Leif.
Arlo.
Gods, Arlo. The way he felt in my arms, around my cock, the sweet sounds of pleasure I’d coaxed from him. Now that I’ve tasted him, been inside him, I know I can never go back. He felt too good, too right. The connection we shared—gods, I missed that. Having someone to hold, to kiss, to make love to.
I’m sorry.
I’m so sorry, Leif.
I don’t love him; I swear. I never will, not like I loved you.
But I need him. I’m so bloody tired of being alone.
Is that all right?
Please.
Please, love, tell me it’s all right to have this with him.
Give me a sign.
Something.
Anything.
The howl tears from my throat, and it feels as if my heart will break. If I just howl hard enough, loud enough, can I force the wretched organ from my body? I’m tired. I’m so tired of hurting, of missing, of wanting and yearning.
And the guilt, gods, the guilt.
Please, Leif. I’m so gods-damned lonely.
You’d understand. Wouldn’t you?
I howl until my throat aches, until I’ve got nothing left in me.
No one answers my song.
The scar in my heart tears open, and I bleed without end.
Chapter 14
Arlo
I open my eyesto a quiet room. The bed’s soft and warm. Beyond the windows, the sun’s beginning to go down, coloring the sky with smears of orange that complement the periwinkle clouds. It would be lovely, but the space beside me is missing a big, broody lumbersnack.
I fell asleep for at least an hour, maybe two at most. Gunnar’s been gone a long time. Not that it matters. He has no obligation to me beyond what we’ve already agreed upon. He can run off and stay away as long as he likes.
The memory of stricken gray eyes comes back to haunt me. I’m worried about him. I’ve been so hungry for him that I didn’t stop to think. What if he’d rushed into something he wasn’t prepared for? Ugh, what nonsense. He’s an adult, and he’s responsible for his own choices.
Does he regret what we did? The possibility hurts.
“Stop sulking. It’s unbecoming.” Truffles materializes out of thin air beside me, making me jump.
“Goddess! I thought I asked you to stop doing that! What if I’d been… you know, busy?”
She snuffles, looking away with her snout in the air. “Please. As if I can’t tell when you’re done… fornicating.” Her boar face shows no emotion, but the disgust in her voice makes even me feel like a hoe.
“Thank you for sharing, Truffles. I don’t know how I could have gone on with my life if I didn’t know you can tell when I’m having sex.”
