Chapter 20
Lucien
It’s been a long-ass day. Things between Branson and me teeter precariously between being completely comfortable and very, very uncomfortable.
It seems that when I’m clothed, the fact that he marked me when I explicitly asked him not to is a bloody big deal.
It’s a life-changing commitment that’s been forced on me.
When I’m not actively being upset about that, I’m upset about the fact that I can’t seem to stand being more than a couple of yards away from him.
And when that isn’t bothering me, it takes all my concentration not to tell him that my mark still hurts in the hope that he’ll offer to heal it with his venom again.
The only thing stopping me—other than my pride, which I admit is a little shaky right now—is the fact that I know the fucking bond will glow white if I do because, much as I hate to admit it, Branson’s ministrations do seem to have healed me.
My mark feels perfectly fine. It doesn’t hurt at all. It doesn’t sting. It doesn’t burn. It just feels like a warm, sexy reminder that Branson wanted me so much he sank his teeth into me and made me his forever.
It’s the worst.
I swear to God that I cannot catch a break on this goddamn getaway.
“Would you like me to sleep on the floor again?” Branson asks when we’re ready for bed.
He’s wearing flannel pajama pants and no shirt, and that’s seriously impacting my ability to think.
On the one hand, I’m absolutely positive he deserves a lot more than one night on the floor for what he’s done to me.
There’s the matter of our entire future—setting precedents and all that to consider.
Like it or not, I’m in this relationship for the rest of my life now, and I think it’s important that I start as I mean to continue.
He shouldn’t have bitten me. It’s a very serious violation of my consent, and I need to make sure he knows that, so he doesn’t ever think about doing anything like this again.
I need to stand firm. I can’t just roll over and let him do whatever he likes because he makes me come my face off with nothing more than a flick of his tongue.
“Yes, I would,” I say, tilting my head back a lot, so I’m almost able to look down my nose at him.
He puts a towel on the floor, spreading it out carefully, and lies down on it without a word of complaint. It’s a little upsetting. What’s even more upsetting is that I can’t help noticing that I gravitate to the very edge of the bed to be as close to him as possible.
I turn off the light, but don’t fall asleep. I can’t. I toss and turn, getting angrier and angrier. Eventually, I turn the light back on and sit up. Branson pushes himself up on one elbow, eyes bleary enough to lead me to believe he had no trouble falling asleep.
“Are you okay, Lucy? Do you need anything?”
“I’m upset,” I tell him, tight-lipped. “And I think it’s best for me to let you know that. I don’t think it’s a good idea to start this”—I wave between us dismissively—“whatever you’d call it…with me hiding my feelings from you.”
Branson sits up properly, turning to face me and crossing his legs. “I don’t ever want you to hide your feelings from me,” he says sincerely.
“Well.” I sniff. “Then you should know I’m very disappointed in you for biting me.
I specifically asked you not to. I wasn’t unclear at all.
I never wanted to be mated.” The bond flickers, pale and almost pure white.
I quickly amend. “I mean, not since I was little. I used to daydream about it when I was younger, but who doesn’t?
I haven’t so much as thought about it since I was a teen.
I like being on my own, and I like working, and I’m sure as hell not going to give that up because we’re mated. ”
Several things happen to Branson’s face as I speak. He blinks rapidly and looks down. His lips press together and his chin quivers slightly.
When he looks up at me, the striations in his eyes flicker dimly and his lashes are damp.
I’m stunned silent.
It’s not that alphas don’t ever cry. They’re human beings with a full range of emotions. Of course they cry. It’s just that I’ve never seen one cry in real life, and I’ve certainly never been the reason for it happening.
The bond throbs deeply, emitting soft mournful midnight pastels that make it hard for me breathe.
“I’m sorry, Lucy.” Branson looks up at me, and his eyes well and spill over.
“I’ve let you down. I knew better, and I should have done better.
I should have been better.” He reaches out as though he means to touch me, but he changes his mind and withdraws his hand, dropping it back into his lap.
“I’m going to make it up to you, I swear.
I don’t care how long it takes, or what I have to do. I’ll make this right.”
I hate whatever is happening with the bond. It’s horrible. A terrible wavering ache. It’s the pain of Branson being upset, and it’s unbearable.
“Get some sleep, alpha,” I suggest, voice tight.
He lies down with a soft sigh. I move this way and that under the covers, though I try not to. Why the fuck is it bothering me so much that he’s unhappy? I’m in the right here. He was wrong to bite me, and I have every right to tell him so.
Fuck this fucking bond.
As if it hasn’t already ruined my life, it’s also hellbent on making me feel guilty.
After what feels like an age, I yank the pillow out from under my head and drop it on the floor for Branson to use.
“Thanks,” he whispers.
He stills quickly, no doubt exhausted from dealing with me all day. His breathing quickly deepens and lengthens, letting me know that sleep has found him.
I shove a pillow from the other side of the bed under my head and try to lie still. It’s impossible, though, because every time Branson inhales, I hear a sweet sigh. A gentle inward whistle that sounds like wind rushing through autumn leaves.
I know what it means, and it’s awful—Branson is scenting the pillow I gave him. He’s picking up my scent in a dead sleep, and he doesn’t even know he’s doing it.
Fool that I am, I find it so romantic that it’s taking everything I have not to climb onto him on the floor again.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” I say when it becomes clear that I’m never going to fall asleep without him in bed with me. “Just get in here.”
He climbs into bed wordlessly and wraps his body around mine. I not only let him, but I scoot my butt back and wriggle it against his cock. He tucks me so close to him that I can’t tell where I end and he starts.
“Can’t you sleep, Lucy?” he murmurs softly.
“No,” I reply.
“Are you anxious?” His face is pressed into my hair, so I don’t need to answer aloud. I simply give a small nod. “Would you like me to calm you?”
Part of me wants to demand to know how he’s going to do it, but the rest of me is feeling so clingy, so needy, so fucking happy that he’s close to me, that I can’t trust myself to ask questions. “Yes, please.”
A heavy hand strokes my arm from my shoulder all the way down to my fingertips and back up again.
He doesn’t stop when he returns to my shoulder.
His hand tracks lightly up my neck. He finds my mark like it’s something he knows well.
Something that’s always been there. Something that belongs to him.
Fingertips dance over raised skin, flooding me with a deep sense of well-being.
An abnormal sense of well-being. Well-being that I don’t usually experience except when I’m completely alone in my apartment.
When the day is over and work is done. When there’s nothing left on my to-do list, and no one to talk to.
My head grows heavy and sinks deeply into the pillow. I realize I was tensing without knowing I was doing it. I was holding my head up more than I needed to, carrying a weight I wasn’t aware of.
Branson strokes my mark again and exhales on it. A hot breath that makes one side of my body erupt into goosebumps. His lips move against my neck, a dusting of skin on skin. A whisper I feel through the bond. A slow vibration that causes my eyelids to slide shut.
He kisses my neck lightly, lips sealing around my mark, as he alternates between licking and sucking.
The pleasure is instant and everywhere. Before I have time to react to it, Branson growls in my ear.
It’s a low, steady sound. A deep, dark sound that comes from his chest and rebounds through me.
It enters my body through my mark and races through every strand of my DNA.
It finds each strand he altered when he bit me.
Invisible chains twist and double helices tie themselves into knots.
Every cell in my body relaxes.
“Sleep, my little omega,” he murmurs.
My brain switches off like a light.