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He must be out doing whatever the fuck he does while I’m with Booker when I get back to his place, and walking inside … I’m hit with this solid wall of everything feeling so good.

Despite what people say, I’m getting along with Booker, and the more time we spend together, the less I understand people being wary of him. It’s mental gymnastics to try and keep up with his thought process, but I’m getting better at it and actually enjoy the way I have to keep on my toes. On top of having a good day, being here, surrounded by Lynx’s scent and the slightest hint of the syrup we had on our pancakes this morning, sun streaming through the windows … it’s difficult to feel down about anything.

In fact, I feel so good that I’m ready to give Lynx another push.

I’ve been craving his touch beyond the few times I’ve initiated it, and all I keep thinking about is when he cleaned me up after our moment in the forest. I’ve never, ever felt so at peace.

I know he feels the exact same way. All week, I’ve been testing him with small brushes and tiny moments to see how he reacts, and Lynx isn’t trying to hide it anymore. He wants me, but I know he won’t be the one to make the first move, and I have no idea why he keeps holding back, but I need it to stop.

I want Lynx to just reach out and take me because he wants me. No more holding back or playing coy or trying to convince himself it isn’t smart or whatever the fuck is going on in his head.

Those thoughts need to turn off, and he needs to lean into this thing as heavily as I’m planning to.

Might as well have fun until my car is ready to take me to Portland.

I strip out of my clothes, remove the ribbon from the neck of one of my stuffies, and then wrap it carefully around my hardening cock, ending with a cute bow at the tip.

Lynx can play the part of feral forest dweller all he likes; I’ve seen the way he eyes the panties I leave out. He likes the pretty things, and I’m more than happy to give them to him.

Before he can get back, I pull on one of his hoodies, breathing in the scent at the throat of it, and take a chance by curling up on his bed.

I know he wants this, which is the only reason I’m making the first move again, but there’s a large part of me that’s missing having a man chase me. I don’t mean in the physical way Lynx did, but in needing me so much that he can’t stay away.

My good mood from earlier darkens, and I tuck my knees up to my chest inside the hoodie. I’m clearly asking for too much. Antonio was only too happy to show how much he wanted me, as long as I understood that he was in complete control. Now, Lynx is fighting every instinct he has.

It’s possible I might need to upgrade my choice in men.

But … well, I just find everything about Lynx so fucking hot. Could I date a nice, quiet man? Someone in Portland with a 9-5 who isn’t constantly reminding me of how weak and pathetic I am? Even in my mind, that sounds awful.

I bet his name would be Brad, and he’d be the type to always have food stuck in his teeth.

Lynx has never once had food stuck in his teeth.

He has nice teeth.

Teeth that feel incredible piercing my skin.

Footsteps out the front only give me a few seconds’ warning that he’s back, and a few seconds isn’t enough to scramble out of his bed and change my mind.

When Lynx walks in and spots me curled up on his bed, he closes the door before Bob can follow him. “What are you doing?”

“I was bored.”

“Were you?”

My dick, which had softened at my depressing thoughts, perks up at the sound of his voice. “I did some arts and crafts. Want to see?”

The sharpened, lust-filled look crosses his face and sets my heart beating madly. He doesn’t answer, not that I’d expected him to, but he does take an uncertain step closer.

I reach for the front of the hoodie, bunching the soft material in my hands and slowly dragging it up my legs. My mouth is dry, my pulse out of control, and as soon as my knees are free, I let them fall open, showing off my satin-wrapped dick.

Lynx’s gaze narrows in on it, and the way he can so quickly go from disinterested to predatory sets nerves loose in my gut. All I want is for him to devour me. Actually, at this point, I think it’s more of a need. This deep impulse clawing at my gut that might go wild if he doesn’t cross the room and touch me.

“Impressive,” he murmurs.

“Want a closer look?”

His nostrils flare, but his feet stay planted. I can read his indecision as clearly as if he’d spoken it out loud, and instead of it being a turn-on that he’s fighting himself, today it doesn’t hit the same way.