Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 66672 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 333(@200wpm)___ 267(@250wpm)___ 222(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66672 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 333(@200wpm)___ 267(@250wpm)___ 222(@300wpm)
It made Jules feel self-conscious, acutely aware of his plain, casual clothes. Not that wearing fancy clothes would make him less plain.
The thought made his stomach tighten. He’d always told himself that he didn’t care that he wasn’t beautiful like other omegas, but at the moment he wished he were more attractive. It didn’t help that he still felt very… raw after the previous day’s realization. He’d barely slept last night, and his morning hadn’t started well. He’d woken up to a very annoyed brother, who had informed him that Westcliff was an unfeeling, dismissive prick, and that Liam had broken things off to teach him a lesson.
The news had given Jules very mixed emotions. He hated that he couldn’t quite squash down the small, stupid hope that reared its ugly head. He knew how foolish that hope was. No matter the current state of affairs, Westcliff and Liam were still going to marry. And even if they didn’t, it wouldn’t change anything for him.
“I’m not here to talk about your brother,” Westcliff said, sitting down next to him and laying an arm behind Jules on the couch. “How are you feeling?” he said, his voice dropping to a husky, intimate murmur as he leaned in. “You said you didn’t feel well yesterday.”
Jules squeezed his thighs together.
Fuck. That voice.
“I’m okay,” he replied, taking in a careful lungful of Westcliff’s scent. Fuck, how could a man smell so good? Jules wanted to roll around in that scent forever until it was all he could smell. Don’t act like a junkie, don’t act like a junkie, don’t act like a junkie—you are better than that. Repeating that mantra in his head, Jules said aloud, “You shouldn’t have pissed off Li. He can be pretty bad-natured when he’s angry. What did you two argue about, anyway? He didn’t tell me.”
Westcliff stared at him for a moment before speaking.
“Liam said you have a crush on me.”
Jules opened his mouth and closed it, feeling like he’d been punched in the stomach. He blinked at Westcliff dazedly, his eyes wide and his heart beating somewhere in his throat. How—? Was he that obvious? Apparently he was.
“I’m going to kill him,” he said faintly.
Something shifted in Westcliff’s expression. “So it’s true.”
Jules’s face felt so hot it was probably a very unattractive red. He couldn’t meet Westcliff’s eyes, looking anywhere but at him.
“Hey,” the duke said, taking his trembling fingers into his hand and squeezing them. “It’s okay. As your brother said, it’s normal in your situation.”
A hysterical laugh bubbled up in Jules’s throat as he looked at their joined hands. In his situation? What did that even mean?
“Right,” he said.
“Look at me,” Westcliff said. Commanded.
Jules didn’t disobey him. He couldn’t. On some primitive level that didn’t make any fucking sense, this alpha felt like his. He wanted to obey him. It felt good obeying him—right. Shit, he was so screwed, wasn’t he?
Westcliff’s gaze held his.
“It’s nothing to be embarrassed about,” he said firmly, bringing his free hand to Jules’s cheek and stroking it with his knuckles.
Jules shivered, swallowing back a moan.
“It is normal in your situation,” Westcliff said, watching his reaction with a strange glint in his eyes. Was it his imagination, or did it really seem predatory?
“You’re trembling,” he stated, stroking Jules’s jawline. This time Jules couldn’t stop a small whine. He was so hard—and so slick his underwear felt sticky.
Jules glared at him half-heartedly. “Stop that,” he said shakily, but he wasn’t pulling away from the touch. He felt so oversensitive and needy, as if it’d physically hurt if Westcliff stopped touching him.
Westcliff’s scent became headier, the air thick with alpha pheromones. He eyed Jules for a long moment, his gaze very serious and intense. “It is just a crush, right?”
“Obviously,” Jules lied, hoping that it wasn’t obvious that he kind of wanted to curl up into a ball and hide from the world. Preferably after crawling into Westcliff’s lap. Yep, apparently he was masochistic enough to want comfort from the man who was the reason he felt like shit.
“I’m serious, Julian.” Westcliff cupped his cheek with his big hand. Stroked it with his thumb. Jules tried not to shiver. Westcliff held his gaze steadily. “Your brother thinks I should be colder with you. That’s why we argued—I said no. I’m not letting your brother dictate my actions. But if you really want distance, I will give you distance. But only if you want it.”
Jules just about melted, his heart so very warm he barely knew what to do with it. Gods, he loved this man.
Darting forward, he kissed Westcliff on his stubbled cheek. “Thank you, but I’m fine,” he lied, pressing his cheek against Westcliff’s and breathing in deeply. “It’s nothing. I don’t need distance.” He probably should want distance, but fuck, he was weak. He wouldn’t be able to bear any distance between them. Even the small distance between them right now felt horrible. He wanted them closer, so close there was nothing between them but skin.