Page 53 of Slick Trip

In this messy, perfect nest he had built for us.

18

The Slick

COOPER

I woke in the middle of the night, naked, trembling, and aching. I was so hard it actually hurt.

“What’s wrong?” Jon’s voice cut through the dark. He didn’t sound groggy at all. He was instantly on high alert, like a guard dog.

“Nothing,” I panted, my face catching fire. “Nothing to see here. Go back to sleep.”

“Your nothing is poking my thigh, Coop,” he said, sounding way too amused.

“Oh, God,” I muttered, shielding my face with my hands. Then I felt a new, terrifyingly damp sensation.

“Fuck,” I breathed, going rigid. “Jon, we need a doctor. Or a plumber. Or a priest.”

“Are you in pain?”

“No, but I’m leaking!” I hissed.

Jon moved closer, the bed groaning under his weight as he crowded into my space. “It’s just the slick,” he said, sounding maddeningly steady. “Nothing dangerous. Slick prepares your body for . . . well, you know. Fucking.”

My eyes snapped open in the dim room. “I produce lube?” I whispered, horrified. I could practically hear Jon swallowing a laugh. I groaned. “This is a nightmare. I’m poking you with my hard-on and literally leaking lube. I’m never recovering from this.”

“Do you want to shower?”

“No!” I snapped. “Stop being so practical. I need you to panic with me! This is a crisis!”

“What exactly are we panicking about?”

“Jon!”

“There’s nothing wrong with you,” he said, reaching for his phone. “You’re an Omega in heat. Slick happens.”

“But I don’t want to be in heat! What I want is to rearrange these blankets—look, they’re all wrong! And where’s my monkey!”

“Here.” Jon handed me the monkey. I snatched it, then arranged the blankets around us urgently, as if we were in imminent danger of dying because of misplaced fleece.

I heard the tapping of Jon’s thumbs on his screen. “Found it.”

“Please don’t tell me you’re on Wikipedia.”

“Sure, I won’t tell you that,” he said, his eyes scanning the text.

Groaning, I buried my face in the pillow.

“This is actually a very informative page. Okay, heat symptoms.” He started scrolling. “Appetite, check. Fatigue, check. Heightened sensory response, check.”

“Me getting pissed off every time you say check? Check.”

Jon ignored me. “Awareness of specific people’s pheromones, check.”

My nose twitched involuntarily. “Have you been luring me with your Alpha pheromones?”

“Not on purpose,” he murmured. “But yeah.”