Chapter 309. Babysitting II

Chapter 309: 309. Babysitting II

Maisie

An amused rumble that might have been laughter echoed in the dark.

"Liar," Jericho whispered and I jumped, when the mattress dipped behind me, the wood groaning under his weight.

"I didn’t--" I exhaled, thankful the lights were out, so he couldn’t see how flustered I was. "You’re supposed... you’re supposed to take the floor. And I’m supposed to have the bed..."

It usually worked in the movies, didn’t it? He was supposed to be a gentleman and do what I wanted.

Except, he is doing what you want, moron, my Lycan quipped.

Jericho slid in beside me, keeping a painstaking two-inch gap between us, which was considerably worse than if he actually touched me, because now, all I felt was heat.

"You can relax, malyshka," he murmured when I remained sitting upright, holding my breath in both fear and uncertainty. "I keep my word. No touching."

He sounded irritated, and for some reason, I was too. "I am perfectly relaxed."

I was full of shit and we both knew it.

The next three minutes were awkward as hell as we tried to adjust around each other. Without touching.

"Maisie, you’re going to fall," Jericho grunted, shifting his weight. His knee brushed the back of my thigh through the thin material of my shorts, and I flinched at the sudden, electric jolt that snapped through my spine.

"I’m adjusting!" I whispered, trying to tuck my arm under my pillow. "I just need to... my elbow is weird. I think I broke it."

He tried to give me space, shifting back, but the bed was only a double. His massive frame barely fit on the mattress to begin with. Every time he moved, the heat shifted with him. When he pulled his arm back, his bare forearm grazed my lower back, sending a wave of goosebumps cascading down my arms.

"Your pillow is in my face," he muttered, trying to tuck his chin.

"Well, maybe you should’ve just stuck to the floor! Why are you so big anyway?!"

"You’ve never had a problem with my size before. In fact, you’ve always liked me big," he snapped.

"Don’t say it that way! It sounds weird!"

"Get your head out of the gutter, malyshka," he said with what I imagined was a withering stare.

"Shut up."

"Yes ma’am." More shuffling. "Your hands are on my dick."

It didn’t sound like a complaint. More like an observation. And I yelped, peeling them back instantly before I could curl my fingers and touch him. "Gah! Sorry!"

My heel bumped his shin. His knee nudged my hip. Jericho let out a ragged, frustrated breath through his nose.

Then, he snarled when my hand smacked into his nose. "Fuck this."

Before I could process the words, his large, calloused hand shot out, wrapping tightly around my waist. ℴℴ𝘮

With a smooth pull, he dragged me backward across the sheets until my spine was slammed flush against his broad, solid chest.

I gasped, my hands flying up to grip his arm anchored across my middle.

"Jericho--"

"Enough," he growled softly into the nape of my neck, his breath hot against my skin. "You need me close and it’s projecting into my mind. Fighting it is giving me a migraine. Please stay still. It’s already hard enough remembering why you’re in my arms and I can’t touch you."

The deep frustration and ache in his voice made me go pliant, and he pulled me in tighter, settling into a spoon.

His chin rested lightly against the crown of my head, and his arm secured against him.

My heart was beating so fast, so hard, I was positive he could feel it rattling against his arm.

But for all of the nerves and knots cramping in my stomach, his touch remained completely respectful. His hand remained around my stomach and didn’t drift higher or lower. It was almost protective, if it wasn’t a lot more possessive.

Then there was the impossible to ignore, thick and unyielding ridge pressed directly into the small of my back.

He was hard.

My face flushed hot. I squeezed my eyes shut, my mind frantically trying to rationalize it. It’s just Lycan biology, I told myself, my knuckles white where I still had my fingers curled.

Lycans have high body temperatures. They have intense instincts. They’re always... Hard and ready. Was I always hard and ready? Not hard, for sure. It’s just a physical response. And besides, what did I expect? My ass was literally on his dick. This could go wrong quickly. He wouldn’t even need to get rid of my shorts. A simple slide to the side and he would be inside me--

A deep, hungry growl escaped Jericho. "For the love of the goddess, malyshka," he chided and I felt like a child who had been rebuked with a cane.

Could he hear my thoughts? I was going to die of embarrassment.

"I can’t," he answered more gently now. "Your feelings are being projected to me in vivid detail. It’s like watching a lacrosse game, but the ball goes wide and smacks you right in the face."

I swallowed. "I’m sorry."

His chin bobbed against my head. "It is not your fault. It’s the mark."

"The mark?"

"Hmm," he said, his chest rising and falling heavily against my back as he breathed in the scent of my hair.

"A proper Lycan mating rite like you have witnessed isn’t a solo act," Jericho explained, his voice low and gravelly near my ear. "Both mates mark each other simultaneously at the ceremony. It’s an equal exchange of power and ownership. Having a mark that’s strictly one-sided is like taking a single bite out of your favorite cake, leaving the rest on the table, and walking away. Everyone who looks at it is going to assume it’s gone stale, or that it tastes appalling."

He continued, his thumb absently tracing a slow circle over my hip through my shorts. "Without a mutual bond to create a buffer, the link becomes a one-way floodgate. I feel everything you feel, Maisie. But because there’s no counter-balance, those emotions don’t just transfer, they multiply."

My mind flashed back to the trial earlier. "Earlier... at the courtroom. I thought about wanting Tessa dead for a split second, and it felt like..."

"Like you flipped a switch," Jericho finished grimly. "Like you handed out a direct execution order. When your emotions spike through that mark, our instincts scream at us to do anything--anything--to fix it, to please you, or to tear apart whatever made you feel that way."

I frowned, a sudden contradiction hitting me. "Wait. If a one-sided mark floods the bond like that... why didn’t that happen to me when Quinlan marked me again? Or when you all bit me?"

Jericho let out a soft, exasperated huff against my neck, the barest hint of amusement lacing his tone. "Why do you think our race revolve around women, malyshka? Do you think it’s just because female Lycans are rare?"

"Isn’t it?"

"No," he rumbled. "It’s because women are naturally more level-headed, grounded, and in control of their instincts than men could ever dream of being. A female Lycan could walk into a room, see all three of her mates completely naked, and still function normally. She can process the sight, keep her composure, and move on with her day.

"A male Lycan couldn’t do that," Jericho admitted, a note of dark, reluctant honesty in his voice. "Not with all the discipline and training in the world. The second we see our mate like that, our brains short-circuit. Our logic burns away, leaving only instinct."

A tiny, breathless laugh of disbelief slipped out of me. "You’re saying the mating ceremonies are conducted in the manner of marking each other at the same time because... Lycan males are more emotional than the general female population and can’t bear being treated like... discarded chocolate cake?"

He pinched my midriff where Quinlan’s shirt had ridden high, eliciting a tiny gasp out of me. "Don’t tell anyone I said that." A pause and he crushed his nose into my neck. "Fuck, I shouldn’t have said that."

My gasp turned into a giggle. "Now I’m more than tempted to leave my marks all over all of you, just to watch how long it takes before I drive you completely out of your mind."

A sharp fang nicked my skin playfully. The warning scrape sent a jolt of liquid heat straight to my stomach. "Maybe don’t do that. I can’t bear any more of this..." He trailed off and chuckled, the sound rough in his chest. "I can’t believe I’m about to ask you this, but..."

His mouth brushed over the arch of my neck, his warm breath lifting the fine hairs at the nape. "What are we, malyshka?"

It was a question I didn’t have an answer to. I didn’t even think my answer was important enough. But it grew increasingly difficult to think when his fingers stroked around my belly button lazily.