Chapter 13 #2
“Good,” he says. “Because I’m very attached to them. But the point stands. I can get someone to finish most of the data collection here. I can adjust my study parameters, file an amendment when I get back. If I really need to, I can frame it as a comparative survey between two protected areas.”
He’s already thinking in proposals and justifications. I can see the wheels turning.
I hold up a hand. “Stop.”
He stops.
“I need you to understand something,” I say carefully. “If you come with me—if you see what’s there, who’s there—you can’t ever share that with anyone. No publications. No photos in papers. No anonymous blog posts. Nothing.”
“I know,” he says immediately.
“I’m not finished. You can’t even hint. You can’t be the man on TV saying ‘I saw something weird’ with blurry footage. You will have to live with knowing and not telling. For a very long time. Maybe for the rest of your life.”
There’s a long pause as he meets my gaze steadily.
“I would never put you at risk like that,” he says. “Or anyone like you. You matter more than my CV. More than any paper. You’re… too important.”
The words hit with the same intensity as his earlier “I’ll miss you.”
I believe him.
I can see it in his face. In the way his brows draw down, in the earnest tightness around his mouth. Elias can be scatterbrained. He can forget to answer texts and lose track of time and trip over obvious hazards. But when he gives his word, he means it.
The air between us thickens.
Without thinking, I reach out and touch his shoulder, just above the strap of his backpack.
He looks up at me. Really looks. His pupils are wide; his lips part on a small, shaky exhale.
“I’m going to need you to sit,” he says suddenly.
“What?”
“So I can get to you properly,” he continues, cheeks flushing but not backing down. “You’re very tall, and I’m done giving my calves extra work for the sake of kissing you.”
Heat rushes through me. “Demanding,” I say.
“Accurate,” he replies.
There’s a fallen log nearby, broad and mostly dry. I move to it and sit, the wood creaking faintly under my weight. He steps between my knees without hesitation, dropping his pack to the side.
His eyes flick over my face, searching, making sure. “Okay?” he asks.
“More than,” I say.
He smiles, small and fierce, then climbs astride my lap, which, honestly, should be illegal.
He settles there like it’s the most natural thing in the world, one knee braced on either side of my thighs. His hands come up to rest on my shoulders, fingers flexing lightly in my fur as he wriggles closer to find his balance.
Everywhere he touches ignites.
His chest brushes mine. His breath fans across my mouth. His scent—warm skin, fabric, the faint sweetness of whatever soap he uses, and an unmistakable trace that’s simply Elias—wraps around me in a dizzying wave.
“You’re distracted,” he murmurs. “And not just because of Solstice.”
“I wonder why,” I say, my voice rougher than intended.
He huffs a soft laugh, then tilts his head, eyes intent. “Let me help,” he says.
He leans in and kisses me.
We’ve kissed before over the last week. Sweet kisses, stolen ones. Soft presses of mouth to mouth, lingering brushes when we part, the occasional deeper exploratory moment that left us both a little breathless and stupid.
This is different.
There’s a kind of purpose to it. A determination. Like he’s decided that the best way to anchor me in the present is to burn it into both our memories.
His lips meet mine with more pressure, more need. I respond automatically, my hands coming up to cradle his back, careful not to squeeze too hard. He makes a small sound in the back of his throat—half sigh, half pleased noise—and presses closer.
My awareness spikes.
I feel every shift of his weight, every subtle move of his body. His thighs are firm where they cradle my hips. His clothes rasp softly against my fur. My breath shortens.
He kisses like he does everything else: with unfiltered enthusiasm and a total lack of self-protection. When he pulls back, it’s only to change the angle, to breathe, to murmur my name in a way that makes my self-control go very, very thin.
“Boone,” he whispers, mouth brushing mine. “Hey. Look at me.”
“I am looking at you,” I manage.
“Good,” he says. “Because I need you to really hear this too.”
He takes one hand from my shoulder and lays it over my chest, right above my heart. His hand is small there, fingers splayed wide.
“I don’t care if you’re furred or not,” he says. “I don’t care what shape you’re standing in when we go to Yellowstone. I don’t care how weird anyone else would think this is. I know what I want.”
He shifts slightly on my lap as he speaks, and it takes everything in me not to groan at the sensation.
“And what I want,” he continues, voice dropping, “is you. All of you. The reality. The ridiculous parts. The grumpy parts. The ‘yelling at Akai in chat’ parts. The Network admin who thinks he has to hold up the entire world on his shoulders alone. The forest guardian who scares off hunters. The eight-foot cryptid who smells like cedar and ozone and makes my heart do weird gymnastics every time he looks at me like this.”
I swallow hard. “You’re too much,” I say weakly.
“Maybe for some people,” he says.
I study his eyes and immediately say, “Not for me.”
He leans in again. This time, when he kisses me, there’s a thread of desperation in it, like he’s trying to convince me with his mouth in case his words didn’t sink in.
I answer him.
I let myself answer him.
My hands slip lower along his back, pulling him closer. His fingers slide into the fur at the nape of my neck, tugging lightly. Our mouths part and meet, tease and take. His tongue traces the seam of my lips; I open to him, and the world narrows to heat and breath and the shared rhythm of wanting.
After a while, he starts to move without seeming to realize it.
A slow, unconscious shift of his hips against me. A tiny roll, like he’s seeking friction he doesn’t quite know he’s asking for. Every small motion sends a little burst of fire through my veins.
I break away, breathing hard, and rest my forehead against his. “Elias,” I say. “If you keep doing that….”
He freezes. His cheeks flush bright. “Oh,” he says. “Sorry, I just—I didn’t mean to—”
I huff a weak laugh. “Don’t apologize for being turned on. That would make me a massive hypocrite.”
He blinks, then laughs, too, nervous and thrilled all at once.
“I’ve been trying very hard,” I admit, voice low, “not to lose control around you.”
His eyes darken. “You’re not the only one.”
There’s a pause before his fingers curl in my fur. “Can we…?” he starts, then trails off, clearly struggling to find words that aren’t clinical or crude.
The trust in his gaze undoes me.
I lift one hand, covering his where it rests on my chest. “We can,” I say softly, “if we move slowly. If you’re sure. If we stay… careful.”
“I’m sure,” he says immediately.
A small nod and a smile that makes me ache follows before he kisses me again. Kissing Elias is like nothing I’ve ever experienced before, and somehow, each time is better than the last. Any tentative touches from that first time are well and truly gone.
Now, he most definitely has a road map to my mouth. He knows how to kiss my lips and lick and suck my tongue, which makes it really difficult to keep my cock tucked away, without doing himself harm and giving himself a nick from my oversized fangs.
This I could do forever.
I carefully tug him closer as he grinds against me, but he only does so for a few seconds before he eases away. I let him go, holding back my grunt of dissatisfaction. But there’s no need as Elias undoes his belt, slowly, torturously. The button and the zips follow, and I can’t look away.
I suck in a ragged breath, eager to see, to touch, to do anything that will make him feel good.
When he tugs out his cock, I all but swallow my tongue. It’s hard, the skin a slightly different shade to the rest of his body. There’s a smattering of brown hair framing his shaft. My fingers twitch.
“Touch me.”
Elias’s request has my gaze snapping to his.
“Please.”
A low groan forms deep in my chest, and I fist my hand, desperate follow his request. But what if I hurt him? Sure, his cock looks rock-hard, but the skin is soft, and the pearl of precum….
I can’t take my eyes off the bead there. What will he taste like? Feel like in my mouth?
“Please, Boone.” A plea if ever I heard one, but the sound competes with my thundering heartbeat.
I draw in a shaky breath. I hate to ask, but I feel like I should. “Do you want me to change?”
Elias reacts immediately with a snap of his hand to my larger one. The touch has me swallowing hard—his intention clear not only with the fierce look in his eyes but the not-so-gentle tug of my hand toward his cock.
“Your hand on my cock, right here, right now.” He pauses barely an inch away. “If that’s what you want?”
My nod is ridiculously quick, but it’s all he needs as he presses my hand right where we both want it.
Our groans are simultaneous.
He’s hot, hard, and heavy in my palm, and while my hand engulfs his cock, he feels perfect. The perfect size and weight. Just the thought of him inside me, my mouth, my channel that’s already slick from want, makes me shudder.
I’m careful as I move, his shaft pulsing against my skin with the back-and-forth motion.
“Boone.” My name is a gasp, a plea as he jerks his hips. “Tighter.”
I swallow even as I tighten my hold, so very careful to not squeeze too tight.
“Yes, perfect.” A whole-body shudder accompanies his words as he clings to my shoulders.
His “But I want your cock next to mine. Want to touch you, feel you too” makes me lose control.
My body answers before I have time to think.
Heat gathers low, familiar and deliberate, and I feel the subtle shift as everything settles into place.
My cock, which is usually held close, eases forward, guided by the passage behind it doing what it’s meant to do—warming, preparing, leaving that faint, reassuring slick that coats me with readiness.