Chapter 24 Dorian
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Dorian
The concrete is cold through my jeans. The porch light is too bright. Everything feels tilted, like the world refuses to line up straight.
My head is buzzing. My chest hurts in a way alcohol doesn’t fix, no matter how hard I try.
Her scent hits me even from here. Warm. Sweet. Ripe in a way that makes my stomach clench, and my throat burn. It’s not just her. It’s them.
Jude and Ryker are all over her, woven into her skin, pressed into her hair, tucked behind her ears. I can smell the arousal riding underneath it, rich and unmistakable.
It makes my vision blur harder than the whiskey does.
“Dorian?” she says. Careful. Concerned. Like she’s approaching a wounded animal.
I try to smile. It comes out crooked. “Hey,” I say, and it slurs. I hear it.
So does she.
She steps closer, eyes scanning my face, my posture, the way I’m braced on my hands like I might tip over. “Are you drunk?”
I huff a weak laugh. “No. I’m… enthusiastically medicated.”
Her mouth presses into a thin line. She crouches in front of me, close enough that her scent wraps around my head like a vise. “Dorian.”
I reach out without thinking, my fingers brushing her wrist. She’s warm. Real. My hand shakes. “You came home.”
“I live here,” she says softly.
“Yeah.” I swallow. “Right. Forgot.”
She doesn’t pull away when I touch her. That almost breaks me.
“You smell different,” I murmur. The words tumble out loose and unguarded. “Like… like trouble. Like you had a good night.”
Her breath catches. “You shouldn’t be sniffing me.”
“I can’t help it.” I close my eyes for a second. The world sways. “You smell… god, Norah. You smell so fucking needy.”
Her hand comes up to my shoulder, firm this time. “Okay. That’s enough. You are drunk.”
I open my eyes and look at her. Really look. Her hair is a mess. Her lips are swollen. Her eyes are bright in a way that makes my chest cave in.
“I am drunk,” I agree. “But I’m not stupid.”
She exhales slowly. “Why are you here?”
The question lands heavy. My throat tightens. I try to speak, and nothing comes out at first. I laugh instead, sharp and ugly. “Because my mom forgot my name today.”
Norah stills.
“She looked at me,” I continue, words slipping over each other, “and she smiled real polite and said, ‘Sir, visiting hours are almost over.’ I told the nurse I was her son,” I say. “And the nurse looked at me like she felt sorry for me. Which is worse than looking annoyed, by the way. I hate pity.”
Norah’s voice drops. “Why would she think you were just visiting? She doesn’t recognize the house?”
“She’s not home,” I say quietly. “She’s at the hospital. Had surgery last night.”
Her face softens completely. “Oh, Dorian. Is that why you—”
My eyes burn. I blink hard, but it doesn’t help. “She asked for my dad.”
Norah’s hand tightens on my shoulder.
“I told her he was busy,” I say. “Which is a lie. He’s not busy.”
My voice cracks. I laugh again, but it falls apart halfway through. “I left the hospital, and I drank. And I kept drinking. And then I realized I had nowhere else to go.”
She leans in and wraps her arms around me before I can brace for it.
The contact does something violent to my chest. I bury my face against her shoulder without meaning to. The smell of her makes my head spin worse. Tears come anyway, hot and humiliating.
“I keep fucking everything up,” I choke. “I’m so bad at this. At life. At loving people. I mess it all up, and then I act surprised when I’m alone.”
Her hand slides up my back, slow, soothing. “You are not a fuck up.”
I pull back just enough to look at her. My vision swims. “Don’t lie to me. Not tonight.”
She cups my face, thumbs brushing my cheeks, wiping at the wetness like she isn’t afraid of it. “You’re hurting. That doesn’t make you a failure.”
I snort weakly. “You always say the nice thing.”
She helps me to my feet. I wobble, and she braces me, arm around my waist. Her body presses into mine for a second too long, and my body reacts even now, even like this. I hate myself for it.
Inside the house, everything is too quiet. The lights are low. It smells like her. Just her.
She sits me at the kitchen table and pushes a glass of water into my hands. “Drink.”
I do. It sloshes, some spilling down my chin. She grabs a towel and wipes it away without comment.
“I’m not messing up your night?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “Not at all.”
I look at her over the rim of the glass. I can tell she’s lying. Not maliciously. Like she thinks the lie might cushion the truth.
“I fucked us up, didn’t I?” I say quietly.
Her breath stutters. “Dorian…”
“I did,” I press on. “I see it now. I pushed and I ran and I got scared and I acted like an asshole. And now you smell like them.”
Her cheeks flush. “That’s not fair.”
“I know,” I say. “Nothing about me is.”
She kneels in front of me again, searching my face. “Is there someone I should call? Your father? A friend?”
A bitter laugh rips out of me. “My father is a bastard.”
Her brows knit together. “What happened?”
“He remarried,” I say. “Younger. Flashier. Likes boats and charity galas.”
Norah’s lips press together.
“He didn’t even wait a year after I moved away for him to introduce me to his new lover,” I add.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispers.
“Maybe I was always doomed to be like him,” I say. “Selfish. Avoidant. Running when things get hard.”
She shakes her head fiercely. “You’re not him.”
I lean forward, my forehead almost touching hers. Her scent floods me again. Sweet. Heated. Full of things she’s pretending she doesn’t want.
“I never stopped loving you,” I say. The words come out thick and raw. “I’m so tired of fighting it.”
She closes her eyes. “You’re drunk.”
“I know exactly what I’m saying,” I insist.
She helps me up again, guiding me toward her bedroom. Each step feels like wading through water.
“You’re beautiful,” I murmur.
She glances back, eyes shining. “Dorian…”
“I mean it,” I say. “And I’m glad you’re moving on from me. Even if it kills me. I never deserved you anyway.”
She stops at the bedroom door. Turns. Cups my face again. Her hands are trembling now, too.
“You deserved love,” she says. “You still do. And I’m so sorry for what’s going on with your father. I’m sorry for your dad, and that you never felt like you could tell me. I hate that you feel alone. I hate it.”
“It’s okay. I deserve it,” I say, but my words come out all slurred.
She helps me onto the bed. I sink into the mattress, exhaustion dragging me under fast. She pulls my shoes off, tugs a blanket over me.
Her movements are careful, intimate in a way that hurts worse than rejection.
She sits on the edge of the bed. For a moment, I think she’s crying too.
“I think,” she says softly, voice barely there, “I’ll always love you.”
I try to answer. I try to tell her I love her, too. That I always have. That I always will.
My mouth won’t cooperate. The room spins. Her face blurs.
The last thing I feel is her hand brushing my hair back before everything fades.
I wake to warmth.
Not just warmth. Weight. Pressure. The soft, unmistakable curve of a body pressed along my thigh, her knee hooked over me like she belongs there.
For half a second, I think I’m still drunk, still lost in whatever dream my brain decided to torture me with.
Then I breathe in.
Norah.
Her scent is everywhere. Clean sleep and soft heat, and that underlying ripe note that makes my chest tighten.
She’s sprawled half over me, one thigh thrown across mine, her cheek pressed against my chest. Her curls spill over my shoulder, brushing my jaw.
I don’t move at first. I’m afraid that if I do, she’ll disappear.
Slowly, I lift my hand and thread my fingers into her hair. I trace one curl, letting it wrap around my finger. My chest aches with it.
She shifts slightly, her lips parting as she exhales. Her mouth brushes my skin.
God.
I drag my knuckles down her cheek, taking in the shape of her face like I might lose it again. Her lashes are long. Her nose still tilts just a little. Her mouth is still the prettiest thing I have ever seen.
She stirs again, tongue flicking out in her sleep.
And then she licks my finger. It’s a slow and curious caress.
A quiet laugh slips out of me before I can stop it. My thumb strokes her lower lip, feeling the warmth there. She hums softly, nuzzling into my hand like she knows exactly what she’s doing.
Her eyes blink open.
The second awareness hits her, she freezes.
“Oh my god,” she breathes, voice wrecked. “Dorian.” She scrambles back like she has been burned, hands flying to her mouth, cheeks blazing. “I’m so sorry. I was half asleep. I didn’t mean to—”
I catch her wrist gently. “Do you remember,” I ask, voice low and rough, “when we used to wake up like this?”
She stills. Her eyes soften, but there’s something guarded there, too. “You were rarely there when I woke up.”
The words land harder than a slap.
Guilt crashes through me, sharp and immediate. I release her wrist and drag a hand through my hair. “Yeah,” I say quietly. “I know.”
She watches me, searching my face like she’s trying to decide if I’m worth believing today.
I reach out again, slower this time, tracing the curve of her neck. She shivers under the touch. She’s wearing an oversized cotton T-shirt, and it’s slipping off one shoulder.
My mind fills in everything underneath it without permission. I imagine peeling it off her. The sounds she would make. The way her skin would feel under my mouth.
Desire crawls up my throat.
When I look up, she’s staring at me.
“Dorian,” she says, husky. Just my name, but it lands like an invitation.
My fingers slide to her throat, resting over her pulse. It jumps under my touch. “Do you remember,” I murmur, “how good it felt when I bit you right here?”
Her breath catches. I feel it against my skin.
Something restless coils in me. A low hum under my ribs. There’s a buzzing in her skin, too. I can smell it, that sweet spike that makes my head spin.
She moves first.
She flips me onto my back and climbs into my lap in one smooth motion, knees on either side of my hips, hands braced on my chest. Her mouth crashes into mine before I can say a word.
The kiss is everything. Soft and frantic and familiar all at once. Her lips move against mine like they remember exactly what to do.
I groan into her mouth, fingers digging into her hips. She rocks forward without thinking, and I feel it everywhere.
I kiss her deeper, slower, tasting her, breathing her in. She makes a small sound that wrecks me completely.
Then my phone alarm starts buzzing somewhere in the room.
Reality crashes in.
We pull apart, breathing hard, foreheads touching. Her eyes are dark with want. Mine probably are, too.
“I know you want to move on,” I say, forcing the words out, “and I’m trying to respect that. I just… I’m struggling.”
She lifts a hand and traces my lips, my nose, my jaw. It’s slow and tender and fucking torture. “I know.”
Her scent spikes again, and it hits me like a punch.
This is part of why I feel like I am spiraling. Being this close to her does something to my control.
She leans in and kisses my neck, nuzzling my ear, brushing her nose along my jaw.
“Fuck,” I growl. The word slips out before I can stop it.
My hands tighten on her waist. My head spins.
“I know I have no right to ask this,” I say, voice strained, “but are you going into heat?”
She freezes. That snaps her right out of it.
She pulls back, climbs off my lap, and sits on the edge of the bed, arms crossed. “No. I’m on meds. I’m due to see Miss Thea, but no. I don’t think so.”
The hurt in her voice hits me immediately. “Norah, I didn’t mean—”
“I know what you meant,” she says quietly.
I swing my legs off the bed and stand, giving her space. My head clears just enough to realize she is wearing tiny shorts.
Her freckled legs go on forever. She looks unreal in the morning light.
She hands me my pair of jeans without looking at me. Then her eyes drop anyway.
I see it happen. Her gaze catches on my morning bulge. Her cheeks turn pink instantly as she looks away.
I tug on my jeans and button my shirt, trying to pretend my body’s not reacting to every small movement she makes.
“Can I get you anything?” she asks, shifting from foot to foot.
“I have to head home,” I say. “Then the hospital. Then I need to check in with the construction site.”
She nods, worrying her bottom lip. “Is this going to be weird? With… everything I’m trying to figure out with Ryker and Jude?”
Jealousy flares sharp and ugly. I swallow it down. “It might be,” I admit. “But I actually want you to be happy. Despite what you think.”
She looks up at me, surprised.
“You deserve the best,” I continue. “Someone who shows up. Someone who stays. Someone who chooses you every day.” I lean in and kiss her cheek. “Thanks for letting me crash.”
I’m almost to the door when she says my name.
I turn.
She’s right there, close enough that I can smell her again. I don’t think. I just grab her and kiss her.
She melts instantly, body pressing into mine like it has been waiting. I lift her legs, and she wraps them around my waist without hesitation. I back us into the wall, kissing her like I’m starving.
When we pull apart, her scent is everywhere.
“Do you remember what you said last night?” she asks softly.
“I remember everything,” I say.
I kiss her again. I curse under my breath as my mouth finds her neck.
“I hope things work out with them,” I say against her skin. “But if they don’t… I want another chance.” I cup her cheek, study her face, and kiss her forehead. “Forever. Someday.”
Her breath shudders at my familiar promise. It’s been so long since either of us has uttered those words. “Dorian.”
I gather myself and step back before I lose my mind completely.
Then I leave.