Don sat down, and I remained on his lap. He ran his fingers through my short hair. “Little Warrior, I’m not going to leave you. I’m not in a rush. Whether you get there or not is fine.”
“You don’t understand,” I sobbed. “You don’t understand.”
“You are a horrible drunk,” he muttered.
I sat back and gripped his cheeks. “I want you to be mine. No one else’s. Bimwoxcol is fucking other people beside Pierce. I don’t want that. Just me.”
“Alright,” he said. “Just you.”
“No. It’s not fair. I’m being unreasonable,” I said, chest heaving.
“I have no idea what you want right now,” he said with a breathy laugh.
I hugged him again, fisting his hair. “We're friends with benefits. I know that, but the thought of you with anyone else makes me mad. While I’m here, while I have my memory, I want to be the only one touching you like this. Just me, Donny.”
Don kissed my neck, arms tight around me. “I don’t want anyone else. Just you, Vince. Only you.”
Chapter 27
Hungover
I held Vince against me as he drooled on my shoulder. Any time I tried to move to take care of him, like wipe his face, he gripped my shirt and started to cry. All while I snuggled him, his words circled my thoughts. My soul pounded with warmth. Vince had claimed me. Completely. I wished it was forever, but he was giving me everything he could in this moment.
My fingers trailed over his back, feeling the smoothness of his shirt. I wished it was his skin, but I was content he was beside me. My Vince. I rubbed my cheek against his hair. His gentle scent bore the barest tinge of my own, but I wanted it to be stronger. Until any drakcol could scent me on him, I wouldn’t be satisfied.
He whimpered in his sleep when a dream started, rolling onto his back.
“Hush, my Mate. I am here. You are safe.” I forced him onto his side against me. I didn’t want him to choke on his own vomit—something Kalvoxrencol had pinged to warn me about. I dragged my claws through his hair, scratching his scalp, careful not to hurt him.
Vince calmed without use of my inner fire and pressed closer to me, his fingers gripping my shirt.
Often I felt as if I was nothing more than my inner fire. My family cared about me beside my gift, and in some cases, in spite of it. Some of my past partners had only sought me out because of my inner fire. My early work in the navy was because of it. Vince was different. He cared about me for me.
The easy compliments he gave. All were sincere. From how he liked my smile to how smart he thought I was. Vince never held back. The gentle touches. Slowly, he was becoming more and more comfortable with me. As he did, Vince was happy to stake his claim with a soft touch on my arm or a brush of his lips.
His fierce claiming of me was something I desperately needed; something I’d never known I needed until I’d met him.
Suddenly, Vince sat up, eyes wide. “I don’t feel good.”
Before I was able to react, he vomited. The foul-smelling liquid splattered me and the bed. His eyes grew wide, and tears began to gather.
“Don’t cry. It’s alright. I’m not mad. I won’t hurt you.” In his current inebriated state, I couldn’t read his mind. It was all blurry.
“I’m so sorry,” he sobbed, chest heaving. Vince gagged moments before he vomited again, spewing on me and the sheets. I got up and snagged an empty planter, shoving it into his arms. Vince puked again. I had no idea how this much liquid was in his stomach.
“I’m sorry,” he said again, tears running down his cheeks and snot leaking from his nose.
“It’s fine.” I brushed a hand through his hair, breathing through my mouth. Love wasn’t all smiles, apparently. It was vomit too. When he continued to sob, I said, “You need to stop or you're going to make yourself sick.”
“I want to look pretty for you.”
“What?” I asked with a slight chuckle.
“You’re too perfect. I want to be pretty.”
“You are pretty.”
“No, no, I’m not. I smell.” His head fell back as he sobbed.
