Chapter 60 #2
My father will have to kill me before I’ll ever let him drag me back to Atlanta. I hate to feel so fatalistic when I had the best morning of my life, but there are now only two options for my future: Todd or death.
Any time I let my mind try to insert logic into my soul, that maybe Todd and I had nothing more than the best sex of my life this morning, my body physically rebels against that. Like, I can’t even describe it.
It’s not even an “oh, I hope this works out” kind of trepidation. It’s like, at a cellular level, my body tells me there is no future without Todd in it.
He’s still not home by 7:00 when I make my way over to his kitchen.
Standing in the doorway, I close my eyes and deeply inhale, and…yeah. I can still smell us from that morning. I remember how he felt, how he sounded, every sweetly hot and sexy second of us crossing that point of no return.
I finally shake myself out of it and rummage through the fridge for leftovers. I don’t feel like cooking, and I’m not that hungry anyway.
Mostly because without other distractions, my mind also keeps replaying what Shawn said this morning at this same kitchen table. About triggering my heat and having a hunt.
I won’t have to fake not wanting anyone but Todd to take me for the first time. Intellectually, I look forward to my future initiation process. Getting railed by a bunch of guys? Yep, sign me up.
But there’s definitely something inside me, the more I think about this, that rebels at the thought of Todd not being the first during my mating heat.
Like, to the level that I would stupidly fight someone other than him who tried to fuck me first. And this isn’t a feeling I had before this morning.
Before this morning, I eagerly anticipated my initiation—and okay, yeah, hopefully experiencing Jax’s knot—and it didn’t matter to me what order all that happened in.
This has to be a mate bond.
There isn’t another explanation for it that makes a damned bit of sense. Not a rational one.
All I can do is hope whatever they’ve come up with works the first time, because the sooner my life with Todd can truly begin, the better I’ll like it.
Todd’s still not home by the time I return to my apartment a little past 9:30 after putting the clean sheets on his bed and washing the dishes.
Yes, my nerves are starting to get the better of me the longer he’s out of contact.
I don’t want to call him and sound all whiny, especially when I know he’s probably got a lot of things on his to-do list as well as on his mind.
I don’t doubt that whatever’s going to happen, he’s as nervous about it as I am.
I sensed that from him earlier at the barn.
But come 10:30, I’m yawning and he’s still not home, so I turn on music and turn off the lights and try to get some sleep because either way, I really should be up early in the morning to get down to the barn when I’m supposed to.
Even if I’m his mate, I was serious when I told him I want to work. It’s fun to joke about being a kept mate, but I am not built to just sit around and do nothing.
I still haven’t heard his truck return when I finally drift to sleep somewhere around 11:00, and the next thing I know, it’s early morning and my alarm’s going off.
Well, hell.
I grab a shower, get dressed, and head next door after peeking around the end of the house to see if Todd’s truck is there.
It isn’t.
But he’s been home, because there’s a note awaiting me on the counter next to a fresh pot of coffee.
Sorry, I have a lot of things to do today. Love you.
That leaves me simultaneously wistful that I missed him but stupid-happy he left me a note and told me he loves me.
I’m a complicated bitch, okay?
And he made me coffee. That, I now realize, counts as a love language to me, because this bitch right here looooves coffee.
Besides, Todd buys the good coffee.
So I pour myself a bowl of cereal and, after cleaning up after myself and fixing a travel mug of coffee to take with me, I head out to the barn.
And I managed to do it without going and rolling around on Todd’s bed first, or stealing any clothes from his hamper.
That’s self-control, right?
Right.
And that’s what I’ll tell myself.
Two of the guys called in today, which puts us short-handed, but in a way it’s good because it means I’m busier than usual, and it leaves me absolutely no time to think about anything except working.
I like that it also allows me yet another chance to prove myself to my co-workers, that I can pick up the slack without complaint or needing my hand held.
I’m useful, and I’m appreciated.
I never felt either of those things growing up.
Not long before lunch, I spot Todd in the ATV heading for the barns, but he bypasses them and keeps going.
Okay, yeah, that stings just a little, but I realize he’s busy, pulled in a bunch of different directions, and probably has a bunch of stuff to do considering we’re two guys down today.
A few minutes later, Terry, the barn manager, walks up. “Hey, Todd asked me to send you up to the house for lunch.”
There’s no “tone” in the way he says it, just matter-of-factly.
“Um, okay. Thanks.” I head that way, but I’m almost to the small barn where the fun room is when Shawn whistles to me and summons me there.
My stomach immediately knots up, and not in a good way.
He doesn’t wait for me, but heads inside the fun room, and I follow.
Once I’m inside, he locks us in. We’re alone, and he hands me a plastic shaker tumbler, like what people use for protein drinks at the gym.
The contents are dark green and resemble a smoothie, but I suspect I don’t want to get a whiff of whatever it is.
I also realize the room’s been rearranged, with the frame Todd played with me on moved over and turned 180 degrees around, and another frame, which looks older than this one, positioned several feet away but facing head-to-head.
Shawn, who is fully dressed, leans against the second frame with his arms crossed over his chest and nods his head toward the tumbler in my hand.
“Bottoms up,” he says. “Shake it up first, and best to drink it as fast as you can, all at once, and don’t give yourself time to think about the taste. Drink the entire thing in one go.”
“Are… Is this happening now?” I was hoping at least for a shower first, because frankly, I’m sweaty and aromatic and not in a good way.
“No clue,” Shawn says, his body language and tone not giving me anything to go on. “I don’t even know if that will work. In fact, I’m nearly certain this first attempt won’t work. But I need time to adjust the formula. So drink up, grab a shower, and you and I will sit here and wait.”
Okay, yay, shower. “Is that why you locked the doors?”
He arches an eyebrow at me. I know he’s an omega, but he’s also older than me, has a lot more experience under his belt, and he’s the pack Alpha’s mate, which means a flash of something zaps me, not shame exactly, but close to it, I guess.
I take a deep breath, put my thumb over the cover for the mouthpiece, and give the tumbler several hard shakes.
There’s something inside it, maybe one of those metal whisk balls, and this feels beyond ridiculous, but I know I have to go with it.
Then, with Shawn carefully watching me, I take a deep breath and start chugging it.
The taste doesn’t hit me at first, but once it does it takes everything I have not to gag. It’s like drinking thick, swampy salad with such a strong, skunky herbal flavor that I have difficulty choking it down.
But I do it, shuddering as I do, because it’s just…rancid. And the lingering skunky aftertaste doesn’t help, either.
Shawn hands me a bottle of water and I greedily gulp it down. Then he hands me a thermos of something. When I open it, mint-scented steam greets me.
“Sweetened mint hot tea,” he says. “Helps get rid of the taste faster. And it’ll help settle your stomach.”
“Thanks.” I drain that. “Now what?”
He points to the shower. “Anything else you want to do in there, except jerk off, do it now. Just in case. And leave the door unlocked.”
I do as ordered, standing under the water hot as I can stand it with my mouth wide open so I can finish rinsing the remnants of that nasty concoction out from where there’s still a little between my teeth. I also let out a couple of foul-tasting belches and hope I don’t puke the stuff up.
Goddess, I hope it works this time, because I don’t honestly know if I can stomach drinking another dose of that.
We’re still alone when I emerge with a towel wrapped around my waist.
He walks over to the newer frame and pats it. “I think you know how to climb on.”
“If we don’t know if this will work, why do I have to get on that now?”
Another arched eyebrow. “Because despite our size differential, I have no desire to try to wrestle you onto it if it does work, and I damned sure don’t want to try to have to run you down on foot if you escape this room.” He points at it. “Drop the towel and get on the fucking bench, pup.”
There’s absolutely no humor in his tone. In fact, his commanding tone brooks zero bullshit.
Fear trills through me. This doesn’t feel… fun.
At all.
I walk over, drop the towel, and climb on. It’s perfectly adjusted for me, which I guess makes sense since I was the last one on it.
He quickly straps me down to it using far more straps than Todd did, and there’s no wiggle room at all.
“If anything starts feeling numb or hurting in a bad way, tell me,” he says.
“Okay.”
He starts stripping, and I’m wondering if he’s going to fuck me, but then I realize he’s not hard, so probably not.
At least, not right now.
Except neither am I, come to think of it.
“How will I know if anything’s happening?” I ask. “If it’s working?”
“Oh, you’ll be able to tell if it does.” I spot a set of MMA floor mats I didn’t notice earlier, and he sits on them, on a towel, closes his eyes, and it looks like he’s…
Doing yoga?
“Can I ask you—”
“Shh.” He even puts his finger to his lips but doesn’t open his eyes.
Over the hum of the AC, I hear him breathing, long, slow inhales and exhales, his body language relaxing.
I spot a few bottles of water, another thermos, and two more plastic tumblers on his far side.
One concoction is green, although a different shade than mine, and one of them is only half full, but the slurry inside is reddish-orange.
I can’t see a clock, and there’s no way for me to tell time because the only two windows are covered with thick, black moving pads. There’s nothing for me to do but hang out and watch Shawn.
I’ve never done yoga before, but he does some stretches, slowly and fluidly transitioning into different poses, and it’s sort of…hypnotizing.
I tip my head sideways as best I can in my restraints and stare at his ass, which is firm and lickable. He’s built differently than Todd, not nearly as large, but his lean muscles and iron thighs could probably clamp down on my head if I were trapped between them with his cock down my throat.
I don’t know how long I stare at him, but then he is suddenly in front of me, staring into my eyes, and I don’t even know when he moved.
“Pup?”
I want to respond, but my mouth’s dry, my tongue thick, my lips don’t want to work. He correctly interprets I’m thirsty and holds a water bottle for me, carefully tipping it so he doesn’t choke me.
He reaches up with his other hand and touches my throat, holds there, and I think maybe he’s taking my pulse, but his touch sends electrical zaps straight to my—
Oh.
I lick my lips and try again to speak. “Shawn?”
His gaze narrows as he studies me, then he runs his hand through my hair and I gasp, my hips involuntarily bucking against the restraints.
I can’t…think. I just can’t seem to…
He ruffles my hair again. “It’s okay, pup.
Let it happen. I added some kratom, caffeine, and some Jack the Ripper to the mix.
That’s a sativa cannabis strain. Hopefully, to amplify your anxiety but not slow you down too much.
I don’t use those for me, but after the feedback I received, I’m stacking the deck in your favor.
I’m hoping they only juice you up for a little while, and ironically, it was easier to get my hands on those than it was Adderall. ”
I mean… Words are coming from his mouth…
I squint, trying to listen as I watch him speak, but it’s hard to do that when it suddenly feels like my cock wants to rip itself off my body and try to fuck anything it can jump into.
He stands and leans over, like he’s looking underneath me. “There we go.” He ruffles my hair again and, again, my hips jerk against my restraints.
He walks over to a cart and gets a couple of things. Then I feel him down there, wrapping something around my cock and balls, and then he slathers something all over my cock.
“Sorry, that’s a little mean of me, but we can’t let you come.” I hear him strip off gloves—when did he even put those on?—and he returns to squat in front of me, eye-to-eye.
He stares into my eyes. “Pink marking paint,” he says.
I’m… not much is computing. “Wh…what?”
He grabs my head in his hands. “Say it with me. Pink.”
“P-pink.”
“Marking.”
I lick my lips. “M…mar…marking.”
“Paint.”
“P-paint.”
He slowly nods. “Pink. Marking. Paint.”
“P-pink…paint.”
“Close enough. Again. Pink paint.”
I’m trying to focus on him. “Pink p-paint.”
“All you have to do, when the time comes, is run and follow the pink paint. You stop when you get tackled or hit the clearing with the cones. Got it?”
He lost me at run. “Wh-what?”
He gently shakes my head. “Pink. Paint. Stop at cones.”
“Pink paint. Cones.”
He nods. “Okay. That’s as good as we’re going to get.” He reaches under me and tweaks my nipples, and it feels like my entire body’s on fire, but in a good way.
Is that possible?
I don’t know. All I know is I jerk against my restraints and start to whimper because I feel like if I can’t come, I’m going to die.