12. Sven
Twelve
Sven
I notice how unusually quiet my girl is, and when I glance over, I see she’s out with her head tipped against the window.
I reach over and ease her to my side. Esme relaxes into me without waking, one hand fisted in my shirt.
Gary the whale is facedown in the footwell.
My omega still smells of funnel cake and fair smoke and under that, the warm sweet thing that’s all her.
I drive the rest of the way with one hand on the wheel, my other arm around her shoulder.
When I park outside her building, I don’t wake her.
I just sit there in the dark, with my woman asleep against me, her breath slow and even, her beautiful face soft, and I think about how a few weeks ago I didn’t even know she existed and now I can’t imagine a version of my life where I’d ever let her go. Fuck, the way she said, take me home…
I’m gonna lose my fucking mind if I don’t have her soon!
I get out carefully, come around, and lift Esme out of the car. She weighs fucking nothing. She stirs, mumbles something, turns her face into my chest, and goes back under. I chuckle and kiss the top of her hair. Too damn cute.
I carry her to her door, juggle to dig her keys out of her bag, and let us in.
Her apartment’s small, warm and… full of her. There’s a fern on the windowsill. Kids’ drawings on the fridge. Books fucking everywhere, stacked on every surface, a reading corner. I stand in the middle of Esme’s space holding her, and my lips twitch because I feel like a giant in a dollhouse.
I carry her to her bedroom and lay her on the bed. She doesn’t move, just snuggles into the mattress. I take off her boots and pull the blanket around her shoulders. She sighs and burrows into the pillow, her hand finally uncurling from my shirt, like even asleep she doesn’t want to let go.
I stand over her for a long time. I want to climb into her human-sized queen bed and wrap myself around her soft, warm body.
Inhale her scent. Nuzzle her skin. Lick her all over.
Tear off her clothes and bury myself deep enough to…
Fuck, I want this girl so bad my hands shake.
I want to peel off my clothes, slide in behind her, curl my body around her and stay.
Wake up with her and do it all over again every fucking night for the rest of my damn life.
Every instinct in me is telling me to get in that bed.
She’s right there. She’s mine. She wouldn’t even fucking mind.
But I make myself step back. But fuck, I waited this long, I can wait a little longer.
I barely get any sleep. Getting used to that shit. I lie in my big, quiet house, fucking aching, staring at the ceiling, telling myself soon… between rounds of beating my dick raw. Pickle gives up on me around three and goes to sleep in the other room. At least I’ll see my girl tomorrow…
* * *
But Esme’s not at work the next day. I know it the second I walk in.
Something feels off. And when I walk to her desk, I see there’s no coat over her chair, no coffee on her desk, the kids’ wing is dark and quiet.
She’s probably just running late. It was a long night.
She was tired. But by ten she’s still not here, and I’ve walked the floor twice for no fucking reason and snapped at everyone I encountered.
Now I’m standing in my office, gripping the edge of my chair, trying not to do something insane like call the police station and nearest hospitals.
I open my inbox for the third time in twenty minutes and… there it fucking is.
From: Esme Williams
Subject: Out today
I’m so sorry, Sven. I’m not feeling well. Nothing bad! Probably just too many churros, lol. I’m going to take the rest of the week and sleep it off. Sorry for the short notice. I’ll have the summer numbers ready by Monday!
My stomach drops. Esme’s sick, and she’s taking the rest of the fucking week?! Alone in a city where she barely knows anyone? No family, no mother to dote over her, no one to bring her anything or check if she’s still fucking breathing… sick and by herself for a goddamn week. Not on my damn watch.
Too many churros, my ass.
My mate doesn’t do ‘alone’. Not while I’m breathing.
I’m on the move, halfway across the building in a few strides. Thinking about what to bring Esme. About whether she has a thermometer. About where to stop on my way to grab that electrolyte shit, ginger ale, crackers. And why the fuck didn’t she call me?!
I bulldoze out the front doors into the cold with my keys in my fist and my chest tight, my woman sick and alone and fucking joking about churros so I don’t fucking worry. I peel off the parking lot.