Page 50 of Lost Touch
After the dinner party, we stayed inside the house for the next two days.
And Drew basically stayed inside me.
It was amazing at first.
My fancy new tux ended up scattered all over the living room and up the stairs, and my bow tie didn’t even make it out of the garage. He tackled me to the bed, devouring my mouth, seemingly unable to stop kissing me even long enough to get my pants off now that kissing was allowed.
Not that it hadn’t been allowed before, although it broke my heart a little to be kissed like that, with that amazing mouth, and not be able to enjoy it.
The forty-eight hours plus that followed were a blur of Drew’s hands on my skin, his hot mouth, his cock buried in me, his knot filling me to bursting. Sometimes we managed to shower and eat.
But day and night didn’t seem to make any difference, and every time I’d gotten clean and fed again, Drew would stalk me, eyes glowing, cock rampantly hard, and carry me away to bed.
Sometime in the very early morning of the third day, I was almost certain—by then time had ceased to have any real meaning, divided only into “knotted” and “not knotted”—Drew finally went still, wrapped around me from behind. He still had his knot in me, because of course he did, but he’d stopped thrusting.
For now, anyway.
Which meant I needed to take advantage of this brief moment of opportunity to ask him about what I’d had on my mind, in those flashes of not-time (not-knot-time?) when my mind could function.
“Did you really mean it? That we were home free?” We had our hands clasped together, his pressing mine against my chest, and I gave him a squeeze to emphasize that I expected a response. Drew hadn’t talked much. He’d growled quite a bit, though. “Will your uncle really back off if Victoria convinces her parents to let the mating thing go?”
Drew let out a grumpy kind of huff.
Because of the question? Or because he didn’t want to get distracted from what he had going on below the belt? Not that either of us had worn a belt, or any other clothing, for that matter, since the tuxes had gone flying.
“Focus, Drew,” I said, a little of my irritation leaking into my voice.
And my growing worry, too. The first day of frantic nothing-but-sex had given me such a high from the strength of Drew’s desire that no negative thoughts could penetrate the haze. Besides, it made sense that Drew’s instincts were driving him to stake his claim after being challenged by so many alphas. I’d done enough reading online to understand that much.
But two days and three nights straight? That seemed a bit extreme.
“I’m focusing,” he said after a long moment where I thought he might start fucking me again instead of talking.
“Well?”
Drew sighed. “We have better things to think about.” His hips started to move again. Only a little, but it pushed me over the edge fromirritated and mildly worriedtoseriously annoyed and anxious.
“I mean it!” I tried to hold still, to prevent him from starting the process all over again, but I couldn’t move: his knot, and his powerful arms, held me completely immobile.
And for the first time, the constraint of it frightened me instead of reassuring me.
“Drew, please, I need you to stop!” My voice went high and shaky, and I yanked at his arm, trying to get it off me, gethimoff me…for a second I thought he’d ignore me, and he really would tie me to his bed and make me his sex slave, and oh, God, what if he’d lost his mind, my heartbeat ratcheted up to a frantic tripping tempo, I gasped for breath…
And Drew stopped, going completely still, panting in my ear, his heart hammering against my back.
“Fuck,” he said, very low. “Ash. You were—were you trying to fight me off?”
His genuine confusion terrified me more than aggression would have.
“Sort of,” I hedged, because if his mental state had deteriorated that much, if he’d become that unstable, I didn’t want to push him over the edge either with guilt or with resistance he might take as a challenge. “It’s okay. But I need you to listen to me.”
He pulled in a deep, ragged breath. “I’m listening. I’m sorry. I don’t—I’m sorry. I’m listening.”
“Your uncle,” I repeated, deciding to leave the question of Drew’s issues for next. “Is he really going to leave us alone?”
“Depends on your definition,” Drew muttered into my hair.
Oh, shit. “Drew.”
