Page 82 of Broken Ice
“Oh, and I’m the dumb one.”
Emilio pulled Beau close, but Beau resisted.
“No, wait, don’t kiss me—I did actually throw up. I guess it’s been a few hours now, but…”
Emilio went pale. “Oh, fuck. I…”
Beau shook his head. He knew what Emilio was thinking about—how Beau had been in pain for hours after Emilio refused to help him. “Let me just go clean up.”
Emilio nodded but didn’t let Beau go for a few more seconds.
“Dude,” Beau complained, and Emilio unclenched his hands, following Beau to the bathroom.
He sat on the closed toilet lid and gazed up at Beau as he brushed his teeth.
“I need a shower, too. I slipped on the vomit…God, it’s probably all dried up now.” Beau shuddered, truly not wanting to think about it.
“I’ll clean it up,” Emilio said.
“No, ew. I’ll do it tomorrow.”
Emilio, the fucking dick, just left the bathroom with obvious intent.
“God, you really are in love with me,” Beau muttered as he undressed and turned the shower on.
He got distracted by the relief of washing the puke and the sweat away, just standing under the spray and letting it pummel the aches into submission.
He startled at the glass shower door opening, blinking through wet eyelashes as Emilio stepped inside.
They didn’t need to talk. Emilio pressed into Beau’s back, his scent billowing with the rising vapour, thick and all-encompassing.
Beau hummed in pleasure, tilting his head on Emilio’s shoulder. Emilio brushed his lips against the column of his throat, mouthing at his mating gland, making Beau shudder.
“My legs are gonna give out if you keep doin’ that,” Beau slurred.
Emilio snorted but eased up, turning to the loofah and soap instead.
He lathered Beau, starting with the curve of his shoulders, one hand bare and trailing across wet skin as the other washed.
Beau fell into a trance. He let himself be manoeuvred where Emilio wanted, soaped up and rinsed, Emilio washing himself perfunctorily and getting them out of the shower.
Even then, both dripping onto the tile, Emilio focused on Beau, wrapping him up in a towel, using another one for his hair, sitting Beau down on the toilet seat all bundled up as he dried himself quickly.
“Okay, let’s get to bed. I changed the sheets and got your nesting stuff out.”
Something deep and golden swelled in Beau—an emotion that was compressed, condensed, without a drop of dilution.
He guided Emilio to the middle of the mattress, arranging the nest around him with more purpose than he ever had before.
That was his Alpha waiting patiently for him.
Beau’s and no one else’s.
Beau crawled on top of him, tracing his nose up his cheek. “You’re such a good Alpha.”
Emilio drew a sharp, audible breath. “Beau,” he said as his hands gripped Beau’s waist.
“Always taking care of me. Nobody has ever made me feel the way you do.”
