
“You’re doing better than you think.”
His hand slides down my back and settles at the small of my spine. I press into the touch, every nerve still pulsing from Wilson’s kiss.
“We’re going to be so good to him,” I whisper.
7
Oliver
A low thud drags me out of a dead sleep. Lorenzo’s body presses against mine, his arm curved around my waist. We’re cocooned in darkness, the weighted blanket anchoring me, and for a heartbeat I wonder if I dreamed it. Then it comes again, a throaty, muffled, rattling the floorboards somewhere below.
It takes a moment to register that Wilson must have stayed and instead of coming up, he’s down in the office directly below the apartment.
