Page 42 of Heat Hesitation

He grunts though I can't tell if it's in agreement. Regardless, I can't entertain his rising cock, so I bend over and gather our clothes, handing him his glasses. Fortunately, Roxy's borrowed dress was designed to open easily. Otherwise, I'd be replacing it, though it'll need a proper clean with the reeking scent in here.

I dig out a pair of leggings and a baggy t-shirt and get dressed, pausing when I see Enzo inspecting his pants.

"What's wrong?"

He shrugs, "Nothing. I'll stay naked for a while."

"Umm… Enzo, you need to put some clothes on."

He sniffs in diffidence. "They're wet. I dislike the feeling of wet clothes on my skin."

"Oh… why are they wet?" I ask, taking them from his hand. There's a wet, white stain at the zipper. "Oh… Umm…"

"I don't care about the semen. Plus, they smell like you now," he takes them from my hand, breathing in the material. He gives me a serpentine smile that weakens my knees, adding, "I'm not embarrassed, my love. If I need to come in my pants so I can think straight with your pussy in my face, I'm perfectly fine with that. But, as I said, they need to dry."

I'm sure my cheeks are burning red, and for some reason, hearing that is so fucking hot, but we need to get out of this room before we lose another few hours to lust, so I refocus. "I might have something," I tell him, digging through an old bag in my closet.

I rifle through a few of Red's clothes from years ago that I collected when I lived with him and find a pair of sweatpants. Like Red, Enzo is lean, though he's taller than Red would have been when he owned these.

I sniff, noticing they smell a little musty, but Enzo's growl pulls my attention up.

"Whose are these?" He snaps.

I tilt my head cautiously, "Red's. They're really old; they don't smell like him or anyone. Other than a cramped closet."

Enzo's shoulders relax, the tension that filled the room suddenly leaking away just as quickly. He shakes his head, surprised or ashamed by his reaction. "I'm sorry. This is going to take some getting used to."

I'm equally surprised when he takes them from me and slips them on. They're a little tight, barely constraining the tent of his cock at the waist, but they'll do the trick. "It's okay. I should have realized… I mean, I didn't even think, since he's an alpha. That it might be an issue with our bond so new. But you know, Red is family to me, that's it. There's never been anything between us."

Enzo nods, his cool yet relaxed demeanor slipping over his skin as he clutches my hand and leads me out of the bedroom. Like he's read my mind—or the bond, I guess—he leads me to the kitchen.

While digging through the fridge's contents, he says, "I know. I can feel what he means to you. I don't know if I could wear them if they smelled like him or be okay with his scent so fresh in here; my alpha is feeling…" He pops up from behind the fridge door with a carton of orange juice, "territorial. But he's not jealous of Red because we can feel he's your brother."

He digs through the cupboards until he finds where I keep the cups. I'm only moderately offended when he peers inside, as if inspecting their cleanliness. I don't think Enzo is a clean-freak, but he's particular about certain things, that's for sure.

"So, Zo," I smile, leaning back against the counter top.

He gives me a boyish grin. "Yes, my love?"

"Umm…" He keeps inspecting everything but begins making sandwiches, pouring me a glass of juice and water from the tap for himself, but only after taste testing it, smelling it, and looking through the glass as if he could meticulously analyze the molecules with his eyes. The question burns on my tongue, but I try to think of the most polite way to ask. "Are you… I mean, do you have a strong aversion to dirty things?"

He furrows his brow, carrying the plates into my living room because I don't have a kitchen table. "What?" We sit next to each other on the couch, both sagging down into the cushions, so much so that we knock shoulders.

He fidgets, plucking at a frayed seam on the cushion, brushing it with his fingertips like he's wiping the dirt off.

"That! Right there!"

"What?" He shrugs and eats his sandwich.

I guess I'm done diplomatically dancing around the subject. "You're okay with semen on your pants, but not if it's wet. You inspected my cups like you didn't think I washed them." I fold my arms across my chest, looking at him pointedly. "And, after I was stripped naked and writhing on the bed, you took the time to fold your clothes."

I'm delighted when a light blush paints his cheeks. He slowly chews, so I start eating. The bread is dry and a little stale.

He shrugs, "I'm particular. I'm not a neat- or a clean-freak about everything, but I am about some things. I like to cater to my external sensors. Semen is natural, and I know where it came from. But I don't want my dick rubbing up against wet, stiff material; it will chafe and feel uncomfortable."

"And my cups?"

"I wasn't checking to see if they were clean, Ophelia."

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