Page 107 of The Mating Game
I kiss her hair. Her scent is stronger now, and in it, I can smell everything that’s been building for the last twenty-four hours. It’s slower than the other times, but no less potent. I worry about how she’ll feel when it comes, if she’ll be afraid, if I’ll be able to do everything right to help her…It’s been solong, after all.
“I don’t think you have much time until your heat,” I tell her. I pull her in even tighter against me. “It’s fucking sinful the way you smell, Tess.”
She wiggles slightly. “But you…you like it?”
“Like it?” I snort. “It’s taking everything I have not to tear this blanket off you and fuck you until sundown.”
Her breath catches. “And this is a bad idea because…?”
“You’re too close. You should rest. Before…”
“Before you fuck me until sundown,” she laughs.
My cock twitches, and I have to give it a strong mental talking-to. “Yes,” I answer hoarsely. “That.” She’s quiet for so long that I can’t help but add, “Are you scared?”
“I…” Her lips close as she considers this. “Weirdly no? I mean, it’s been okay so far, right? And plus…you’re here.”
My chest swells with her faith in me, and I hold her even tighter, so tight that she would be well within her rights to complain. “I’ll take care of you.”
“Yeah,” she chuckles. “It’s funny…Normally I would revolt at that.”
“At what?”
“Letting you take care of me.”
“You can’t be strongallthe time, Tess,” I tell her, feeling something soft in my chest for this headstrong woman.
“Maybe,” she answers softly.
I kiss her temple. “You’re worth being fussed over.”
“You probably say that to all the girls,” she teases.
“No,” I say seriously. “Just you.”
I’m rewarded with a sharp intake of air, her fingers sliding over my forearms and gripping there as if holding me back. My lips curl even though I say nothing, letting my chest rise and fall in the same pattern as hers as we both settle into a contented silence. When I let my eyes drift open, I can see that the sun has finally started to shine after the hazy gray of the storm yesterday, and I take that as a good sign. It’s just begun to sink toward the glittering white horizon farther up the mountain, and from where we’re sitting, the light of it seems to make the freshly fallen snow sparkle.
“I wish I had my phone,” she complains after a while. “That would be a pretty picture.”
“It’s still pretty,” I tell her. “Even without the picture.”
She rolls her eyes. “I forgot your ongoing vendetta with modern technology.”
“It’s not a vendetta,” I argue. “Just never really got the obsession with being so…connectedall the time.” I laugh a little under my breath. “That’s probably my dad’s fault too.”
“Was he boycotting fax machines in the nineties?”
My chest shakes against her back as I try not to laugh out loud. “I don’t know…He just…” I go quiet for a moment, thinking. “He always used to say that people need tolivein moments more. I remember being a teenager and asking for a cell phone for the first time—”
“Is it the one you’re still carrying? Because I could make astrongargument that you bought a cell phone as a teenager and never—”
I pinch her hip, making her squeak, but it effectively quiets her.
“Anyway.Facebook was just becoming a thing, and phones with the internet were everywhere, and all my friends at school were getting them, and Ibeggedhim to get me one, but he said no. He sat me down and told me that the obsession with being dialed inallthe time was going to be the thing that ruined real-life relationships. He told me I should try to focus more onlivingin moments instead of obsessing over sharing them with everybody.”
“Ah. So you adapted this whole cyberphobia aesthetic at a young age.”
“Not at all,” I assure her. “I was mad as hell. I went behind his back and did a ton of odd jobs until I could buy my own.”
