One Last Chance (Venusverse #1)

8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Dayton

The buzzing of the AC unit is driving me insane, and so is the clicking of my keyboard. With a groan, I rub my temples and stare at the endless sea of black numbers and letters standing out against the bright white screen in front of me. It’s Monday and barely past lunch and I’m already feeling like a zombie working mid-week overtime.

I roll my eyes back when an email notification pops up in the corner of my screen. It’s from the office supervisor, Anthony. Great. I already sent the work he needed, didn’t I?

‘Dayton, could you please check the charts on page 14? I think you used the data from last month instead of this one by accident.’

“Fuck,” I mutter, quickly opening the last file I sent him. I did mess up. Again.

Head in my hands, I lean over my keyboard. This is the second time today. Usually, Anthony would end the email with a sharp ‘need it back ASAP’, but today he didn’t, because he knows that the only time I mess up like this is when I’m in heat. I hate this shit. My brain is all mushy and scattered, my head hurts, and my body feels tired but jittery at the same time.

I lean back in the chair and look around my little area. Get your shit together . I can sort myself out at home. For now, there’s still a few hours of work to get through, so I pop in another headache pill, sip my cold coffee, nervously shift in my seat and get back to it.

By the time I arrive home, I’m completely drained and ready to turn off my adult brain. Before I do, I water my plants, otherwise I would put it away for yet another day and I could never neglect my babies like that.

Finally, I take my clothes off, slip into a comfortable lounge set—complete with sweats and a soft top—and get myself a glass of wine before collapsing on the couch.

With a deep sigh, I slowly crank my head back. I thought sitting down would help with the vertigo, but it’s hitting me particularly hard today. My body feels hot and uncomfortable. Sticky in an extra gross way.

I don’t remember Ma ever struggling like this…but again, she always had her other half beside her. Whether it’s even actually scientifically proven or just some placebo effect of what people keep perpetuating, having a partner when in rut or heat is supposed to be soothing. Relieving the shitty symptoms that come with this hormonal mess. And the not-so-shitty ones…like actually being able to elevate being so damn horny with the help of another human being, not just your hand.

I close my eyes. I’ve managed to not think about it pretty well. I’ve managed to convince myself what happened with Rowland was nothing but yet another failure. Just another date that didn’t work out, no big deal.

So why do I still feel so hurt when I think about it?

And I can’t even tell why exactly I’m hurt. We saw each other two times. He had no real obligation to tell me about his kids. But I wish he did. Why do I care so much?

When my phone starts vibrating on the coffee table in front of me, I nearly spill my wine. Jerking forward a little too quickly for my hurting head, I groan before opening my eyes wide as I look at the screen.

This is some weird cosmic coincidence if I’ve ever seen one. Rowland.

I sit on my couch, frozen, staring at his name while the phone buzzes in my hand. All the nausea and weird anxiety that’s been bubbling up inside of me the entire day drops to my stomach, and I almost need to puke. Sharply, I place the glass on the table.

He’s really calling me. I figured he wouldn’t. Why would he when I ran off again, albeit this time for a slightly more valid reason?

I don’t even know if the ringing takes as long as it feels in my dazed state of mind, so that when it stops, I almost gasp. “Fuck!” I curse to myself.

I want to talk to him. I want to hear what he has to say. His persistence is charming if anything, and I…I definitely feel like being persuaded right now.

Without a second thought, I call back. My hand is sweating as I press the phone against my ear and close my eyes. Relax, I tell myself and whistle in a low, quiet tone while the phone rings, trying to settle myself.

Is it a good idea to talk to this man who clearly has some sort of weird effect on me while I’m in heat? Probably not.

Should I leave this to when my head is clearer? Most likely.

Might that cause me to miss this chance—whatever this is—and make me regret it down the line?

Before I can continue with my contemplation, he accepts the call. For a few seconds which feel like hours, there’s silence. Breath catching, torturous silence.

“Hi,” I start, attempting to gain some sort of control over this whole thing. “I just missed your call. My phone was in the other room and I was busy,” I say and immediately worry about how confident my lie really was.

“That’s all right,” Rowland says, sounding as charming as I remember it. His voice is a little lower, quieter, which could just be a poor signal. Still, hearing it vibrate in my ear sends some sort of response through my body. With no sound reason, my brain tricks me into smelling a hint of that scent of his—delicious figs and comforting grasses blowing in the wind.

You are so screwed, you damn idiot…

Rowland clears his throat when I don’t say anything right away. “I umm…I’m obviously calling you with my tail between my legs to say sorry. For how things went last time.” He is saying all the right things, in the genuine tone I would have expected. “I would’ve liked to explain all this to you in person, but I suppose this will have to do.”

When I hear that little nervous chuckle, my entire body heats again.

Suddenly, my head doesn’t really hurt that much anymore. The pressure is gone, replaced by pressure somewhere else. Trying to pay full attention to what he’s saying and being mature about it all, I sink deeper into the comfortable, soft back rest of my couch and press my legs together, trying to ignore the fact I’m getting hard just by hearing another man’s voice. Rowland’s voice.

“Go on,” I say.

“I know that having children was something I should’ve been more upfront about from the start. I knew it could be a deal breaker, which is why I selfishly and, honestly cowardly, hid it from you.”

Hell, now I feel bad. He sounds genuinely distraught about it.

I can’t help but jump in. “It wasn’t you having kids, Rowland. It was you not telling me about it at all,” I mutter. That's all I can say, considering how confused I still am about my feelings about it. A part of me doesn’t care. A part of me is angry, or…disappointed?

“I know . I know .” He sighs in frustration, blowing air into the phone, and once again, I can sense his pheromones around me. My stupid, hormonal body is doing it to me, yet I don’t really want it to stop. “You need to trust me when I say I feel horrible about it. I know this isn’t an excuse, but when I told myself that would be my last time, my last chance at giving this a shot, I wanted it to work. I wanted to get to know you, to see if we can build something before I hurl all my baggage at you. Not that— My children aren’t baggage to me, of course. They mean everything to me. I just let a desperate, lonely side of me take the lead and when I realized how much I enjoyed being around you, I couldn’t back out fast enough. And then Mina…” He pauses for a moment, exhaling tiredly.

“Look, I know we were already more than open with each other about things. There is just more drama that comes with me than I wanted you to see. I didn’t want you to know all that crap, for you to look at me differently. If I told you I was a father, and then explained how well some of that part of my life is going right now, what would’ve you think about me?” He laughs in a bitter, self-deprecating way in the end, trailing into silence.

I could see those gorgeous, sad eyes of his escaping my gaze in my mind, clear as day.

Gulping, I press my hand against my crotch, trying to push my erection down and produce at least some relief so that I can focus on the heavy shit Rowland is opening up about. I order myself to focus, to get my shit together. Now.

“I think we already bonded well enough over the less-than-stellar parts of our lives. I wouldn’t have judged you,” I say. I’m the last person who can judge someone at this stage of my life.

He makes some sort of scoff in the background. I hear a phone ringing somewhere in the distance. Is he still in his office?

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m— It’s just that the business with my ex is a bit more volatile right now than I’d like. It’s this entire mess of her finding this beta-rights extremist husband, and she is going so far down that whole rabbit hole that she’s leading our daughter toward a really bad path. I didn’t want you to deal with all that. I wanted to be a pleasant company. The man I feel like I am beyond all this crap happening to me. Though I guess you are dealing with it now, since I’m telling you… I’m sorry.”

I’m almost angry at myself because I genuinely can’t find it in me to be mad at him. When that girl appeared out of nowhere, amid me being genuinely into someone for the first time in ages, it was like having a bucket of ice-cold water spilled on my head.

I thought I knew where we stood, but one little puzzle piece of unknown threw me back. “I could have dealt with it a little better. I was just surprised,” I finally speak, hoping to set his mind at ease. “I didn’t react the best and probably made you worry more than necessary.”

“Trust me, neither did I after you left,” Rowland says with a chuckle.

A stupid smile is on my face again.

Damn it. His voice is so…

“Well, that sounded like a genuine laugh. Good. Being all dejected does not fit you at all, Mr. Hall ,” I say, letting my horny self off the leash just a bit. I regret it right away, of course , but at least it clears the air a bit.

He laughs once more and goes quiet for a moment.

I resist the urge to run my hand over my crotch again while simultaneously praying for him to speak more so that I can get that sweet, sweet wave of pleasure running through me when I hear his voice.

“I know this might seem like I’m asking for a lot, considering how all our meetings seem to end, but…would you give a do-over a chance?” he asks, sounding insecurely, endearingly hopeful.

My heart gallops; my body burns brighter. I can sense my own pheromones in the air with how turned on I'm getting. The idea of seeing him again? Talking again? Just being in his company? I barely hold in a contented groan.

“Sometime this week, maybe?” he continues, almost like he’s enticing me.

“No,” I blurt, my mouth quicker than my brain. Widening my eyes, I sit up sharply.

“Oh, that…that’s fine, really, it’s up you to whether or not—”

“No,” I interrupt him in panic. Fuck, fuck, fuck. That’s not what I meant! “I only meant to say that I’m completely swamped this week, and I promised to work on something with my parents on the weekend.” I make up the lie perfectly on the spot. Even make it sound completely believable with all the adrenaline rushing through my veins.

I hear him let out a clear sigh of relief. “I see.”

Crisis averted . I put my hand over my face, leaning back again.

I can’t believe I’m so panicked about him sensing my pheromones because of my heat. This is no way to live, Day , I hear in my mind, the inner voice somewhat morphing into the one of Ma. She’s the one always telling me to love myself after all. But this is something she can’t understand. She hasn’t experienced rejection like I have, and she doesn’t have to live with my handicap.

It’s stupid, really—even if I delay seeing Rowland after my heat, he will have a taste of my scent, eventually. Sooner or later, it will happen, and none of this will matter, because the end will be my fault. Still…I want this to last a little longer.

“The week after. I’ll message you with the plans at the beginning of next week.”

“Sounds good,” he says, a smile reflecting in his tone. “Let’s do something more casual. In public, but not as intense of a place as our first date.”

“I like that idea,” I say playfully, smirking to myself. In public, nothing can go too wrong. And in an establishment for regular people, not the upper echelon, I can be more myself. “Somewhere where you don’t have to wear a suit, hm? Not that you don’t look good in it. Anyway, let’s give it another shot, like you said.”

Stop imagining him without a suit. Stop thinking about his firm muscles and charming smile.

I desperately press my legs together and squeeze my cock through my pants. The background symphony of his laughter is like a drug to me. The decency to not jerk off while being on the phone with someone I barely know, without them knowing, is the only thing stopping me at this point.

“Thank you for giving it a chance, Dayton. Giving me a chance.” His voice softens to something deliciously honeyed and tender. “I haven’t really felt like fighting for someone like this in a while, as corny as that sounds.”

“It doesn’t,” I mutter, using my utmost restraint to not let him know what I’m doing right now. Who the fuck gets like this from a phone call? This successful, mature man with a family would probably never text me back if he knew.

“Good.”

Unsure of how much more I can take, I draw in a deep breath to steady my voice. “I’ll get back to you. Enjoy your week. I’ll look forward to another, hopefully more successful meeting. Third time’s the charm, right?”

“We shall see. Goodbye, Dayton.”

The gentle way he says my name at the end is the last push I need. As soon as the low tone announcing the end of the call sounds, I drop the phone next to me and slip my hand under the band of my sweats. I’m wet and painfully hard. Finally able to let out the frustrated moans, I sink my head back into the couch and open my mouth, stroking myself.

My hormones must be out of whack. I don’t get like this, even when in heat, just by hearing the pretty voice of some handsome alpha. But Rowland isn’t just some alpha, is he? In a way that I can’t understand—in a way that seeps into my bones—he is something else. Maybe just wishful thinking of a desperate, lonely guy.

Whatever it is, Rowland is doing things to me. Glorious, intoxicating things. As I picture him on top of me, holding me, filling me, I let myself be consumed by the pleasure, and for a little while, all my worries disappear. All that’s left is the blissful state of joy and acceptance, as my scent merges with his.

I reach climax with the sensation of freshly squeezed figs running down my face and fresh, tall grass brushing softly against my cheek as I imagine his hand would, were this not just a lustful dream.

Could it ever become a reality?