Page 31 of Coffee Shop Cupid
“Tristan?” I asked, noting a distant look in his eyes.
He started shivering, then shaking in my arms, and I knew it had all gone horribly wrong.
“Tristan!” I called, but he didn’t acknowledge me.
“No, honey, no…” I murmured, pulling my hands free of his pants and tugging him against my chest. “We’re stopping.”
Tristan’s knees buckled, and it was only my hold on him that kept him from dropping to the floor.
I looked around, and decided that the bedroom was the worst place to be. Something had set him off, and it didn’t take a rocket scientist to realize that it was related to sex. I shifted my grip under his ass, lifted him into my arms and carried him to the living room, where I sat on the couch and settled him on my lap with his body against my chest.
“You’re safe Tristan,” I said, holding him tight. “You’re safe. I’m right here and I’ll protect you. Breathe with me.”
At first I thought he was still too panicked to hear me, then he took a gasping breath.
“That’s it honey,” I said in as soothing a voice as I could muster, despite my own fear of the situation. “Just breathe.”
What had that asshole ex of his done to cause a reaction like this? The alpha side of me wanted to track him down and make him regret every time he’d hurt the man I loved.
“Deep breath in,” I whispered, demonstrating. “Deep breath out.”
I repeated it over and over, telling him how good a job he was doing as he started matching my breathing, until his shaking finally stopped and he slumped against me.
“I’m here,” I said softly, cradling him against me. “I’ve got you.”
I thought it was over, then he turned, clenching my shirt in his hands and burying his face against my chest as he started bawling.
“I’m sorry,” he cried. “I’m sorry. I thought I could do it.”
“It’s ok,” I tried to reassure him. “I’m not going anywhere. We can wait until you’re ready.”
“What if I’m never ready?” he sobbed.
“Then I’ll get very familiar with my hand,” I joked, trying to lighten the mood any way I could. “Or we could do things other than me knotting you. We’ve got mouths and hands. I could fuck your thighs. Or, hell, you’re a man, you can top too.”
“You would do that?” he hiccupped.
“For you I would.” I brushed my lips across his hair. “Sex doesn’t make a relationship, Tristan. It’s a part of it for many, but being with you is more important to me than that physical rush. I love you, and I’d rather give up sex before I give up on you.”
“What did you say?” he whispered.
I thought about it, then caught on to what had made him ask. “I love you,” I repeated. “I love you Tristan.”
“I love you too,” he cried, then started sobbing against me again.
My omega was crying again, but I decided that it was a good thing. He was strong, and put on a brave face so often that I wondered if he’d ever given himself a chance to process his emotions.
He cried for close to an hour, and was so silent after the tears dried that I assumed he’d fallen asleep on my lap. Then he spoke.
“I… I was infertile before they took my womb,” he whispered.
It was an admission that part of me had suspected, but I didn’t want to interrupt, so I just squeezed him tight in response.
“My heats were irregular as a teen, but we didn’t suspect a problem until they failed to even out by the time I was due to start college. Even though I was going to a state university only a couple hours from home, we knew the dangers of unpredictable heats. So my parents took me to the doctor to try and find out what was wrong.”
He took a shuddering breath. “Polycystic ovary syndrome. That’s what they told me. I was prescribed medication, and the doctors assured me that since we’d caught it early they’d be able to handle any impact on my fertility. Crisis averted, and a more regular heat cycle thanks to the meds, I was off to college.”
He paused and took a moment to take several deep breaths against me.
