: Chapter 13

it is much harder than it should be to leave Noah’s Jacuzzi tub. It’s big enough to be used as a small swimming pool, which makes sense, given that Noah’s legs are of the Olympic swimmer variety. I’m toweling off my hair when I step out of his bathroom around lunchtime, wondering again if it’s weird that I stayed behind at his place while he went into work. It had seemed like a lovely idea in the early hours of the morning when I’d been tangled in his sheets and blissed out from a full night of orgasms—but now that I’m a little coherent, I’ve been questioning if it’s crossing some sort of line. Though to be fair, the lines of this agreement have never been very clear. And as much as I hate to admit it . . . the sex definitely doesn’t help matters.

Although . . . one might argue that sex with Noah is worth it.

I sigh as I fall back against Noah’s gigantic bed, trying to distract myself from thoughts of my quiet fake mate. His bedroom is exactly like I expected it to be (his entire house, really, for what I’ve seen of it). Save for the furniture and his very wide, very bed—there wasn’t much to explore in Noah’s room after he’d left this morning. There’s a moderately sized flat screen resting atop his chest of drawers, and above his bed, one lone painting of soft colors that remind me of quiet water and breezy trees. It’s a surprising burst of color in his otherwise dreary-looking bedroom, and had I been able to notice anything other than Noah’s mouth and hands and body last night—I might have commented on it while he’d still been here.

I throw an arm over my face as my skin tingles with the memory of the night before. Noah’s hands on my skin and his voice in my ear have been right there waiting every time I let my thoughts stray this morning—something that seems like it might get worse every time we’re together. Every tiny reminder has me pressing my thighs together as everything south of my navel begins to pulse with arousal.

It’s not enough for Noah to be the most capable person at work; no, of he would be an absolutely wonderful lay. I’m starting to wish I could pick out a flaw just so I didn’t feel inadequate. A slight curve to his dick or an unsightly mole on his ass or something. A fruitless wish, since I can confirm that he has a perfect dick and an even more perfect ass. I don’t see myself finding any flaws in the foreseeable future.

Not to mention the way having sex with Noah feels a lot more . . . intimate than it should. I’m not an expert at the whole friends with benefits thing—in fact, I’d say I’m still at apprentice level at best—but I have to assume that most hookup buddies don’t look at you like you’re some kind of goddess and whisper sweet things in your ear while they give you mind-blowing orgasms.

I press my lips together as my stomach flutters with the memory of his low voice, sounding entirely sincere when he’d looked at me last night.

I sit up with a sigh. The room is too warm. Feeling flushed seems like it might be becoming my base state, if the last couple of days have been any indication.

“Damn it,” I grumble to the air.

I think it’s probably a smart move to grab my (hopefully) dry scrubs from Noah’s dryer and start getting ready for work—and I have every intention of doing that. At least, until I get two steps from the bed, and my foot hits Noah’s dress shirt he’d shucked off last night. I pick it up with only a little hesitation, biting at my lip as I test its weight.

I picked it up with mostly innocent intentions, running my fingers over one sleeve and caressing the fabric that feels too fine, too pretty for me. I can imagine that same material wrapped around his bicep, curling my fingers there to hold on as he pulls me closer, as his mouth descends to—

I shake away the thought, startled. I don’t for anyone, and yet here I am waxing poetic in my head about a fucking shirt. What the hell is wrong with me today? Even as I scold myself, I can smell the material still in my hands, tempting me. It smells like detergent and the clinging bit of Noah’s scent—something fresh and masculine that makes me want more. It isn’t even a conscious thing when I press the fabric against my nostrils and breathe in deep. It’s become somehow thicker since we first agreed to all this, even the faded bit clinging to his shirt from yesterday is enough to make my eyes roll back.

I feel a prickling sensation in my skin, like it’s being stretched too tight—the tingling feeling becoming almost uncomfortable as the throbbing between my legs worsens. How can I be horny again after spending most of the night losing sleep with Noah? What’s worse—despite having just spent an hour soaking in Noah’s too-large tub, I can feel a bit of slick trickling out to wet my thighs. Almost like my body is hoping he’ll pop out of the closet and come take care of us.

I remind myself.

The thought sobers me a little but does nothing for the throbbing between my legs.

I push my fingers inside one sleeve to feel the soft material against my skin, tempted briefly to put it on, to feel its weight on my shoulders like an embrace.

Too tempted, as it turns out.

I drop my towel as I push my arms into both long sleeves, my body almost with relief when I am fully enveloped in the scent of him. I can’t explain it, can’t even begin to make sense of it—but being wrapped up in something of seems to soothe that odd sensation in my skin. Almost like it’s calming me.

It’s probably a bad idea (not to mention uncouth) to touch myself in Noah’s bed while he’s away, but I reason that it’s fault that I’m so worked up only an hour before my shift starts, so that assuages my guilt a little. It makes it a lot easier to crawl back into his bed wearing nothing but his shirt.

Like this, the smell of him is more overwhelming, giving me the illusion of pressing my nose to his chest, his throat, maybe. I close my eyes as I imagine thick arms wrapped around me; an innocent fantasy, really, but the effect it has on me less so. I press my thighs together as I imagine his weight settling over me, as I imagine that same scent of him surrounding me as he pushes me into this big, big bed of his—and it’s easy, wrapped in his shirt, to remember how he me. He’s so , after all.

My throat is dry now, and there’s an obvious slickness between my legs forcing me to spread them a little just to ease the sensation. A mistake, I realize, given that I’ve somehow become wet enough just from him touching me for it to make the inner creases sticky.

My heart rate picks up a dozen beats or so as I again press my nose against the soft fabric of his shirt to breathe him in—and my fingers graze below my navel from beneath the ends of his sleeves. There’s a heavy throbbing between my legs now, some strange ball of heat in my belly that threatens to spread into my limbs.

I bite at my lower lip as I attempt to swallow, but there’s a lump there now that makes it difficult. I rub my wrist against my belly until the sleeve bunches enough to allow my fingers to delve between slick folds, gasping when they slide across the rapidly swelling bud of my clit.

I hiss between my teeth when I apply a slight pressure, an immediate of pleasure that melds with the odd relief Noah’s scent brings to nearly steal my breath. My body rolls until my face presses to his comforter, lying on my side with my nose buried against my shoulder. I keep my eyes shut tight, breathing in deep so that I can pretend he’s here, that touching me.

I roll my fingers against my clit without any pretense, without any type of teasing or buildup—having only the singular mission of slaking the heavy thirst that seems to have control of my senses at the moment. I imagine hands that are larger, a body so much —letting the fantasy fuel me until I can practically that deep, deep voice of his murmuring praises in my ear. I hear impossible encouragement of how I am for him, things I’ve never considered outside of porn, things I might have even called before this—but I’m not laughing at the thought of being for Noah. I’m not laughing one fucking bit.

My breath is little more than desperate panting now, my wrist aching, but I’m . I can hear myself beginning to whimper, working my hand as quickly as I’m able, drawing out that friction until blood rushes in my ears. I’m so close. So fucking , and I—

The trill of my cell phone nearly causes me to jump out of my own skin.

It startles me so severely that I physically —scrabbling to my back and withdrawing my hand from between my legs so fast that my slick fingers curl into the edge of his sleeves to smear my fluids there, making me grimace. My phone continues to ring nearby on the bedside table, and I blink up at Noah’s ceiling in a daze as I try to reconcile it with what I was just doing. It occurs to me that it could be work, and I know that despite the position I’m in, I have to answer it.

I manage to scramble to the other side of the bed and grab for the phone, trying to shake back the long sleeves of Noah’s shirt. My eyes widen for only a moment in surprise before I accept the call in a fit of panic because—

“Mackenzie.” His voice comes through the phone, as low and tempting as I was just imagining.

My clit throbs as if in recognition, still demanding that I finish. “Hey, Noah.”

“Everything okay? You sound out of breath.”

“Y-yes,” I say too quickly. “I was . . . drying my hair.”

“Drying your hair?”

“Yes,” I try again, keeping my voice as even as I’m able. “There’s a lot of it.”

There’s a terrifying moment where I think he’ll press me on the matter, but he blessedly moves on from the subject. “Oh. Well. I was calling to see if you wanted to eat together in the cafeteria on your lunch break,” he asks innocently. “It could appear weird that we never do.”

I might laugh if I wasn’t still so horribly turned on. Here I am abusing myself in his bed, and he’s worried about appearances. It only cements how utterly ridiculous I’m being right now.

“That’s a good idea,” I say airily, closing my eyes as his voice keys me up despite the innocuous words coming out of his mouth. “Sure.”

“We don’t have to if you don’t want to,” he offers contritely, almost like he’s afraid the question is annoying me. “It might be a stupid idea.”

“No, no,” I argue. “It’s a good idea.”

He laughs a little, a low, pleasant sound that trickles down through me to settle right at the still-throbbing bundle of my clit. “I figure the least I can do is make sure you get lunch since I didn’t feed you last night.”

“I wasn’t really worried about food last night,” I manage tightly.

“Neither was I,” he murmurs.

There’s a torturous stretch of silence where the prickling in my skin gets worse with every second.

“Okay . . .” My heart continues to pound as I listen to the sound of his breathing, spanning only a moment. “I guess I’ll see you later?”

“You’re . . . okay. Right? You sound off.”

I close my eyes. Surely I can’t tell him that I sniffed his shirt and suddenly lost my mind. He’ll be sending me packing if he thinks I’m over here developing some sort of unhealthy attachment to his discarded clothes.

“I’m fine,” I lie. “Just a little tired.”

“All right,” he says. “If you’re sure. I’ll just see you when you get here, then.”

I let him go before I completely ruin everything, dropping my phone to the mattress and staring up at the ceiling as I try to come to terms with what I almost did. It’s beyond the realm of what I thought I was capable of, what just happened. I’ve never done like that.

But then again, there are a lot of things I hadn’t considered until this . . . agreement.

I don’t touch myself again, even as my body that I finish—mostly because I am appalled at myself for getting so worked up over something as simple as the of Noah. That stretched sensation is still in my skin, and that pulsing is still heavy between my thighs, and even as I stumble to the dryer on shaky legs, sneaking Noah’s shirt into his laundry—there is still something that feels . . . off. Even if I can’t for the life of me imagine what that something is.

the memory of Noah’s voice whispers.

A shiver passes through me. This is going to be a long day.

“you don’t look so good.”

I purse my lips, cutting my eyes to my right at a discerning-looking Parker. “Thanks.”

“I just mean, you look sick or something.”

“I’m fine,” I toss back. “Just worry about the computer.”

“Pretty sure they deleted the program icon from the desktop again,” he grouses.

I shrug, looking over the chart in my hand. “Well, I’ve listened to three different nurses bitching about it, so just fix whatever it is so I don’t have to hear about it anymore.”

Parker stops working on the buggy terminal behind the nurses’ station, eyeing me strangely. “Someone’s in a mood. Are you sure you aren’t sick?”

I screw my eyes shut, trying to block out the slight pounding in my head. It’s true that I have felt off since this morning, but what I’d thought was a bad case of being dick drunk had turned into more and more of a puny feeling with every passing hour. Maybe I getting sick.

“I don’t know,” I sigh. “My head is killing me.”

“It’s probably your conscience trying to knock some sense into you about your recent sexcapades,” Parker quips.

“Not today,” I huff. “Not unless you’re offering a big fat ibuprofen.”

“When did it start?”

I pinch the bridge of my nose. “It seems to be getting worse since this morning,” I tell him truthfully. “Ever since I left Noah’s.”

Parker scoffs. “You’re staying over now?”

“It just made sense,” I tell him wearily. “Since I was there so late.”

“I know you think I’m being a dick—”

“A valid opinion,” I cut in.

“—

I’m worried about you, Mack. That’s all. I thought it was a bad idea when you got wrapped up in this whole fake-mate nonsense, but I don’t think you’re considering the possible fallout of all this.”

“Keep your voice down,” I hiss, looking around to find us still alone. “You’re making too big of a deal about it, I promise. It’s a damned headache. Not an existential crisis.”

“I know, but you’ve always been so careful about how close you get to people, and now you’re diving into this pretend relationship headfirst without a second thought. I know you want to help Noah, but I worry you’ll end up getting hurt.”

“I said, keep your voice dow—”

“Hey,” a lilting voice calls from the counter behind us. “Do you have a list of Mr. Wheeler’s medication?”

I turn, immediately feeling my spine stiffen as I notice the last person I want within earshot of this conversation. Dennis Martin is smiling at me from the other side of the counter, his expression seemingly devoid of any indications that he might have heard what Parker and I were talking about.

“Oh,” Dennis says with innocent surprise. “I didn’t see you there, Dr. Carter. I mean, Mack.” He chuckles to himself. “Right?”

“Right,” I say woodenly. “Mack is fine.”

“I thought you were a nurse,” he says with another quiet laugh. “Any idea where they’ve all gone?”

“Staff meeting,” I tell him. “Parker was just looking at a wonky terminal while they were gone. They should be back soon, though, if you need something.”

“No, no,” he says casually. “I can come back. It isn’t urgent.” He braces his elbow on the counter, leaning against it. “How is Noah?”

I feel myself bristle. “Noah is . . . fine.”

“Good, good,” Dennis answers cheerfully. “He’s seemed a little off lately, hasn’t he? I worry, you know.”

“Just stress, I think,” I tell him, trying not to let the panic in my belly show on my face. “He’s been very busy.”

“Oh, well, that’s good to hear,” Dennis offers, that same unreadable smile at his mouth. “I know all that fuss with the board must have been such a hassle.”

I keep my expression even, refusing to tear my eyes from his for fear of seeming guilty. “Fortunately, it was just a misunderstanding.”

“Right,” he says, his smile tilting up further.

He stays like that for a second too long, finally drumming his fingers against the countertop as he pushes away from it.

“Anyway,” he tells us in that same cheery tone, “I guess I’ll come back in a bit. Hope you guys get this situation sorted.”

He points to the terminal Parker has been gaping at him from behind for the last few minutes, and I give Dennis a tight nod. “Sure thing.”

“Tell Noah I said hi,” he calls over his shoulder as he starts off down the hall.

I don’t answer, Parker and I keeping quiet until Dennis’s footsteps have faded away down the hall. How in the hell had we not heard him coming up to begin with? I blow out a heavy breath when it’s clear he’s gone, bending to brace my hands on my knees. My headache is exponentially worse than it had been before Dennis’s interruption.

Parker makes a choked sound beside me. “Do you think he heard anything?”

“I . . .” I consider this for a long moment, finally shaking my head. “I don’t think so. He would have been way more smug, from what I know about him. I think that was just his normal bullshit.”

“I’m going to have a heart attack before all this is over.”

“I’ll prescribe you some Klonopin.”

“That feels unethical.” He must notice the way I’m shaking then. “Hey, are you okay? I really don’t think he heard anything.”

I shake my head, which feels foggy all of a sudden. “I don’t know.”

On top of my headache there is now that same strange tightness in my skin, similar to this morning but entirely worse with the still-pounding rhythm of my heart after the nerve-racking encounter with Dennis. I feel dizzy and weak, and my knees are trembling as if I might collapse at any given second.

I feel myself stumbling before my ass even hits the ground, my head beginning to spin and my tongue seeming too thick. I sense Parker’s hand against my forehead, hear his muttered curse when he pulls it away.

“Jesus, Mack. You’re burning up. You are definitely not okay.” I hear him shouting for help, and I wince at the loudness of his voice, shutting my eyes in hopes that it will ease the pain in my head. “Hey! We need some help over here!”

There are footsteps that sound far away even when I can sense another body nearing, and I try to blink my eyes to discern who’s joined us, only to learn my vision is now blurry. There’s a cramping that’s starting up deep in my belly, a fire in my lungs that worsens with every breath.

But the worst of it doesn’t come until I hear Parker’s voice again—hear him asking someone I can’t see what on earth is wrong with me.

And just as I feel a growing wetness between my legs I hear a tight voice mutter back:

“She’s going into heat.”

More than the panic, I notice the deep disappointment when I realize the voice doesn’t belong to Noah.