Chapter 13
THIRTEEN
MAX
I did as he’d instructed, but only because I wanted to. Not because he’d said so.
In fact, I showered again, taking my sweet-ass time scrubbing every inch of myself clean before donning my coziest pair of cotton pajamas, this time featuring frolicking ghosts in a flower garden.
Because today could use some fucking whimsy.
Fresh and ready for whatever life threw at me next, I turned to Jeffrey, who sat at the foot of my bed, ears forward and ready to pounce if anyone dared enter my room without his approval. “Okay. We should go out there.”
He glared at me and nestled in.
Great. I was on my own for emotional support. With a deep breath, I opened my bedroom door and strode into the living room.
And stopped short.
The Masked Man was in a T-shirt. A T-shirt.
He still wore the mask, but his hoodie was gone, tossed over the arm of the sofa like it belonged. Something warm sizzled in my chest.
His muscles were defined. A large tattoo snaked down one arm, but I’d have to study it up close to really tell what it was. The rest of his skin was olive-toned and tan, and the way the shirt stretched across his shoulders practically made me drool.
I felt like a Victorian-era alpha seeing an omega’s ankles for the first time. I wasn’t so sure I wouldn’t have to go clean myself up again.
The way he grunted and sweated as he wiped white paste over the hole in the wall didn’t help. At all. Neither did the way he let a curse slip out under his breath when some of the spackle dripped onto the floor, low and harsh.
It made me think of… things. Like the way he’d sounded with his finger in my mouth, teeth nipping at my neck, for one.
Great. I’d need to open more windows.
“Please stop making noises,” I begged, the words flying out of my mouth before I could help it.
He whipped around to look at me, almost as if he’d been caught like some kind of home improvement bandit. “I know what I’m doing, I swear. Wait, what did you say?”
“Nothing,” I replied quickly, folding my hands behind my back. “Wait, what did you say?”
He merely raised an eyebrow and smirked. “You first, sweetheart. Something about making noises and saying please.”
Ugh. He was so going to pay for what that did to me later.
I bit my lip. “The grunting. It’s… weird. Er, gross. It’s gross. Please stop.”
He scanned me from head to toe, his gaze a heavy weight low in my belly. “Gross? Are you sure about that?”
“Very sure.”
With a confidence that set my teeth on edge, he lifted the bottom hem of his shirt to wipe the sweat off his neck and set the tub of spackle down. “Sorry about that. I’ll try to be less gross from now on.”
Holy. Fucking. Shit.
I may have stared. What was I supposed to do? The alpha was half-naked in my living room!
He was thick in all the places I wasn’t. I wanted to bury my face between his pecs and inhale. And he was covered in a fine layer of dark chest hair, with a prominent happy-trail tugging my eyes down, down, down…
The band of his underwear sat higher than his jeans. What noises would he make if I snapped it with my teeth? How about if I pushed them down and stuck my tongue out, wrapping my lips around—
“It’s an octopus.”
His words snapped me out of my trance. “I beg your pardon?”
He looked like the cat that got the cream. Letting his shirt fall back into place, he said, “My tattoo. That’s what you were staring at, right? It’s an octopus.”
Right. “An octopus?”
“Mmhmm. It starts on my back, so people mostly only see the tentacles.”
Holding up his arm, he gestured to the thick, coiled appendages wrapped around his bicep and forearm, ending in a playful curl at his wrist.
It was rather suggestive, actually, but that might’ve just been my current mental state.
“Oh.” I cleared my throat. “It’s cool. I like it. I’ve never seen a tattoo like that before.”
I walked over to inspect it more closely. Shaking off the heat haze, I lifted his arm to study the lines of ink. My old glasses weren’t quite as sharp, so I leaned down, my breath shifting the soft hair on his arm.
It really was magnificent work. The suckers were detailed, and the whole piece was shaded such that it looked three-dimensional. If I blinked, I could almost imagine the tentacles writhing up and down his arm, pulsating as they squeezed.
Realizing I’d basically latched on to breathe all over him again, I dropped his arm.
“Um, it’s very nice.”
His chest rose and fell rapidly, and he simply nodded at me.
“I’m gonna go sit over there while you finish,” I said, spinning on my heel to find a spot on the couch as far away from him as possible.
“Probably for the best,” he wheezed.
This was… confusing. Everything was confusing. No matter how good my intentions, I couldn’t seem to help but migrate closer to him. It was like I needed to be tied down, or else I’d come to find myself perched in his lap.
That wouldn’t be so bad, my omega purred. Especially if his pants go away.
I closed my eyes and said a prayer for my sanity.
When I opened them, my gaze caught on his knife, back on the coffee table in front of me. He must’ve set it there for my sake.
I didn’t reach for it.
“All done for now,” he said, wiping his neck again. How badly did that mask make his face itch? “Once it dries, I’ll sand it down and paint. Maybe a couple of days.”
“Okay,” I said. “Thank you. You didn’t have to do that.”
“Yes, I did,” he answered.
Avoiding his gaze, my eye caught on what was actually on his T-shirt, instead of under it. “Is that an orca whale?”
He looked down to check. “It is.”
Stunned delight buoyed me. Oh, this was fantastic. He wore one of those Y2K T-shirts featuring a fantasy scene of a realistic orca leaping from the water in front of a bright, full moon. Under the water, a baby orca swam with a sea turtle.
A grin stretched my cheeks wide. “You like whales. And octopuses. Octopi?”
“Octopodes,” he mumbled under his breath, refusing to look at me. “And they’re actually big dolphins, you know.”
If I pulled his mask off right now, I’d bet a million bucks he’d be bright red. “You’re a nerd,” I said, a bit of awe in my voice. “Oh my God, this is better than Christmas.”
He scowled at me. It would’ve been frightening, except I just realized there were cute little clownfish swimming around near his belly button. “So, what? Did you think I sat around in a dark basement all day, staring at computer monitors? I have hobbies.”
“Computer monitors? No. Maybe sniffing dirty underwear,” I teased.
He choked. “Different hobbies,” he said with a wheezing cough.
I pictured him knitting in the bushes outside my window and laughed so hard I toppled sideways on the sofa. Wiping the tears from my eyes, I asked, “Do you collect dolphin posters? Or paint miniature models?” My excitement grew. “Oh, do you have a train room?”
He grumbled something low and stalked over to the couch. “Scoot over.”
I sat up to give him room and tucked his sweatshirt between us.
To keep him farther away, of course. I didn’t want to snuggle with it. Or him.
“You have no self-preservation skills, you know that, right?”
Was he actually pouting? “What, are you going to murder me with a crochet hook?” I scrunched up my nose. “Actually, for real, please don’t. The knife would be quicker.”
He chuckled, and tipped his head back to rest on the sofa cushion. The mask pulled up the tiniest bit to reveal his Adam’s apple.
I wanted to lick it.
“I’ve never met anyone like you,” he said, with enough fondness to make my omega preen. “Most people value their life a bit more.”
“Hey!” I smacked a hand against his chest. “I value my life plenty.” My hand lingered on his shirt, though. He was warm. I could curl up right there and breathe him in while he held my leg open just enough to—
“Max,” he said, voice breaking.
I blinked. When had I crawled so close? His eyelashes were long and dark, framing eyes that weren’t entirely blue, after all. A smattering of green flecks surrounded his pupils, like tiny floating islands in an azure sea.
Beautiful.
But in the daylight, I could see the fatigue they carried. He looked tired and worn. Was that because of the suppressants? Were they wearing him down?
He tracked the rabbit-fast pulse at my neck, and his hands wrapped around my waist. Whether to push me away or pull me closer, I couldn’t tell.
Fucking hell, I really was practically in the man’s lap. “Sorry. So sorry,” I repeated, shuffling so my back was to the armrest, feet between us.
He let me go like we were glued together, reluctant to separate. “Don’t apologize. This isn’t your fault.”
Right. I guess it was time for the talk.
“So. You were right. My heat symptoms started this morning,” I began.
He nodded. That part was obvious.
“I talked to my doctor, and she said it might be a full heat, or it might fizzle out, but I shouldn’t spend it alone.”
Another nod. “How do you feel?”
I shrugged. “I’m not usually like this. I’ve never—I mean, before everything happened, my heats were normal.
I didn’t react this way to anyone. But that night with the stimulants, everything happened so fast, and they were so strong.
I had no control over what my body was doing.
It feels like that’s happening again. You show up, and all of a sudden I’m…
” I shook my head. “I think they broke me,” I finished with a whisper.
I blamed my heat emotions for the brutal honesty. Or maybe there was something about being in this together that made me feel at ease.
He stiffened. “You’re not broken. You’re…
” he shook his head and didn’t finish his sentence.
Clasping his hands together, he leaned forward and stared at the floor.
“If I could make this easier for you, I would. We don’t—” his breath hitched.
“We don’t have to do this. It’s not obligatory.
I’ll drive you to the clinic right now if you ask me to. ”
“And your rut? What would you do about that?”
He was silent for a few moments. “I’d figure it out. How you spend your heat is your choice, Max.”
My choice.