Chapter 16
Brody’s hand enveloped his with a firmness that didn’t squeeze, that didn’t demand, that was simply there, and Ren felt a tingling sensation crawl up his forearm like tiny electric shocks that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.
He swallowed. He didn’t know what to do with his fingers—whether to interlace them more or leave them loose, whether to squeeze, whether to acknowledge what that touch was doing to him or pretend his pulse hadn’t quickened until it was pounding in his temples.
Brody closed the door behind them and let go of his hand to go to the closet. The room was just as Ren remembered it from the last time, though now he saw it with fresh eyes. And the scent of raisins and nuts permeated everything, overwhelming his senses until his teeth ached.
Brody pulled a black t-shirt out of the drawer and handed it to him.
“For sleeping.”
Ren took it. The fabric was soft from wear, frayed at the edges of the collar.
He brought it to his face without thinking, an automatic gesture his body executed before his brain could veto it, and the concentrated scent of Brody hit him with such intensity that the heat traveled from his chest to his stomach and further down.
He clenched his thighs. His lips went dry.
“Bathroom?”
Brody pointed to the door to the left of the closet.
Ren went in, closed the door, leaned against it, and breathed through his mouth for a few seconds until the world stopped pulsing around him.
He took off the t-shirt he was wearing, his pants, his underwear.
He put on Brody’s t-shirt, which fell to his thighs like a short dress, the cotton brushing against his skin with an intimacy that shouldn’t have sent a shiver down his spine, but did.
He looked at himself in the mirror. The blue eyes returned an expression he didn’t recognize: something open, something vulnerable, something that looked dangerously like anticipation.
He went out.
Brody was already in bed. He’d taken off everything but his black boxers and had one arm bent under his head. His straight, dark hair against the pillow. His gray eyes, rimmed with red, followed his every move as Ren circled the bed to the opposite side and slipped under the covers.
The bed was huge, and yet Ren felt there wasn’t enough room.
He lay on his back, stiff as a board, with his arms pressed against his body and his gaze fixed on the ceiling.
Every muscle in his back was tense. His shoulders brushed against the pillowcase and felt too tense, too high, too aware of the mass of heat occupying the other side of the mattress.
A few seconds passed. Maybe a minute. The silence was heavy.
Then Brody’s hand slid under the covers.
It wasn’t a quick or stealthy movement: Ren felt him approach, the alpha’s knuckles brushing the sheet, searching.
Brody’s fingers found his and closed around them.
Ren let a little air escape between his lips.
He hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath.
“What made you change your mind?”
Brody’s voice was low, hoarse from the sleep that hadn’t yet come. He wasn’t looking at him. They both stared at the ceiling as if the answers were written up there.
Ren turned his head on the pillow. Brody’s profile was a sharp line cut against the darkness: the square jaw, the straight nose, the mouth that had told him cruel things and honest things in equal measure.
“You were right.”
Brody turned his head toward him.
“My life isn’t what it used to be,” Ren’s fingers tightened around Brody’s. “And there’s nothing wrong with that. It can’t get any worse, so it should only get better, always. I’ve decided to give this thing that’s happening to us a chance.”
Brody didn’t respond right away. His gray eyes slowly traced Ren’s face, as if memorizing every feature in the dim light seeping through the edge of the curtains. Ren watched the alpha’s throat move as he swallowed.
“Can I kiss you?”
Ren licked his lips.
“Yes.”
Brody rolled onto his side, and his free hand found Ren’s cheek.
His palm was rough, warm, enormous against his cheekbone.
He kissed him slowly. Brody’s lips were soft and dry, pressing against Ren’s with a restraint that vibrated at the edges like something about to break.
Ren opened his mouth and Brody’s taste flooded his tongue, and heat exploded behind his ribs.
Brody pulled back an inch. His breath brushed against Ren’s lips.
“Can I touch you?”
Ren’s pulse was pounding in his neck.
“Yes.”
Brody’s hand slid down from his cheek to his neck, the curve of his shoulder, his bare arm beneath the T-shirt sleeve, and every inch it traveled left a trail of fire that seared beneath Ren’s skin down to his bones.
Brody’s fingers found the hem of the T-shirt at his thigh and stopped there, on the fabric, without crossing over.
“Can I touch…?”
“If you ask my permission for one more thing, I’m getting up and leaving this room.”
The silence lasted half a second.
Brody moved.
The mattress sank as Brody positioned himself on top of him, and Ren stopped thinking.
Brody’s hands pulled his t-shirt up over his thighs, his waist, his ribs, with an urgency that no longer asked, but took, demanded.
Brody’s lips found his neck, and Ren arched his back, and the sound that came from his throat was unlike anything he’d ever made before: something broken, something animal, something that came from a place so deep it had no name.
Brody’s fingers traced his chest, and Ren clung to his shoulders as if the world were sinking beneath him. The alpha’s skin burned beneath his palms. The muscles in his back tensed and relaxed with every movement, and Ren felt them shift beneath his fingers like steel cables wrapped in silk.
Brody pulled his t-shirt over his head, and the cold air kissed his skin a second before Brody’s body replaced it, chest to chest, and Ren moaned against his mouth because the contact was too much, it was everything; it was what his body had been begging for days while his mind denied it.
The bond pulsed between them like a third heart.
Ren felt it at every point where his skin touched Brody’s: an undercurrent that liquefied his thoughts and turned his bones to jelly.
Brody kissed his collarbone, the hollow between his ribs, his hipbone, and every kiss was an invisible mark that burned long after his lips moved on to the next spot.
Ren tangled his fingers in Brody’s black hair and pulled.
Brody growled against his stomach, and the vibration ran down his entire spine.
The scent of raisins and walnuts was so thick that Ren breathed it in as if it were solid, something that filled his lungs and weighed on his chest like warm water.
When Brody entered him, Ren buried his face in his neck and breathed.
The scent. The skin. The heat. The pressure.
All at once, all too much, all necessary.
Brody moved slowly at first, with a deliberateness that made his arms tremble, his biceps tense on either side of Ren’s head, his hair falling over his forehead, his gray eyes fixed on Ren’s with an intensity that burned his retinas.
Ren wrapped his legs around Brody’s waist, and Brody lost what remained of his restraint.
The rhythm changed. It became deep, urgent, and inevitable.
Ren felt every thrust reverberate at the base of his skull and in the tips of his fingers, and in that spot behind his sternum where the bond pulsed like an open wound that someone was finally suturing.
Brody whispered things against Ren’s neck that he couldn’t process, words that blended with the sounds he himself was making: gasps, ragged breaths, his name on Brody’s lips like a prayer or a curse.
The first orgasm caught him off guard, and Ren screamed into Brody’s shoulder, his teeth digging into his skin, his whole body contracting around him.
Brody didn’t stop. He didn’t slow down. He lifted Ren’s hips and changed the angle, and Ren saw stars behind his tightly shut eyelids.
The second came hot on the heels of the first, a wave that didn’t end before the next one began.
Ren no longer controlled his own hands, which were scratching Brody’s back, leaving red lines on the pale skin; nor his own voice, which was saying things he didn’t hear; nor his own body, which was opening and tensing and surrendering in a cycle that had no end.
Brody knotted him. The pressure was immediate, a fullness that stole his breath and made him shut his eyes tight.
Brody’s knot expanded inside him, and every nerve in his body ignited at once.
Ren pressed his thighs against Brody’s hips, and his back arched off the bed, and the third orgasm split him in two.
“Look at me.”
Brody’s voice. Hoarse. Broken.
Ren opened his eyes. Brody’s gray irises were almost black, his pupils dilated, the red rim more visible than ever. His mouth was slightly open, his lips swollen, and sweat was gluing his hair to his forehead. It was the most beautiful thing Ren had ever seen, and it hurt to look at him.
The knot throbbed. Ren came again with a sound that was no longer a moan but a dry sob, without tears, a spasm that shook his entire body while his mind emptied like an overturned glass. Brody pressed his forehead against Ren’s, and they breathed the same air.
The fifth orgasm—or the sixth, Ren had lost count—came like a slow wave that washed over his body from head to toe. His muscles stopped responding. His arms fell limply at his sides, without strength. His eyelids felt heavy as if someone had placed lead weights on them.
Brody brushed the hair from his forehead with a trembling hand.