29. Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Dacre
There’s a problem.
All the guests from the culinary club make their way to the kitchen, including Emma. Only her scent is growing stronger, slowly. Minute by minute. Second by second.
I noticed it first last night when I lay in bed, pillows between us, and woke up from being dead asleep. The hours that passed afterward were maddening.
Emma slept soundly next to me with her fluffy eye mask, aside from some wild turning that only stopped when she nudged the pillow wall away and placed her hand on my arm.
“How you doing, boss?” Luther smirks, prepping his station.
“Never better,” I lie, averting my eyes from her. The last thing I want is Luther and Verity catching any hint of us being scent-matches. They’ve been trying to get dirt on me for years.
Luckily, we have an instructor coming for the workshop today, and I don’t need to teach anything. I don’t think I can be close to her, let alone go back to our shared suite. I’ll have to settle for sleeping somewhere else on the grounds.
Emma’s laughter carries through the high ceilings of the kitchen. There are two sets of stairs on either end of the room, with ovens on the bottom and most of the counters and prep stations on the top.
Her scent runs through me, and I grip the table. Oh, fuck. It’s as if she’s calling for me, begging me to run my tongue over her skin and bury myself inside her.
Emma is ovulating.
It’s happened before, but this . . . feels different. It must have to do with our proximity. We’ve been spending all this time together; our bodies know each other. Her body is naturally calling for me, sending out signals she can’t control.
My head pounds, heat rushes under my skin, and my muscles tighten. The urge to run over and snatch her is so strong that I grab the nearest food item and start chopping. I can get through this. It’s just one weekend.
“I thought we were having some competition today?” Luther asks, furrowing a bushy brow in my direction.
“You’ll compete. I’m chopping.”
I’ve already finished one, and I grab another. “Could you get me more?”
“Sure . . . Like one or two?”
“The whole bin.” I point my knife at the ingredients table. “Bring the entire thing of onions and drop it right here.”
“Are you skipping the lesson?”
“I’m chopping. You’re following instructions. Go get my onions.”
“Got it. Makes total sense that you want to cut onions throughout the entire class. Want me to bring the garlic, too?” He drags his feet on his way to the ingredients table.
“Yes. Bring that bin, too.”
I focus on the blade and the smooth cuts and cracks on the cutting board. Is my hand shaking? Fuck. Fuck. Don’t look at her. Emma doesn’t exist today. I don’t feel anything.
Her scent wafts in closer, and I drop my knife.
I need her like a drug. Like air. As if I’ve been starved for weeks and she’s the first plate of food I’ve seen.
Only this . . . doesn’t have anything to do with her blood.
My brain won’t stop churning through visions of setting her on the counter, pulling down her panties, and tasting her.
It’s so intense that I close my eyes and lay my head across the coolness of my cutting board.
The onion smell helps, and I’m pretty sure I’m getting little bits in my hair. I’m a grown man, dammit.
“Here’s your . . . Are you okay?” Luther asks.
“I’m feeling a little sick . . . but I can push through.”
My hands are still shaking as I push them through my hair. She’s on the other end of the room, perfectly oblivious to this torment. Good. This is my issue, not hers.
There has to be a way to prevent myself from wanting to impregnate her every time she ovulates.
“You sure you should be chopping food?”
“This is for practice.”
“Sure, use the entire stash of onions and garlic for your practice.”
I keep my head down and focus on my onions. I should just go. But if my grandfather knows I skipped training, he’ll flip out.
Would that be worse than taking Emma right here, right now, in front of all these people?
Every couple of minutes, I check the clock.
The instructor should be here any minute.
She’s likely late, arriving in her private jet from Vviveren City.
I haven’t heard it land yet. That means I’m in for the longest day of my life.
I need wetness on my lips, something to drink and to taste that will be a good distraction.
“I need to talk to you,” Emma’s voice sounds behind me, and I stop breathing.
“Can’t. Chopping.”
“Well, I can. The oven is so high-tech that I can’t figure out how to open it. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“Ask Luther.” I can’t believe the words coming from my mouth, but my options are limited.
I can’t even look at her. I try to step back a few feet, something to take the edge off the burning urge that ensues when I take a breath.
“Are you going to ignore me?”
Her scent . . . It’s so sweet. It’s so . . .
I could make this good for her. It could benefit both of us. I get to taste her, regaining my sanity, and I make her orgasm over and over on my tongue until she forgets her own name. Full transaction. Nothing else.
I’ll make her feel good.
She taps my shoulder, and my vision blurs as I spin around. I’ve pulled her closer. My hand is on her waist.
“What are you doing?” Those big, beautiful eyes widen.
Her scent flares in my head, and I drag my knuckles along her jaw.
“Are you okay?” Her voice feels far away in my head.
Just one time. We do this one time, and then—
I drop her hand and go for the door. I need to lock myself up, protect her from me.
“Where are you going?” she calls after me.
I’ve gotten my sense back by the time I reach the room and head straight for a cold shower, because what the fuck was that?
It’s never been this bad before. Emma ovulating can take the air from the room and all the thoughts from my head now?
The water is the only thing that masks the need to search for her.
I have to keep her far away from me.