Page 7 of His Beast

“Where can I put these?” he asks, lifting his wet clothes and the towel he used to wrap them in.

Forcing myself to pull my gaze from his groin, I use the rice paddle to direct him toward the laundry room that is off to the left of the kitchen and he nods, loading them into the washer quietly. It all feels rather domestic in a way that my Omega approves of. I hear the chime of the laundry machine before the clunking sound of the lock sliding into place while the system kicks on, leaving Zayn to stand awkwardly by the laundry room.

“Smells delicious. Can I help with anything?” he asks quietly, reaching behind him to tie up his hair in a bun.

“I’m actually almost done, but if you wouldn’t mind getting down two bowls from the third cupboard on your right, that would be really helpful.”

Nodding, he grabs the deep green pasta bowls and brings them to me, laying them out on the counter. Thanking him, I grab his first, filling the bowl with rice before laying on the broccoli and the salmon, making sure his bowl gets the two filets and handing it to him, before reaching for my bowl.

“Really hope you’re not allergic to fish. I know you need a lot of protein and calories, but this is all I have at the moment.”

“It’s perfect, thank you, Bee.”

I stop mid-rice scoop and turn to him, eyes rounding at the nickname. It was as if he hadn’t meant to let it slip because it takes him a second to realize what he said before the pink blush that I am starting to love spreads across his cheeks.

“Shit, sorry.”

“Bee?” I question, shaking my head.

“It’s weird, right? It’s…it’s just you always seem so busy with your writing and your scent…my brain connects them to a honey bee. I won’t say it again.”

“I don’t hate it. We’ll rhyme if I continue to call you ‘Zee’.” I grin.

His shoulders deflate as the tension leaves them, returning my grin with his own. God, he truly is beautiful, his smile softening his features and making him look more his age. I continue to serve dinner and together we take our bowls to the dining table. I didn’t have much in the way of drinks, but he accepts a soda that I have in the back of the fridge.

We eat in moderate silence, and I’m rather surprised that I didn’t feel awkward at all. Small talk always makes me feel uncomfortable and itchy, but with him it’as effortless. He asks me about the book I’m currently working on while also mentioning the one he’s reading, telling me that he’s really enjoying it. We avoid discussing the fight he lost as we wash the dinner dishes, standing beside each other at the sink as if it’s a usual routine. I can’t get the feeling of how complete I feel having him stand beside me. I know fated mates is completely bullshit, but it certainly feels to me as if he has always been by my side.

“C-can I ask you a personal question?” he suddenly asks, hesitating in his words.

“Of course.”

“The stuff you write about…have you done any of it?”

I noticed the blush creep back into his cheeks and I began to wonder if he’ll always blush like that for me. I can only hope so. It takes me a second to realize what he’s referring to and then it was my turn to blush. I chose Zayn to be my partner so, logically, at some point we will have sex and with my heat expected in a few weeks, it would probably be sooner rather than later.

“Despite my writing, I have no experience with intimacy.” I respond truthfully. “I’ve spend my heats alone with a toy I keep in the drawer by the bed. It’s not ideal, but it works.”

“Oh.” Zayn grows quiet, shaking excess water off the dish I hand him before putting it in the dishwasher. He’s silent for a moment, processing my words before he mutters out, “I have no experience either.”

I firmly believe that the obsession over virginity and purity is bullshit. The idea is hilarious to me, because how are you supposed to know what you like or don’t like in order to inform your partner so that you both can enjoy being intimate? Despite holding this belief, the idea that no one has touched Zayn sends a thrill of possession through my body. I will be his first. The first to touch him, to hear him in pleasure, the first to experiment and find out what makes his heart race and what has him crossing the finish line faster than either of us anticipated.

A soft groan beside me startles me from my thoughts, and I watch Zayn shift, leaning forward slightly to use the edge of the counter to adjust his swelling cock. I hadn’t realized that my thoughts had caused my scent to fill the kitchen and I blush again, avoiding his gaze. Now would probably be the perfect moment to invite him into my nest, and we could explore these feelings we are experiencing, but at the same time, I can’t bring myself to make the first move. What if he isn’t ready? Am I? It was a subject we need to discuss quickly, because for the first time, I don’t want to spend my heat alone.

Zayn puts the dish he is holding into the dishwasher before turning toward me. Hesitantly, he reaches forward, brushing my curls behind my ear, his gaze searching my face.

“May I kiss you, bee?”

“Please,” I whisper, practically begging as I move into his body.

He instantly lowers his head, his soft lips touching mine as if even his kiss is uncertain. I lean into him, wrapping my arms around his firm waist as he cups my cheek, the kiss growing the longer we stand in my kitchen. What started as a soft, shy touch, evolves into one of hunger and desire, desperate to not end so quickly. Zayn reaches under my ass, effortlessly lifting me up with a small surprised squeak from my throat. Our lips never leave each other as he wanders down the hall toward my bedroom, my legs firmly wrapping around him. He begin to move past my office, and I pulled away from him quickly, his lips swollen and red from our embrace. Shaking my head, I tap his back before nodding toward the open office door, not wanting to pass up the perfect spot for this moment.

“In there. To the left.”

Tilting his head, he moves into my office while I reach up and pull at the hair tie securing his bun in place, watching as his hair cascade down his neck. With a practice shake of his head, hair unfurls from its knot as he looks around the room, eyeing my favorite nest.

“It’s beautiful,” he says reverently, lowering me onto the plush blankets while taking in the low glow of the fairy lights that I wound across the bookshelves. Pride at my mate’s approval of my nest warms my chest as the light’s glow caste shadows across our bodies. Reaching up, I pull off my shirt before pulling him close to remove his, refusing to let him be distracted any longer. His larger size seems to dwarf my frame, creating a birch-scented barrier between me and the rest of the room, making me feel small. I thought that would be frightening, but instead it makes me feel safe and protected, and my Omega’s purr begins to rumble low in my chest, showcasing how much I truly love his size.

Zayn slowly kisses his way down my neck, his tongue flickering over the frantic thump of my heartbeat in my throat, nipping gently. It isn’t enough to break skin but hard enough to draw a hiss from me while I arch my lower body against him, my erection pressing firmly against his noticeably larger one. My hiss turns into a low moan, my head tilting forward to rest on his shoulder as his thumb brushes across my hardened nipple, causing me to shudder. Nipping and licking, he creates a path down my chest and stomach as if I’m something to be devoured, a rare dish he has been starving himself for his whole life. Desperate to savor me, while also impatient enough to swallow me whole.