“We also both like root beer.” Jules lifted his can.
“True.”
“And coffee.”
“Oh, this gets better all the time.” Elouan playfully tweaked Jules’s nose. They both froze, humor fleeing in the face of such brief contact. Elouan wasn’t quite sure who moved first or when they discarded their drink cans. One moment Jules stared into Elouan’s eyes, clear down to his soul, and the next Elouan found out just how soft Jules’s lips were.
Jules merely brushed his closed mouth across Elouan’s, a fleeting connection. Elouan ran his tongue along the seam of Jules’s lips, eliciting a gasp and pressing the advantage slowly, allowing time for a retreat.
Rather than retreat, Jules tentatively slid his tongue against Elouan’s, sweet but with an underlying hint of restraint. His mouth tasted of root beer. He grasped Elouan’s shoulders in a nearly bruising grip, the shyness giving way to full-blown passion.
Oh, Goddess!
For a guy who said he didn’t get out much, Jules either already knew or caught on to how kissing worked at lightning speed. Elouan’s hardening cock grew painful in the confines of his jeans, and he nearly opened his fly to get relief. No, Jules came across as inexperienced, which meant proceeding with caution.
Besides, a long, hard battle made the victory sweeter, or so someone once said. Probably someone who’d never actually been in a battle or lain on a blanket with a temptation like Jules.
Jules broke the kiss long enough to shift position, then dove in again, nearly losing all hesitancy this time.
Elouan slid a hand along Jules’s jaw, brushing his fingers against light stubble. Jules's moans damned near made Elouan embarrass himself in his jeans.
Then they were lying down on their sides, face to face, staring into each other’s eyes, Jules with a bashful smile, Elouan with a grin so broad his cheeks ached. Damn, what a kiss!
Worth it. And so much more.
“Can I touch you?” Jules asked.
“Wherever you want,” Elouan replied, though he wasn’t quite sure of Jules’s meaning. Hadn’t they been touching all this time?
Jules ran his fingers over Elouan’s brows and eyelids, then trailed a finger down his nose. He traced lips, cheeks, and chin, lingering over the divot, then sighed. “You’re beautiful, but I suppose you know that.”
What? People often told Elouan he was beautiful, but they usually wanted something. Either that, or they glimpsed something different from what he saw in his own reflection. “Haveyouever looked in a mirror?”
Jules averted his gaze. “Yeah, but I’m the cute boy next door. You’re the leather-clad hunk on the Harley both women and men fantasize about taking to bed.” His eyes flew wide. “Oh, I don’t know what I’m saying. Don’t listen to me.” He tried to sit up, but Elouan stopped him with a gentle hand on his arm.
“You can say whatever you want to me. I don’t want you to ever think you can’t. Understand? Honesty. I’m flattered you think so, but not everyone fantasizes about the guy on the Harley. Some of us fantasize about the cute boy next door.”
“Oh, yeah?” Jules continued his exploration, stroking Elouan’s talon pendant, then brushing a bit of leaf from Elouan’s braid.
“Yeah. I don’t mean to remind you of my pervy moments, but remember, I used to check you out on lunch breaks. Wishing I were down there at the table with you.”
“I wanted to sit alongside you on a girder in the sky.” Jules kissed him again.
Elouan never wanted to stop. Maybe he should stop living for someday and start living for now. But no. They weren’t having sex on a blanket by the water, no matter how romantic, not when anyone could pull up.
Jules deserved better. Maybe Elouan did too.
Please, Goddess, let the person who told him about long, hard battles and sweet victories be telling the truth.
Even with sex off the table, they could still kiss and hold each other for however long they liked.
Chapter Seven
Moira didn’t question Jules overly much during dinner that evening, though Radomir lifted his nose into the air a time or two, a puzzled frown on his face. Could he smell Elouan’s cologne? All they’d done was kiss and hold each other. Alphas were famed for their powerful sense of smell, but Moira had said nothing about betas sharing the same abilities, and she and Radomir were both betas.
Jules’s insides grew all warm and melty recalling those kisses. Elouan had kissed him. Called him cute. The intensity in his dark eyes when he’d spoken those words implied he meant every word. So unlike the guys at school who tried ineptly to be seductive, the same prepared speech used for anyone who paused long enough to listen, but which actually meant nothing to them and likely never would.
If only Elouan weren’t human. A gorgeous, kind human, but a human. Or if Jules could escape the mysterious destiny Moira talked about and live an ordinary life.
