Chapter 1 #3
The words hurt more than they should. "You aren't assuming. Put your head on my thighs, Bram, if that makes you feel safer."
He slowly rests his head against my thighs.
The weight is familiar. Painfully familiar.
His fur is warm beneath my fingers. I run one hand gently through his hair.
His eyes drift closed and he purrs, like he's in heaven. I love when my good boy is enjoying himself, when he lets me know how much he loves the care and attention I give him.
Something inside me unclenches. I hate how quickly my body remembers him. I hate how much calmer I feel with his head in my lap. I hate that I have spent months telling myself I didn't need this. And one second was enough to shatter that lie.
I need him. I need to be his mommy, his mommy domme, the woman for whom his eyes light up.
I need to know that there's someone who loves me for being successful and accomplished, who isn't envious or scared of standing by a woman who is exceptional in every way.
Beautiful, smart, powerful, successful. Even though I'm a siren, and my species is supposed to seduce men with our voices, I haven't been very successful at it.
I guess I was born without any siren powers except my beautiful body.
Yet, I'm treated like a seductress by the men I work with, who look at me like I got every position and promotion by sleeping with someone.
"Hold still," I tell Bram, making my voice gentle.
"Yes, Mommy."
My fingers stop.
He opens his eyes immediately. "Sorry."
I stare down at him. He looks mortified. There are faint pink spots on his skin that's hidden by fur.
"I didn't mean to call you that. You're not my Mommy anymore." The words are quiet.
His eyes lower.
I don't say anything, letting cold silence penetrate the bubble of comfort that we'd begun to create.
I pick up the antiseptic. "This is going to sting."
He nods and closes his eyes again.
I clean the first scrape along his forearm.
He flinches.
"Shhhh. It's okay. Mommy's here. Breathe."
"I'm breathing."
"Not properly."
A shaky laugh escapes him.
"You still do that."
"Do what?"
"Tell me when I'm breathing wrong."
His expression changes.
I continue cleaning the wound.
"Lift your arm."
He obeys instantly, even enthusiastically.
"Turn slightly."
He turns.
"Good. Bend forward for me."
He obeys, giving me better access to the bruising along his shoulder.
I work carefully, checking every mark.
"Does this hurt? Tell me when something hurts."
"I don't want to complain."
"Bram."
His eyes meet mine. "You are allowed to feel pain."
He swallows. "But I'm supposed to be strong."
"Not with Mommy."
I press the cloth gently against another bruise.
He whimpers.
The sound goes straight through me.
My breath catches.
That tiny, vulnerable sound satisfies something deep inside me, something I have spent months trying not to acknowledge. Not because I want him hurting, but because his instinctive response reminds me of the trust we once shared. He still lets me close enough to hear the things he doesn't say.
I smooth my fingers over his hair. "Easy. You're safe."
His eyes flutter closed. A tear slips toward his temple. I wipe it away.
"This doesn't mean anything," I tell him.
He moans. "I know."
"I mean it."
"I know."
"You can't come back into my life because I cleaned a few bruises. You can't expect us to start again."
His eyes open. "I don't."
The answer is so immediate that it hurts.
He looks at me with those watery brown eyes. "I know I'm not your little boy anymore."
I don't speak.
"I don't expect you to take me back," he continues. "I don't expect anything from you."
His voice cracks. "I just... I was happy to see you."
My chest tightens.
He looks away. "And when you came over, I felt safe."
I close my eyes.
Damn him.
Damn his gentle heart.
Damn the way he can make me feel like the most important person in the world without asking me for anything.
After a long silence, he speaks again.
"Can I ask you something?"
"What?"
He hesitates.
"Can I hug you?"
My heart stops.
"Why?"
He gives me a small, embarrassed smile.
"Because it makes me feel safer. And I want to."
I should say no.
I should remember my boundaries. I should remember the apartment. I should remember the months of loneliness and the reason I ended us.
Instead, I open my arms.
Bram moves carefully, as though afraid one wrong movement will make me change my mind.
Then his enormous body folds around me. His arms circle my waist.
His face presses against my stomach. And I wrap my arms around his head.
His bear ears flatten beneath my palms. He trembles once, then he exhales.
The sound is almost a sigh.
I stroke his hair. His body relaxes. And for the first time in months, I feel the tension leave my own.
I hold him tighter.
Just for a moment.
Just until he stops shaking.
Just until his breathing becomes steady.
I tell myself it means nothing.
But my fingers keep moving through his fur.
And somewhere beneath all the walls I built around my heart, something that has been aching for months whispers the truth.
I never stopped missing my good boy.