Page 101 of Act Like You Don't Care
We ate,but I didn’t go running after all. Instead, I paced—once I was home, safe in my four walls, I didn’t want to go out again.
The need to move, to run, though, never stopped. Miles tried to talk me through it without success until I sent him home because even his normally restful presence wasn’t helping. If anything, it made it worse.
Watching him there today, seeing him come racing to my defense had been an unexpected turn-on. As in, we’d have been naked in bed right now if he’d done so much as look at me the way an alpha looks at an omega.
That had scared me, almost as much as the sudden appearance of my father and his maybe future Wellspring. I’d spent my entire adult life denying that part of my self—it had been safer. And, honestly, I didn’t want to be rescued.
But he’d been so, so hot this morning.
I wandered around the condo until I found his shirt, the one he’d been wearing yesterday. It still smelled of him and I paced about the condo again with it pressed against my face and that scent filling my lungs and making everything more and more uncomfortable.
Fuck it. I’ll just go jerk off and then I’ll be fine.It wouldn’t be the first time—along with the second trimester had come a massive surge in hormones, erotic dreams, and the urge to trip Miles and race him to the floor.
That last bit not being part of the relationship, I’d had to settle for my hand and some decent lube.
I had promised to relax and be lazy, right? What was more relaxing than a good orgasm?
Miles’s shirt came along with me. I hung it around my neck as I stripped the rest of my clothes off and stretched out on the bed, stopping occasionally to huff the smell of his cologne like it was lighter fluid. His scent brought back vivid memories of those days hidden away together in the house. No responsibilities except to stay quiet and inside, the incredible luxury of being able to wake up during the night and tease him awake to make love as often as I wanted, or to slip up behind him and run my hands over those fantastic biceps and up to his chest while I nibbled on his neck and invited him to join me in the bedroom.
Only, it didn’t feel right. It wasn’t enough. Oh, I was going to have an orgasm, no question there. Probably sooner than later. The memories were so strong I could almost feel him, his weight against my chest, the solidity of his thighs between mine. It still wasn’t right.
It was the feel of him inside me that was what I was craving. Anger washed through me. I pounded the mattress with my closed fists, then lay back with my eyes closed, trying to recapture the feel of him but while all the other smells and sounds and sensations came at my call, that one refused. Or maybe I wasn’t imaginative enough.
I laughed sourly, remembering the jokes some of my omega friends would make about using cucumbers in moments of desperation, and groaned, wondering if I was actually desperate enough to warrant a trip to the grocery store.
Wait! That package from Nick… He’d been sending me pregnancy care packages, he and Rhys and Kade. Food, little comforts, books.
In the last box, the one that had come from Nick alone, he’d sent me a dildo. I’d thought it was the kind of semi-crude joke he occasionally stooped to and I’d laughed and shoved it in my dresser drawer.
Now I saw it for the genius that it was.
Quick as possible, I rolled out of bed and went hunting for that package, somewhere in the depths of my sock drawer.
Success! I ripped open the box, threw the instructions over my shoulder and gave my new fake cock a quick scrub in the sink, then took it back to bed to lube it up and put it where it would do the most good.
Oh, that was better. I tucked Miles’s shirt under my chin and pushed the dildo in as far as it would go. My body tensed up around it and my hips rocked. The dildo shifted position and I groaned with relief as the feel of Miles inside me flooded my nerve endings. The baby got in the way a little, but also seemed to help, like he was compressing everything into a much smaller space, so as I pulled the fake cock out and pushed it back in, it hit every good thing inside me and sent sheets of pleasure washing over my body.
Curls of citrus and sage and fresh air teased my nose and I fell into a fantasy that was just me and Miles, someplace quiet and private. He was kissing along my jawline, his morning scruff of beard burning against my skin, cock buried deep inside me. I was going to have hickeys after this but it was okay, because there was no one here but us to see. He might not show it, but I thought he would enjoy having marked me in a way that said that I was taken. He chuckled and stroked my side, from my hip up to my chest, playing with my nipple while I arched and complained beneath him.
With one final pinch, he began to move, thrusting with firm authority while I writhed beneath him. I grabbed one leg behind my knee and pulled it up almost to my chest and rocked my hips in time with his, forcing him as deep as he could go, twisting to chase the ecstasy rapidly blotting out everything except the need I had for him to ride me to completion. The curve of my back changed how our bodies came together, letting him bring more pressure to bear against my prostate. I gave up on any semblance of dignity and groaned and moaned and pushed back at him, my voice hoarse as I gasped his name. He grunted and bit the side of my neck and like setting a flame to gasoline, my body burst into flames around him. I yelled and grabbed for the pillow, burying my face in the cotton while I spasmed around his cock, my body locked down tight as if it never wanted to let him go.
Not so far wrong there, I guessed.
Reality gradually crept in, along with a melancholy-tinged contentment. I stared up at my ceiling, then looked over at the other side of the bed and tried to picture him there again. Maybe asleep, maybe just watching me with those eyes that saw everything and never judged.
Maybe I need to be less scared of relationships.
I thought about that for a while, because something just didn’t feel right about it.
Then it hit me. It wasn’t relationships I needed to be less scared of.
It was Miles. I had to learn not to be afraid of opening myself up to Miles.
Tam
“And cut!” the director yelled. “Perfect! That’s it for this morning folks, except for one final meeting in the pre-read room in thirty minutes, before everyone heads for lunch. And that includes you,” he added, pointing at me. “Last day or not, I need you there.”
“Gotcha, boss,” I said and bolted for my trailer, where I could peel myself out of my wardrobe and then the uncomfortable girdle-type thing they’d started putting me in about three weeks ago. I let out a sigh of relief that could have blown leaves off of trees as the last of the hooks came loose and my belly could surge forward in its quest for world domination. “Finally.” I wasn’t even that big, but between my last two doctor’s appointments my waistline had gone up by a good three inches. As the doctor said, it was only to be expected at this stage of the pregnancy, but the past two weeks had been uncomfortable to film, to say the least.
