Chapter 7 #3
My mouth is at his throat before I even make the conscious choice.
My lips press against his hammering pulse.
My teeth ache. My gums throb. Every alpha instinct I possess narrows down to this three-inch patch of skin.
It's a specific, tunneling need. I want to leave a scar right where his neck meets his shoulder.
I want every alpha who ever looks at him to know he's mine.
"God, I want to bite you." It comes out raw and shaking. Not dirty talk. Just the absolute truth.
His hand moves to the back of my head. He doesn't push me away. He tangles his fingers in my hair and grips, pulling me closer. His neck arches, offering more.
"Do it." His fingers tighten. "Callum—do it. Make me yours."
I bite down.
My teeth sink into the curve of his neck. The skin gives, and the taste of him floods my mouth—salt and copper and something that just tastes like mine. The bond snaps taut between us like a physical lock turning. The relief is so absolute I could drop dead right here. Mine. Permanent. Forever.
Milo cries out. It's a sharp, raw sound. His back arches, his hand fisting in my hair, dragging me even closer.
I come so hard my vision whites out. The knot pulses, buried deep inside him, his blood on my tongue and his heartbeat under my teeth.
His body clenches around me, milking me dry.
Milo comes seconds later, totally untouched.
His cock pulses hot between us, thick spurts of come smearing across our bellies.
His muscles clamp down around my knot so hard I see stars.
"Callum—I'm—oh god, I'm coming—" He screams my name in a voice I never want anyone else to hear. His entire body locks tight, seizing, before releasing in a shuddering wave that leaves him gasping and boneless.
The knot isn't going anywhere for a while. I carefully roll us onto our sides. His back presses against my chest, my arm tucked under his head, my cock still locked tight inside his ass. The bite mark throbs under my lips, hot and raised. I press a gentle kiss to it, and Milo shivers.
"Are you okay?" I ask. I sound like I gargled gravel.
He lets out a shaky laugh. "I'm really, really okay."
I trace the bite mark with my thumb. The start of a permanent scar. My mark. The possessiveness surging through me is intense enough that I have to close my eyes and just breathe.
Milo's fingers find the freckles on my chest. He traces a lazy line between them. His curls are a mess against my arm, his body soft and loose, still trembling with aftershocks. I press my forehead to the back of his neck. I need to say this now. I can't start this bond on a lie.
"Milo."
"Mm."
"I need to tell you something."
He shifts, trying to turn, but the knot keeps him anchored. He cranes his neck to look at me, his expression immediately shifting to worried.
"I'm Anonymous," I say. "On KnotMe. The alpha you've been messaging. That's me."
He stares at me. His mouth opens, closes, opens again. I watch the realization hit him in stages. Confusion, understanding, then pure panic.
"You—the birthmark," he stammers. "That's how you—"
"Your collarbone. In the photo. I recognized it from the cookout last summer."
"Oh my god." A furious blush starts at his hairline and races down his face, his neck, his chest. He's turning pink everywhere. "You saw my—you read my bio?"
"I read everything." I keep my voice steady, my thumb tracing a slow circle on his hip. "Every message. Every photo. And I kept every single one, Milo. Not because I was collecting shit from a stranger. Because it was you."
"The messages, Callum. The things I said—I thought I was talking to a stranger!"
"I know."
"I told you about my stomach. I told you I wanted—oh god. Oh my god." He buries his face in his hands. His ears are bright red. He makes a sound halfway between a groan and a laugh. "That was for some random alpha! You were supposed to be anonymous!"
I watch him completely mortify himself. I weigh how much to tease him versus how much to comfort him. He needs both. He needs to know I'm not judging him.
"I'm the one whose knot is inside you right now," I point out. "I'm probably exactly who should've seen it."
"That's not—you can't just—" He sputters, laughing into his hands.
"Hey." I gently pull one of his hands away from his face and lace our fingers together.
"I'm glad it was me. I'm glad I saw those messages and not some random alpha who wouldn't know what to do with you.
You were brave in those messages. You were honest. Nothing you said made me think less of you. It just made me want you more."
He peeks at me through his fingers, one eye visible. He's still flushed, but the panic is settling. He's realizing the guy who read his dirty secrets is the same guy currently knotted inside him.
"You put that photo out there for literal strangers," I add, letting a little teasing edge into my voice.
He drops his hands and glares at me. It's devastating, considering his eyes are still wet from crying and my bite mark is bleeding on his neck. "Those are random guys on a hookup app! You're you! You're my best friend's brother who checks if I've eaten and talks to his plants!"
A low growl rumbles up from my chest. It's completely unplanned. The thought of other alphas scrolling through his profile, seeing that sweater photo, messaging him—it makes my blood run hot.
Milo's eyes go wide. "Did you just growl at me?"
"Other alphas saw that photo." I tighten my arm around his waist. "Other alphas messaged you."
"That's the whole point of the app, Callum."
"I don't like it."
"You—you're literally inside me right now. You bit me. I think you won."
I bury my face in his neck and breathe him in until the growl fades into a hum. He's right. I won. I won the first day I met him, and I've just been too stubborn to claim him until tonight.
His voice drops, the laughter fading. "How long?"
"How long what?"
"How long have you been wanting this?"
I'm quiet for a second. My thumb strokes the edge of the bite mark.
"Since the first time you came to Ava's apartment," I tell him. "You had flour on your cheek and you brought cookies and you smiled at me. I stood in the kitchen holding a plate and thought, I'm fucked. And I've been fucked ever since."
He's quiet for a long time. His heartbeat thuds steadily against my chest. He brings his hand down to cover mine where it rests on his hip, lacing our fingers together.
"Me too," he says, his voice small but incredibly sure. "Since then. Maybe longer."
I squeeze him tighter and kiss his mark, closing my eyes. I don't say anything else. I'm not a man who's good with words anyway. I just hold him, he lets me, and the knot keeps us anchored.
The knot finally pops a while later. I slide out, and Milo makes a soft, protesting noise that almost makes me climb right back on top of him.
I grab a soft gray t-shirt from my dresser—three sizes too big for him—and pull it over his head.
Seeing Milo in my shirt, in my bed, wearing my mark, makes my chest feel too tight.
He rolls onto his side and pulls the sheets up. He reaches out and gently traces the edge of a leaf on the fern sitting on my nightstand.
"What's this one called?" His voice is thick and sleepy.
My apartment doesn't smell like just me anymore. It smells like us—pine and sugar and sex, a scent that only exists when we're together. I never want it to go back to the way it was.
"He doesn't have a name yet," I say.
His mouth curves. "Gerald." He strokes the leaf one more time. "He looks like a Gerald."
I smile. "Gerald it is."
I climb back into bed. He immediately tucks himself against my chest, his curls brushing my collarbone.
The bite mark peeks out above the collar of my shirt, red and raw and mine.
I wrap my arm around him, listening to him breathe, and realize this is the first time in years this place actually feels like home.