Page 122 of Broken Bonds
Ch-ch-ch-changes
I mean, technically, Jax didn’t forbid me from fucking Mal. In fact, that day he came over and we talked on my front porch, he told me I could fool around with him and “maybe” I shouldn’t fuck him.
But it was not an order, and while I’ve wanted to stick to the intent of the caution…
Yeeeaah.
Normally, I’m not a loophole kind of guy, but fuck it.
Fuck.
It.
I am beyond the point of reason once Mal says yes to whatever this next step will be for us. My heart will be shredded if he has to leave, but at least I’ll have this sweet memory of finally fucking him.
Maybe he won’t have to leave.
Maybe he won’t have a mate bond with someone during initiation.
Maybe, maybe, maybe.
But for certain, right now, I need him. I need to sheath my cock inside his body and make him mine in the only way I can for right now, unless or until I get to completely make him mine.
Not that I’m sure what that entails.
No, I’ve never felt like this before. Unfortunately, I’ve never talked to another grown male elk about how we claim mates, or if we even claim mates. The predators all do—wolves and other canines, the big cats, the bears.
When Dad died, I was still too young for that talk, and Mom is a human. I know they had a bond, but honestly? I’d rather masturbate in the middle of downtown Tampa than ask my mom sex and mating questions.
I just…can’t.
Yes, I get that’s stupid and ironic, all at the same time, that I can get my slut on but I can’t make myself ask Mom questions like that.
While my couch is large and comfy, as I slant my lips over Mal’s for another possessive kiss I realize I do not want my first time with this man to be on my sofa.
I want him in my bed.
And I rarely bring people into my bed. Sam, Jax and Shawn…
And that’s it.
When I sit up, Mal tries to sit up too, reaching for me. I stand and scoop him into my arms, his arms circling my neck and pulling me in for another kiss.
Carrying him to my bedroom, I kick the door shut behind us and drop him onto my bed so I can shove my jeans off. He rips off what’s left of his shirt—whoops, I’m going to owe him a new one—and shimmies out of his jeans, or tries to, because he’s still wearing his work boots.
I grab his feet and make quick work of unlacing the work boots, tossing them over my shoulders before I grab his jeans by the hems and yank them and his briefs off.
He reaches for me as I climb onto the bed, caging him with my arms so I can kiss him again.
I cannot stop kissing him. I’m addicted to him, and if this isn’t a mate bond, then what is it? I’ve been crazy-attracted to guys before, but never anything like this.
Ever.
Not even close.
Never at what feels like a cellular level, deep inside my soul.
I grab his wrists and pin them over his head and spend a long moment staring into his grey eyes. “This may add a level of complication to our lives,” I hoarsely manage.
