Is this what it means to be what we are?

And because there is no room for embarrassment in my current state, I don’t hesitate to curl into him when I feel the urge, to press my tongue to the hot, throbbing gland at his throat that tastes purely of Noah. I suck at his pulse until he’s groaning, until his cock starts to swell like he might tip over the edge without me.

“I want it, Alpha,” I whisper hoarsely, nipping at his sensitive skin lightly. “I want you.”

My head spins as I start to rock my hips to match his pace, every undulation letting his cock slide against the most sensitive places inside me and setting off a shower of sparks in my belly. There is a delicious pressure that builds with every roll of his hips, and I know when it finally gives it will bring that sweet euphoria that comes with getting exactly what my body needs.

My thighs press tight against his hips as it becomes almost unbearable, so close to the edge that I can practically taste it, and when it finally comes, when I do—it’s an all-over relief, an unwinding in my entire body as if every part of me had been coiled tight.

I’ve long since learned that I like how Noah lets go, how his eyes close and his mouth sputters loud curses and his arms hold me tight—all of it satisfying parts of me I hadn’t known existed. His knot swells just like it had a dozen times before this, and it’s still as mind-blowing as it had been the first time. Maybe even more so now. I can’t really be sure.

I collapse against him after, my limbs heavy and my body spent, content to listen to the heavy thudding of his heart as we both catch our breath. I can feel his finger trailing back and forth along my ribs, making me shiver, his knot pulsing pleasantly inside me as he holds me to him.

I feel more aware this time, my mind less muddled in the afterglow of what we’ve just done, and I can tell we don’t have much longer of this frenzied little getaway.

“I think it’s starting to wear off,” I mumble into his chest.

He doesn’t say anything about it, really, but I can feel him tense against me, and then there is a soft kiss at my hair as he quietly urges me to rest.

I don’t know what he’s thinking, have no idea whether or not these days together have been just an itch we’ve both been scratching or if there is some part of him that’s feeling conflicted, just as I’m finding myself to be.

And what’s worse is that . . . it’s just now hitting me how afraid I am to know the answer.

The next time I wake it’s to the feeling of a cool, wet cloth against my collarbone, the chilled fabric like heaven against my fevered skin. I smile softly as my eyes flutter open, catching Noah as he pulls the cloth away, looking at me with concern.

“You were sweating,” he says. “I didn’t want you to get sick.”

That same warm weight settles in my chest, and I bite back a larger grin as I wearily push myself up, wincing. “Jesus, I’m sore.”

“I’m sorry,” Noah offers guiltily. “Is it awful?”

I shake my head. “No. It’s a good sore.”

I can tell this pleases him, even if he tries to hide it. “Good,” he murmurs.

“How long was I out?”

He checks his phone on the nearby nightstand. “Six hours or so. Give or take. You slept for a while this time.”

“Ah, well.” I shrug. “That’s . . . good, right?”

“It probably means your heat is close to passing,” he notes, sounding almost . . . disappointed?

Could I be imagining that?

I try for something light. “I’m sure you’re going crazy not being able to work,” I tease.

Noah doesn’t miss a beat when he answers, holding my gaze with a sincerity that makes my lips part in surprise. “I don’t want to be anywhere else.”

“Oh,” I say quietly, unsure of what else to add to it.

Those warm feelings are shifting into my chest like burning embers, the heavy heat like a fire waiting to be stoked. I had been the one to assure Noah that we could be together like this without complicating things—that this little addendum to our arrangement would be nothing more than the two of us fulfilling each other’s desires without any strings attached. I had believed it when I said the words.

So why do I feel so unsure now?

“I’m really glad you came with me,” I start again, hardly any louder than a whisper. I can’t quite seem to find my voice right now. “I’m glad it was you.”

Noah doesn’t say anything immediately, and when I peek up at him, I notice him studying me, his eyes moving across my face and his lips pressed tightly together, like he’s trying to find the correct words. There’s a flicker of anxiety in my belly at what he might be trying to say; is he going to tell me that this thing between us is getting too difficult? That we should end it? Do I not want him to say those things? My feelings are so mixed up, even more so with the murky aftermath of my dwindling heat, and I can’t seem to pin down one singular emotion to focus on.

“Me too,” he finally settles on, and I am unable to discern a single thing from those two words.

I watch as Noah pushes away from the bed, moving to his feet and stepping across the carpet to the dresser on the other side of the room. He’s slipped into his boxer briefs—which leave little to the imagination when it comes to his sculpted ass that might almost make me envious—but mostly I find my eyes tracing the hard lines of muscle in his back, pink lines scattered here and there from what I assume are my fingernails. It makes me blush looking at them, and that heat spreads down into my chest and lower as it dredges up memories of everything we’ve done these last few days.

He grabs a water bottle from the dresser, bringing it back as he takes his place at the side of the bed again and, with a concerned expression, reaches out to hand over the bottle. “You need this,” he urges. “You barely ate any breakfast this morning and I’ve been having to practically force you to drink something.”

“Okay, Mom,” I laugh, taking the bottle. I unscrew the cap and take a heavy swig, gulping down a good bit of the bottle before replacing the cap and holding it up for him to see. “Happy?”

“Yes,” he deadpans. “The last thing we need is for you to get dehydrated.”

This makes me laugh harder. “Wow, that would be a great one to explain. Noah Taylor fucked all the nutrients right out of me.”

“I . . . probably could have been a little better about taking care of you.”

“What?” I frown, scooting away from the headboard, bringing the sheet with me and keeping it wrapped around my chest (which seems almost silly, given everything Noah has seen). “Noah. Seriously. My heats weren’t a picnic before this, but this one . . .” I make a face. “It would have been a real bitch without you. Like, completely miserable. You did great taking care of me.”

I see a bit of the tension in his face soften then as he nods lightly. I can tell he’s been worried about this, and that he needed reassurance. With everything I’ve seen of him in the last few days, I can undoubtedly assume that it’s an alpha thing. Especially if the strange urges to please him I’ve felt while we’ve been here are any indication.

“Good,” he answers warmly. “I’m glad.”

I’m realizing that this is the longest conversation we’ve had in days, and that it is just more proof that my heat is waning. Knowing this for certain makes me uneasy, because those unsure feelings are pushing their way back into my brain, wheedling their way into my subconscious to make me wonder about all sorts of unnecessary things. Things like: What will we be after this? and Do I even want to be something?

I realize that through this entire train of thought I’m staring at him, just as I’m noticing that he’s staring back at me in the same way. I wish I knew what he was thinking, wish I could read him just enough to help me figure out my own muddled thoughts, but all I can see in Noah’s face is the clear blue of his eyes, the strong line of his jaw, the plush curve of his lips—all the things that make it hard to look away from him. When I met him they were simply nice things to look at, but now just a glance is enough to give me butterflies. When the fuck did that even happen?