Page 33 of Finding Her
“Oh no,youownme. Remember?” My attempt at joking about my “pet” accusation backfired. My clit throbbed in response to my own words.Get it together.
“Oh, my little pet?” His eyebrows raised in amusement.
Fuck. There went any hope of ignoring the growing dampness tempting me. I wasn’t sure if it was the “my”, “little”, or “pet” causing my body to respond so enthusiastically. Maybe it was the way he stood up as he said it, towering over me. He was closer than I registered when he was crouched at my feet. Now, not more than an inch separating us, my breasts could feel the heat radiating off his stomach. I peered up just in time to catch his tongue dab at his lips.
He coughed and took a step back, ruffling his hair so that his veined hand hid his face. Maybe he didn’t mean to stand so close? Maybe he didn’t realize how sensual his question would sound? Maybe he didn’t realize the words created visions of him folding me over, forcing me to my hands and knees while he scraped his nails down my scalp. Possessive ownership, looming over me.
“Faeryn.” He pinched the bridge of his nose and sounded like he was holding his breath. “Whatever you’re thinking, would you please stop?”
Thinking? Can he hear my thoughts?
I had a faint memory of that night at the pub with Mykie. I had suspected everyone could detect that first blip of my fantasizing about Graysen.Heads that never seemed concerned by my presence had turned to stare as I imagined him carrying my nude body through the steamy forest. I had the distinct feeling it wasn’t a coincidence.
“Can people read minds here?” I knew it was a bold question, but Ineededto know that sooner rather than later. If the cat was already out of the bag on my current situation, I might as well take the learning opportunity on the chin. To make sure Ineverlet myself daydream about Graysen in the presence of another person again.
“What? No.”
“Then what were you accusing me of?” He wasn’t getting away with dodging this question.
“Can we move on?” he grumbled, squinting his eyes up at the branches above us to escape my eye contact. His deep, bothered voice tempted my mind to stray again. Making it lower and huskier was counterproductive.
“Absolutely not,” I scowled. His avoidance was the only proof I needed that somehow, I’d been outing myself with my wandering thoughts.
He let out a long exhale, still escaping my gaze. His hands shoved into his pockets with shoulders tensing up his neck. “Damn it.” He cringed before blurting out, “You. Smell.Different.”
Shit. I can’t control how I fucking smell.
“Ismelldifferent?” I hoped he meant my mood itself smelled different. But as I shifted my hips and felt my thighs slipping against each other, I knew that wasn’t the case. This wasa world of people still designed for species survival, of course, they could smell…
“I don’t want to violate your privacy. But I can’t control my sense of smell,” he said through clenched teeth. His breaths were heavier than normal, nearly panting. I thought any moment his tongue would lap out of his mouth to taste the air.
I let out a hoarse laugh. “Well I can’t control how I smell, Graysen.”
I wasn’t going to let him blame me for the discomfort here. If these were two involuntary reactions mixing, we were just going to have to tolerate the awkward. I wasn’t about to swear off being horny for the extent of our time together—although I was absolutely going totryto limit it. This would need to be navigated carefully, as the lines of consent felt precariously blurred with my arousal on display for all bystanders.
I sighed. “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable. I didn’t know what I was doing.” I also didn’t know how to stop doing it. Or how to avoid doing it in the future. But in the name of not considering this sexual harassment, an apology felt in order.
“You didn’t make me uncomfortable,” he groaned, rubbing his jaw.
I noticed his other hand shift in his pocket. My eyes widened as I realized he was adjusting something. Something pressing against the thigh of his pant leg. Graysen was hard—andmy godwas he hung. I tried to immediately remind myself that it didn’t mean anything; he was having a biological response to pheromones. It didn’t matter; the remaining blood in my body was rerouted to between my legs as I began to ache with need.
“Faeryn.” He moaned my name as a warning, and I knew it was related to my aroma growing heavier. His foot stepped back slowly in retreat.
“I’m sorry!” I grimaced apologetically. “I just-I-I think I need to get away from you.” My nose crinkled. I haddefinitelyjust confessed that he was the cause. Not that there was much mystery given the surrounding trees—although pretty—were hardly tempting. “Is it safe for me to wander off for a bit? Not to like, do anything of course.” Jesus. My foot was so far down my throat I could gag.
“I’m not kicking you out of our campgrounds,” he protested, his hand uncertainly going between holding his length down and lifting his fingers to make it clear he wasn’t stroking his cock during our conversation.
I flopped to the ground next to the fire and buried my face in my hands. This was mortifying. We were like two horny teenagers navigating sex for the first time. We were adults, god damn it. I’d probably been intimate before, not that I had any memories of sexual experiences. I had positive associations with the concept. Surely we both had more control over ourselves thanthis.
“Are you okay?” He rested a hand on my shoulder before quickly lifting it upon contact. Physical comfort would be a no-go given the circumstances.
“Just humiliated,” I sang sarcastically. Not even the sheer shame of broadcasting how wet I was stopped the pulsing between my legs. I thought it may be exacerbating the problem, suggesting I had some kinks to learn about myself as I settled into my new life.
He lowered himself to sit a safe meter away from me. “I didn’t mean tohumiliateyou. I didn’t mean to tell you at all. Itjust felt wrong to be reacting to you when you thought you were safe in your own head.”
“I appreciate it.” We both were worried about each other’s consent, how sweet. Not only that, we were both battling relentless arousal in tandem. At least it wasn’t only me. “When was the last time you—” I didn’t know why I was asking. Maybe because this was making me so aware of my own lack of sexual memories. Or maybe it was because my mind was piecing together an enticing visual of how those eyes would look rolled back in ecstasy, I had a gut feeling they would glow bronze.
“I haven’t been in this head space in a long time,” he admitted, thankfully not off-put by the intrusive question. We weren’t running away from the topic. We are here. We are horny. We are going to talk about sex. Hopefully, removing the unspoken stigma would make it feel less intense. Because right now, it felt wrong in all the best ways.
