"But you're not," she says, her voice surprisingly fierce. "You're still you, Darren. Your designation doesn't define you."
It's what I've been trying to tell myself, what I've been desperate to believe. Hearing it from her, stated so simply and with such conviction, loosens the knot in my chest.
"That's what I keep telling myself," I say with a wry smile. "Sounds better coming from you."
She laughs. "I could get used to the flattery."
"Only the truth," I assure her.
"And what about the suppressants?" she asks after a moment of consideration. "Will you stay on them forever?"
Another important question. "No," I admit. "They're not meant for long-term use. Eventually, I'll have to..." I trail off, the reality of what that means still uncomfortable to voice.
"Have a heat," she finishes for me, direct as always.
"Yeah." I look down at our joined hands, embarrassment heating my face. It's still strange to discuss this—my biology, my body's new reality—so openly. "Not looking forward to that particular experience."
"I can imagine," she says softly, no judgment in her voice.
"Though there is one upside to going off the suppressants eventually," I say, hoping to lighten the mood.
"Oh?" she asks. "What's that?"
"I'll finally get to smell you fully," I answer, grinning. "That's something."
There's that blush again.
"Good something or bad something?" she asks, a teasing lilt to her voice.
"Definitely good," I assure her, lifting our joined hands to press a kiss to her knuckles. "Though I already know we're compatible in other ways."
Her blush deepens, eyes darkening at the memory of our night together. And the morning after. "Very compatible," she agrees, voice dropping to a register that makes my body respond immediately.
I stand, tugging her gently to her feet and into my arms. She comes willingly, fitting against me like she belongs there.
"I've been thinking about you," I murmur against her hair, breathing in the faint scent of her shampoo. "About us."
"Me too," she admits, her hands sliding up my chest to link behind my neck. "Probably more than I should be."
I dip my head, capturing her lips in a kiss that starts gentle but quickly turns hungry. She responds eagerly, pressing closer,her body soft and warm against mine. When we break apart, we're both breathing harder.
"I want you," I say simply, honestly. "Not just because of some biological match. Because you're you."
Her eyes search mine, looking for truth or hesitation. She must find what she's looking for because she nods once, decisive. "Show me."
I don't need to be told twice. I lift her easily, her legs wrapping around my waist as I carry her to the couch. The bedroom is too far away for what I have in mind.
I set her down gently, kneeling between her legs as she settles against the cushions. Her oversized sweater has ridden up, revealing simple cotton panties that somehow manage to be sexier than any lingerie I've ever seen.
"Can I taste you?" I ask, hands resting on her thighs, kneading her soft skin.
Her breath catches, pupils dilating. "Yes," she whispers, lifting her hips slightly in invitation.
I hook my fingers in the waistband of her panties, sliding them down her legs with reverent care. She's already wet, her scent making my mouth water.
I start slow, pressing kisses to her inner thighs, working my way higher with deliberate patience even if I want to dive in like a buffet. By the time I reach her center, she's squirming, one hand fisted in my hair.
"Darren," she breathes, a plea and a demand wrapped in my name.
