Page 79 of Knot Just for Show

I cough to clear my throat, more than slightly surprised by his sudden directness. I could play dumb, act like I don’t know what he’s talking about, but considering I ended up tongue wrestling with Lysander in public last night…I don’t think that tactic isgoing to pan out. Instead, I opt for honesty. What’s the worst that could happen?

“Uh, no…we haven’t talked about it yet.” I squirm in my seat, not sure where this is going.

Ronan pauses, sucking in a deep breath as if to fortify himself, before continuing on.

“That was your first time kissing another guy, right?” He asks gently, and I’m taken off guard by the heat that rushes to my cheeks.

“Y-yeah,” I admit, casting my eyes to the glass sliding doors and the ocean beyond.

Out of the corner of my eye, I can see him nod slowly.

“How was it?” He grins, leaning his elbow on the island—propping his chin in his hand.

I turn to face him.

“Pretty good.” I shrug.

Ronan lets out a laugh, and I turn to face him—unsure of what he wants from me.

“Ursula’s something, huh? Bringing a bunch of bumbling idiots like us together so…completely,” he muses. I nod silently in agreement.

“You’ve got more practice with…‘this’ I take it?” I wiggle my fingers in the air in a non-committal way, but Ronan is quick to grasp my point.

“Are you asking if I have more experience with dudes and dick because I’m part—” Ronan laughs, punctuating his confirmation with a theatrical limp-wrist gesture. “’Cause yeah, I’ve seen it all—I’ve done most of it.” He shrugs.

The shitty jock-bro part of me wants to make some kind of joke at Ronan’s and my expense, to diffuse some of the tension here…but I push past the knee-jerk urge and do my best to be decent about it.

“Well, I have almost no experience in that arena, dude,” I admit haltingly. “Wanting to be knot deep inside a hot babe—no matter her designation? I’m used to that. Hell, I’ve even been in heats with a bunch of other dudes before; taking turns fucking the same woman—hyping each other up, talking her through her orgasms on another guy’s cock…but nothing even close to what’s been going on lately,” I admit reluctantly.

Ronan, who has been listening intently—his pointed chin resting in his hands as he leans on the counter, raises both brows as he asks, “And what’s been ‘going on lately’?” he prompts like an old friend playing therapist.

“Jerking off to the idea of fucking dudes right alongside the idea of knotting my omega,” I say flatly, keenly aware that the conversation is tipping from the casual and comfortable confession to a confidante to what might be pre-game-dirty-talk…and I’m not even upset about it.

Ronan blinks and swallows hard, nodding slowly—clearly unprepared for me to lay my cards on the table like I have.

“Oh, yeah that.” He clears his throat lightly before pressing onward with passable nonchalance. “Probably a pretty good indicator that you are also a little…” He makes a similar finger-wiggling gesture to my earlier movement. “Not like labels matter really, as long as everything is safe, sane, and consensual amongst concerned adult parties.” He shrugs easily, steering the conversation into somewhat safer territory, folding his newspaper and placing it off to the side, as if to make sure I know I have his full, serious attention.

“Yeah, right now—here? I haven’t really given much of a shit what anyone thinks about any of this. I’ve just kind of been taking things one step at a time, but that’s not going to be an option once we get back to ‘real life’.” I sigh, somewhat incredulous, at the ease with which I am giving so many of my most closely guarded feelings up to Ronan.

I’m not sure if it’s his soft southern lilt, the easy slouch of his shoulders, or the warm shine of his gray eyes—but something about him just feels approachable, safe.

Opening up and getting things off my chest has felt so good, so freeing—I’m about to tell him more, ask for advice, but before I can say anything else—Mavren has slid open the massive plate glass sliding door, his perfect physique slicked with sweat after his morning run around the grounds.

He’s got that look on his face again—that narrowing of eyes and hanging of brow that practically accuses,you’re up to something. Suddenly, I don’t feel like sharing those secret feelings anymore.

Breakfast passed without incident, or even much awkwardness on the part of Lysander and myself. Ash shot us a few curious glances as we jostled past one another to heap our plates full of scrambled eggs, fruit and grilled corn muffins—but things were still natural and easy between us, even if we hadn’t properly discussed our lip lock the night before.

The boys saw us off for our date, all of them lining up for their kiss from our omega before the stairs as Ursula and I made our way to Kimmy and Timmy and the waiting sprinter van.

Our intrepid production assistants along with their co-ordinating clipboards had told us to wear comfortable footwear and clothes that were easy to move in for today’s date. Taking our instruction to heart, I opted for a pair of mahogany linenharem pants and a close fitting tank top—my lucky, nearly busted onitsuka tigers tied in a double bowknot.

Ursula looked tasty, but buzzing with a bit more than minor trepidation in her leopard print butter soft soft bike shorts and black longline sports bra with its strappy open back and deep scoop neckline.

“Oh god, I thought it might be dancing,” she groans, folding in on herself slightly—her bottom lip already trembling.

My heart aches softly as I watch her cover the softness of her exposed midriff with her forearms as we approach the same dance floor we shared the night before—this time empty of other dancers. The horrible things people must have said, people like me, that made her so fearful of just existing in her own body. It cuts deep, my heart bleeding for her.

“Why ‘oh god’? I didn’t step on your toes last night, did I?” I play dumb, closing the distance between us and weaving my fingers casually through hers—gently pulling her arms away from her body, guiding her into place. Clasping her hands together behind my neck, allowing my fingers to dawdle over the hollow of her throat—drifting out over her clavicles to her shoulders before I eventually rest my palms on her hips, slowly swaying to unheard music.

---