Chapter 19 #2
It's been a week of cuddling on the couch, though.
And things are starting to get worse for me.
I'm surrounded by his scent; it clings to me.
Even when I'm away from him, I can still feel him tugging at me.
The cuddling is getting cuddlier every night, and I want to kiss him.
I want to touch him. I want everything, all of it. Worry be damned, I want him.
The worst part of it is that I know I can have him. All it would take is one single kiss, and I could pull him into my lap, and then—
“Brooks,” he whispers, keeping his eyes firmly on the television.
“Hmm?”
“What are you thinking about?” he asks, still whispering. “Right now?”
I've never lied to him and I won't start now. “You.”
He doesn't say anything for a while, but then I notice the wiggling. It starts with his feet, rubbing them together and wriggling his toes, then his thigh tenses and he moves his knee side to side, then he starts picking at his fingernails.
“What's the matter?” I ask, smoothing my hand down his side. “Are you alright?”
“Yeah,” he starts, then frowns. “No. I don't know.” He huffs and turns onto his back, resting his head on my thigh. “I can feel you.”
I nod. “Yes. I can feel you, too.”
He rolls his eyes. “No. I mean, I can feel kind of what you're feeling. Like, what you're thinking about.”
I nod again. We have a bond; obviously we can feel each other.
He huffs again. “You're thinking about fucking.”
I smile. “Not exactly fucking, but I am thinking about you and that I want you.”
He blushes. “Well, you're driving me crazy with it.”
“I can try to think about something else?” I offer, but his face falls at the suggestion.
“No, I like that you're thinking about me.”
I smile again, chuckling. “Of course, you do.”
“No,” he rushes, “that's not what I mean. I mean, it is, but I like that you still want me.”
“I always want you, Laz. Always.”
“You can have me.”
I take a breath before I say or do something rash. “We have to wait.”
“For the doctors to sign off on it,” Laz says dramatically. “I know. But I'm aching. Aren't you aching, Brooks?”
“Yes. But I won't put you at risk.”
He blushes again. “They told me I needed to fully abstain from anything that might trigger a heat response until they're sure there's no R left in my system.”
I nod. “I know. That's why I can't have you. Yet.” I reach down to tip his chin up so that he can see the dark promise in my eyes. “Yet, Lazarus.”
He nods, pulling in a shaky breath. “But,” he nibbles at his bottom lip, “I could have you.”
“No.”
“There's no sense in both of us being miserable.”
“Nope.”
“We don't even have to take off any clothes.”
Nothing I want to do involves either of us keeping our clothes on. “Pardon?”
“I'm miserable, Brooks. I can feel how tight you are. I can smell your need. Let me make it better. I want to make you feel better. If you feel better, I'll feel better.”
“Laz...”
“Listen, don't take this the wrong way or anything, but I'm not ready for sex yet. I know I'm not. I'm not even ready for either of us to be naked. But I want you, and I want to make you feel better. I'm your Omega now. You're my Valla, and I can feel what you're feeling. Let me make it better.”
I look into his eyes and can feel any argument for common sense crumble on my tongue like sugar. “You won't feel better.”
“Trust me, Brooks,” he says, smirking up at me. “I'll feel better.”
“I need to kiss you. I don't know what you want to do or how far we're able to take things, but I need to kiss you.”
He bites his lip again. “You haven't kissed me since we've been here. I didn't think you'd want to.”
I can hear the doubt in his voice, loud and clear, and I hate it. I hate that I made him feel that way. “I always want to,” I tell him fiercely. “I was trying to be a good Valla and take care of you the way you deserve to be taken care of.”
He nods. “You were. You are.”
Then he sits up and climbs onto my lap, straddling my thighs and facing me so that we're nose to nose.
I don't need any more permission than that, and I want this too much to be careful.
I grip the back of his neck and jerk his mouth to mine, relishing the feel of his soft lips for about a second before I lick my tongue inside his mouth.
He tastes the way he always has. Sweet. So sweet.
No matter when I kiss Laz, no matter what time of day, he's always so sweet, so ripe and ready to be devoured, which is exactly what I do until he's breathless and gasping against my lips.
“Wait,” he mumbles. “Wait.”
Frustration makes me snarl, but I pull back from the kiss. I don't stop touching him, though. My hands stay wrapped around his ass, just where they belong. “I'm sorry.”
“Don't be,” he whispers. “But it was getting intense, and I panicked a little. I'm sorry.”
“You don't have anything to be sorry for,” I say and start to slide him over while guilt burns inside me.
“What are you doing?” he asks, clinging to me.
“We have to stop.”
“No,” he argues. “You have to stop. I don't have to do anything.”
“Pardon?”
“I get to make you feel better, remember?” He scoots back and off of my knees, slinking onto the floor between them. “You feel better, so I'll feel better, remember?”
“This is a terrible idea.”
He smirks up at me, snaking his fingers up to undo the button on my jeans. “It's a great idea.”
His fingers are cool and firm when he wraps them around me, and my head falls back in pleasure. He starts stroking slowly, gently, until the muscles in my thighs are quivering with the need for more.
My head snaps up when I feel his tongue swipe across the weeping head. He holds my gaze while he licks over it again. And again. I groan as all he does is give me those slow, easy strokes and flicks of his tongue.
“Laz,” I growl. “Baby. You're killing me.”
“What? You don't like this?” he teases, moving his lips against the head, letting me feel the words.
“I like it,” I tell him, combing my fingers through his tangled hair. “But fuck.”
“You need more, don't you?” He covers my tip with his mouth, sucking once and popping back off.
I grunt as my hips come up off the couch.
He smiles up at me, mischief making his eyes gleam. “How about this? Is this good?”
I grunt again as he tightens his grip and starts to stroke my cock harder, faster. The steady rhythm working me hard toward the release I can almost taste.
“Yes,” I growl. “Good.”
“What about this?” He opens his mouth wide, tongue outstretched for every drop that leaks from me as his steady pace drives me toward an early finish.
“Baby,” I gasp. “Yes.”
He keeps at it, jerking me off, licking up every collected drop until my hips are jerking and my fist is tight in his hair.
He keeps his eyes trained on mine the entire time, not even closing them when my release rushes from me without warning.
He holds the result of my pleasure on his tongue for a few seconds so I get a good look at the contrast between milky white and dark pink before swallowing it down.
“Better?” he asks, licking his lips.
I nod and let my head drop back onto the couch. “Maybe. Probably.”
“The answer is yes,” he chuckles.