Chapter Twenty-Five
Isley
Why was his bed moving?
Isley’s eyelids fluttered open as he mashed his lips together, sucking back the drool he could feel at the corner of his lips.
Everything registered at once. The damp patch was not on his pillow.
He wasn’t in bed, but lying on a body. A warm, familiar smelling body at that.
He cracked his eyelids open further—in his living room.
On the couch with his legs wrapped around Laken’s hips, with no top on.
It took a further couple of seconds for the throbbing at his temples to register and the sour wine taste in his mouth to say exactly what had happened.
What have I done?
Went unconscious on Laken when you were getting hot and heavy.
I did not… oh heck, I did.
Yep. Let’s hope you haven’t spoiled everything. Humans are so silly when they drink.
I… Isley didn’t have it in him to argue when his body was a smorgasbord of ailments. Pins and needles woke legs that went numb from sleeping crossed legged, his feet pressed into Laken’s back. His feet had to be digging into Laken’s lower back, and it had to be uncomfortable.
Why didn’t he put me down? Clairvoyance wasn’t a skill he’d ever developed, so Isley was in a dilemma. Pretend to remember nothing? Go straight to the apology and gloss over the whole passing out episode? Neither seemed great.
He squinted at the clock on the wall in the kitchen after carefully easing up off Laken. Six am. Oh dear. It hadn’t been that late when Laken arrived, which meant he’d been asleep on him for hours.
His bladder chose then to remind him he’d drunk an entire bottle of wine on his own.
He shoved his fist into his mouth to prevent a groan of distress as his legs protested at him working to untangle himself and not wake Laken.
However, the change of position pressed his groin against Laken’s and he stifled a moan not from the pressure on his bladder, but to his morning wood.
The man beneath him didn’t stir as Isley eyed the sleep rumpled Laken, seeing the damp patch where he’d drooled in his sleep, warily unsure how to dismount without falling on his ass with how stiff his legs were.
It’s not the only thing that’s stiff.
He blushed hotly and shoved that aside because grinding on Laken when he was sleeping was so not happening.
Fiddlesticks. Why did I drink so much? Oh, that’s right, I was avoiding thinking about the pesky animal who has caused a shit storm in my personal life.
Hey, I didn’t pass out cold after being all grabby hands. That was all you.
“You’re thinking far too loudly,” Laken rumbled sleepily.
Isley tensed and met Laken’s gorgeous, sleepy eyed gaze with some amount of trepidation at how they’d left things—not so much left, more like gave Laken no choice when he passed out cold in his arms.
The man watching him through hooded eyes looked younger.
Carefree in the unguarded moment. Mesmerized, Isley stared, all his pesky emotions making themselves known, his bodily discomforts not at the forefront of his mind.
How could it be when he itched to touch.
To cup Laken’s cheeks and brush a soft kiss over those plump, tempting lips that were softer than a cloud Tempur pillow.
The vague memory of Laken’s temper when he had shown up held Isley back, thinking it might not be welcome.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pass out on you.”
“Even unconscious, you wouldn’t unwrap your legs, which is why we’re on your couch,” Laken explained.
Isley’s face flamed at the utter embarrassment of his animal’s lame ass behavior. The leg cramps worsening, finally deciding for him that moving needed to happen, as he pointedly said to his animal, How could you!
A whistling followed in his head at his accusation, one that said there was nothing to see here except a naughty animal!
“My animal’s idea of a joke,” he sighed dejectedly, giving Laken a pitiful look. “He has lots of them.”
He was conscious of how close they were as he wiggled back, uncrossing his legs and groaning in distress at the rush of blood to his limbs. The press of a rather impressive bulge under his ass was no longer his first thought.
Laken steadying him made him conscious of the large hands touching his bare skin, which added to the torment of his morning wood and full bladder. The wiggling turned frantic when he wasn’t sure if coming or pissing his pants would be more embarrassing.
The moment his feet touched the floor, it brought with it a rush of pins and needles painful enough to deal with the morning wood.
He sucked in a cry as he darted for his bathroom on legs that didn’t feel like they belonged to him, not looking back as he slammed the door shut.
He sucked in a breath, working unsteady fingers while rushing to the toilet.
Shakily tugging down his sweats and underwear, Isley groaned in relief at relieving himself.
When he’d finished, he washed his face and hands, grabbed a bottle of Advil and swallowed two with a glass of water, then brushed his teeth.
Feeling more like himself, he went via his bedroom and grabbed a T-shirt.
He gave himself a talking to, heading back out to face the music.
Keep cool. You got this. Apologise and then… he had nothing after that. He smelled fresh coffee and toast as he came out of the bedroom. There was Laken sat at his kitchen counter with a plate of buttered toast and two mugs of coffee, looking right at home. Like he belonged in Isley’s space.
He didn’t know how he felt about that when he’d imagined them doing this, when he allowed himself to dream.
“Thanks,” he mumbled, unsure of what to make of this new situation when Laken’s appearance was much more casual.
For want of anything better to do, Isley took the seat next to Laken and reached for the doctored coffee. He took a grateful sip, finding the perfect amount of cream in it. Just how he liked it.
He paid attention.
A warm gooeyness came at thoughts of Laken taking the time to notice such an insignificant detail.
“Do you want to tell me about Jupiter now?”
And there it was, the instant deflation.
“What do you want to know?” he hedged, unsure what to make of the mildness and lack of emotion in Laken’s voice. Then came the sardonic quality to an arched eyebrow, which suggested Laken knew exactly what Isley was playing at.
Isley picked up the coffee, delaying as he took several sips.
It wasn’t as strong as Somme’s, but it had enough of a kick to wake up his system.
A quiet descended between them as they sipped their hot drinks.
Isley’s mind whirred with how this could go when he told the truth, and not in a good way.
Nevertheless, he launched into his explanation after draining half his coffee, allowing the caffeine’s fake energy to boost him.
“The day in your office when we jumped at Jupiter, my animal was in a highly excited state after touching you. When in this state, he produces more of his marking scent. When we touch the membranes of another animal or person, it transfers our scent to them. Depending on the amount, it’s almost impossible to get rid of the marking scent. ”
Laken didn’t look upset as he nodded slowly, eyes thoughtful. Isley waited for the other shoe to drop, his fingers clinging to the hot mug. His palms grew sweaty, watching closely. He witnessed the second Laken registered what Isley was referring to.
“You scent marked me, didn’t you?”
Does he sound cross?
No.
You would say that!
“If we were being pedantic about this, my animal scent marked you, but yes,” he replied carefully, keeping his tone light and playful. He wasn’t sure it worked when Laken’s eyes became unreadable.
Laken leaned in close enough that Isley could scent the coffee on his breath as he asked, “When?”
Do it, tell him.
Isley took the leap, not that lying was an option. “At the ranch.”
Laken gasped, sitting back, his eyes widening with shock.
“When you were sleeping,” Isley rushed on. “I’m not as cognizant of my animal when I sleep. Sometimes he shifts and does things because of it.”
Deep frown lines appeared over Laken’s forehead, making him look somewhat harder in appearance. “Didn’t you want to scent mark me?”
“What? No… yes… it’s complicated.” He paled at what he was about to explain, but he wouldn’t be deceitful. “When my animal uses its scent marker in this way, it’s part of how we claim our… mate.”
Is it hot in here?
Isley tugged at the collar of his T-shirt as Laken jerked so hard the coffee splashed over his hand and dripped down onto the counter. Not that he noticed, he was too busy eyeing Isley in a way he’d never seen him do before.
Isley got why Laken would be upset—if that was what he was seeing, though it didn’t look quite like that.
They’d done something that took away Laken’s choice.
It wasn’t like a claiming bite that mates chose to do.
But it was close to it for his kind. It could only be reversed if Laken chose to mate someone other than Isley. Let them bite him.
No. He’s ours, his animal snarled possessively.
He has the right to choose! On this, Isley was fixed, despite his animal’s ideas.
“I’ll ask again, didn’t you want to scent mark me?”
The growled question in that deep, sexy voice went straight through Isley to his dick, waking it right back up.
“I did… do.” He felt like the thermostat had gone on the blink with how hot and sweaty he was getting, and Laken’s dark, smouldering eyes weren’t helping his cause.
“So nothing changed after…”
Isley searched for what Laken was getting at, unused to the hesitant tone.
After.
“Nothing,” he confessed in all seriousness when he worked out what he meant, wanting to allay any fear Laken had about his feelings. “Nothing at all. I, no that’s wrong, we want you. Are interested in dating you.”
There, he’d laid out exactly what he wanted. What he’d wanted from the moment he’d first met Laken, if he was being honest with himself.
You never mentioned hot, sweaty sex.
Be quiet! It’s not all about sex.
Then what are all those hot, sweaty dreams about then?
Why must you always have the last word?
‘Cause it’s fun.