I grin, still trembling, leaning into him, memorizing the warmth, the slickness, the closeness. I’m his. He’s mine. And for a long, blissful moment, that’s all that matters.
“C’mere, you.” I pull my mate close, still warm and slick, pressing his body to mine. I kiss him—forehead, nose, each cheek—before finally capturing his perfect mouth, holding him there like he’s the only thing that matters.
We shower together, scrubbing, rinsing, laughing, tasting each other, tasting ourselves. He’s right. It may not be a Splatter, but my cum is sweeter than his.
As we towel off, I hear Sean’s stomach grumble. Then, like a call-and-response, mine echoes his.
“What can I make us?” I ask.
“Uh… I’ve got some eggs, bread, cereal, and two frozen dinners that might be older than the oceans.”
“Perfect.”
“Perfect?” His brows lift. “Like, all of it perfect?”
I tap my stomach, smirk, and nod.
He laughs, that soft, breathy kind of laugh that always makes my chest feel like I’ve won at life.
Sean stands beside me while I crack the eggs, his shoulder brushing my arm every so often like he can’t help it. We cook together on the tiny single burner, making do with his one pan and too little counter space. When a bit of butter slicks my thumb and I lick it off, he grins and leans in to steal a playful swipe from my tusk and my heart about beats out of my chest.
We eat in bed, plates and bowls balanced between us, laughing when the toast crumbs get everywhere. The food’s nothing special, but the night feels like it might be.
After we’ve cleaned up, I press close to him, letting the warmth of his body sink into mine. “Can we just… cuddle?” I murmur.
He nods, curling against me. This is what my father meant about knowing. I feel every inch of him, every beat of his heart, every breath. I’m in heaven, finally allowed to be fully myself with my mate. My hands trace him, memorizing, cherishing, never letting go.
I close my eyes and drift into sleep, fully sated, fully adored, fully his.
15
WARNING! SYSTEM MELTDOWN
SEAN
I can still smell him.
Even after two showers and a quick change of clothes—Greg snuck out early to head home, grab his things, and avoid us arriving at work together—he still clings to me. Not literally, of course; he’s probably already knee-deep in cables somewhere. But the scent, the memory, the everything of last night has embedded itself into my skin like a system patch he’s installed directly onto my soul.
I’ve had sex. This wasn’t sex. This was… something else entirely. We made love. I know, it sounds like something out of a romance novel, but it’s true. Sure, it started fast and frantic—two guys who’d been dying to get their hands on each other—but we talked. He made me eggs. Toast. I poured cereal and milk. Weconnected in a way I didn’t know was possible. And when he looked at me afterward—like I was something worth keeping—I thought, oh crap, this might be it.
Maybe it’s my fate to fall head over heels for the nerdy IT guy with glasses, a soft voice, and hands that know exactly how to hold me together while rearranging my insides.
Of course, my brain immediately stalls out. Because come on, Sean, really? You met the guy because you took a job you desperately needed, and you’ve known him for what, a few weeks? He’s probably rebooting a server right now, not thinking about how my thighs trembled when he kissed my neck.
And yet.
There’s this pull, like he’s a sexy magnet with enormous shoulders, and I’m the world’s most willing paperclip.
I should be riding that high. Floating into work like one of those smug people who smell like expensive coffee drinks and orgasms. Instead, I’m pacing around my apartment, trying to decide which shirt says competent professional.
I go with the light blue button-down. It brings out my eyes and doesn’t scream walking BR violation.
Or at least, I hope not.
By the time I get to the office, the AC’s doing its best meat-locker impression. Perfect. I don’t need any help sweating through my shirt. My desk feels too bright, too exposed, like everyone can see the giant red “I was railedby the IT guy before returning the favor” sign flashing above my head.
“Morning, Sean!”
