Page 48 of Undone
That finally got Michael’s higher brain functions working again. He flushed with humiliation as he remembered everything Anthony had said.
“Get out,” he said, sitting up and reaching for his clothes.
He expected Anthony to argue.
But probably sensing that he’d crossed the line, Anthony was quiet. He didn’t say anything as he got dressed.
Michael had started thinking that he wouldn’t say anything at all before leaving, but Anthony paused by the door, his hand on the handle. “People say stupid shit during sex,” he said, his voice very neutral. “Shit they don’t actually mean.”
Michael’s stomach clenched. “They do.” His tone was as neutral as Anthony’s. “I’m sure you didn’t mean any of it.”
Silence.
Then the door opened and closed, and Anthony was gone.
Michael fell back onto the bed and closed his eyes, fighting the urge to breathe in the scent of alpha and sex clinging to the sheets.
He failed, of course.
Turning onto his stomach, he pressed his face against the pillow Anthony used and breathed in greedily, a whine building in his throat. Lately, he’d begun to crave this—he wanted to burrow beneath Anthony’s skin, to wake with his scent on the sheets, to hear the rough timbre of his voice in the morning.
Damn it all.
Chapter 21
Over the next few days, Michael tried to cast what Anthony had said out of his mind.
Anthony was right: people did say stupid shit during sex. Filthy fantasies and dirty talk meant nothing outside the bedroom.
But.
He was beginning to think Anthony at least meant some of it. If he hadn’t, he wouldn’t be avoiding him.
Two days was nothing in the grand scheme of things, but after weeks of having Anthony inside of him every single day, going two days without as much as seeing him was... strange. He hated it. He hated the sterile scent of his sheets—cold, untouched, empty.
By the evening of the second day Michael was snapping at his staff and his mother, feeling shaky and uncertain and more than a little pissed off.
He tossed and turned for hours until he finally fell into a restless sleep.
He dreamed of Anthony fucking him. Dreaming of it wasn’t all that unusual, but there was something different about this dream. It took Michael a moment to realize what was off. There were wet, filthy sounds on every thrust of Anthony’s cock, andthey were getting more obvious, as if his body was growing wetter. Lube didn’t work like that. This was...
“So wet for me,” dream Anthony said, fucking hard into him and looking at him with enamored eyes. “So wet and sloppy. Such a good omega for me.”
Michael woke to sticky boxers and ragged breaths, his lips still parted around the wordalpha.
He tried to put it out of his mind.
Everyone had a weird dream once in a while. It meant absolutely nothing.
But his skin was crawling with unease, a small, panicky feeling settling in his gut and refusing to leave. He wanted to see Anthony. He wanted Anthony to tell him that everything was fine, that they were fine, that Michael would be fine.
That need for reassurance freaked him out more than Anthony’s words or that freaky dream. Was he already close to the point of no return if he’d started wanting reassurance from another alpha? Alphas didn’t reassure each other. Alphas most definitely didn’t seek comfort from another alpha. Maybe a bit of space would truly be good for him.
But he didn’twantspace.
Everything in him wanted to see Anthony. Needed to see him. It was like an incessant itch that couldn’t be scratched, no matter how much Michael tried to distract himself with managing his finances and estates.
He found himself staring at the documents blankly, wondering what Anthony was doing. Was he home alone? Was he thinking of him? Was he with someone else?
