Page 57 of Labor of Love

Tanner was next to Bracken, but he wasn’t touching him. He’d said he wouldn’t touch Bracken without Bracken’s express permission.

The thought only made Bracken cry harder.

Eventually he managed to croak out, “You’re awful.”

Tanner let out a short, deep laugh. “I am, aren’t I?”

Bracken lifted his head. He must have looked a fright—he could feel how swollen his eyes and nose were, and tears were still streaming down his face. Another fae would have been disgusted, but Tanner was the picture of concern.

Bracken sniffed loudly. “Well? I need a hug.”

“Oh.” Tanner’s eyes widened in surprise. “Of course.”

And then a warm, broad arm was around Bracken’s shoulders, tucking him into an equally warm and broad chest. Oh gods, that was so much better than the stupid pillow. Tanner might not have had any alpha pheromones, but he still smelled good and right and perfect. Bracken let himself fall into the comfort and sobbed out the rest of his worries.

His tears eventually subsided into hiccuping sniffles, and he lifted his head to glare at Tanner. “Pregnant omegas are comforted by the touch of the father,” he said firmly. “So youcan do away with that ‘not unless you ask’ nonsense right this moment.”

“All right.” Tanner immediately tugged Bracken even further into his big body.

At least he was a relatively quick learner.

There was a light touch to Bracken’s head. Had Tanner just sniffed his hair?

Presumably so because the man’s next comment was, “Your scent has changed. Your pheromones, right?” It seemed like Tanner had done some research while he was away. “They were…spicier before.”

“I wasarousedbefore,” Bracken snapped, embarrassment making him irritable.

“Ah.”

Tanner very wisely stayed silent after that.

Eventually Bracken grew tired of sitting in the same slumped position. But he wasn’t ready to lose the contact yet either.

“My feet hurt,” he announced, drawing away from Tanner’s hold.

“Do they?”

“I’m pregnant, aren’t I?”

Although, it wasn’t as if Bracken had all that much extra weight to carry yet. But he’d circled the bar quite a few times before he’d mustered the courage to enter, so it wasn’t a lie either. His feet really were sore.

Tanner was giving him an unreadable look, and he seemed to be fighting a smile again. “Shall I give you a foot massage?”

“Yes. You shall.”

A few minutes later, Bracken found himself leaning against some surprisingly tolerable cushions Tanner had dug out from his closet. He rifled through the new silks and blankets, setting aside his favorites, while Tanner’s strong, calloused hands worked the last aches and tensions out of Bracken’s lower limbs.

Maybe it wouldn’t be the worst thing, staying here.

5

Bracken took it back. It was the very worst thing, staying at Tanner’s.

Sure, Tanner had stayed true to his word and painted the bedroom a beautiful pale yellow. And yes, he’d decorated it with bright fabrics and Bracken-approved plants until it finally resembled a proper fae domicile.

And of course, Tanner was amazingly responsive to each and every one of Bracken’s physical demands, though they were quite plentiful. (“Hug me.” “Cuddle me on this couch.” “My feet need massaging. Now my lower back.” “Why aren’t you holding my hand as we walk?”)

Bracken had even met the man’s parents. He hadn’t wanted to—he knew what a terror blood ties could be—but Tanner had reassured him.

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