Chapter 59 Patrick
Lottie steps inside, the door closing softly behind her.
The movement brings her closer.
Too close.
I draw in a slow breath and let it out carefully, trying to steady myself—but her presence hits me immediately, wrapping around me in a way that makes my spine tingle.
God.
I don’t know how I managed to stay away from her for three weeks.
How I convinced myself distance was even possible.
Everything feels different now.
Lighter… and heavier at the same time.
Because this time, I’m not fighting it.
Or at least—I’m not trying to.
I want her.
Closer.
I want to breathe her in, to feel her warmth, to close the space between us and forget everything else exists.
I take a small step back, hoping the distance will help clear my head.
It doesn’t.
Her scent lingers, filling my lungs anyway, making my heart pick up speed.
“C’mon in,” I say, my voice quieter than I intended. “I just finished cooking. Are you hungry, or… do you want to talk first?”
A soft smile curves across her lips.
“Let’s eat,” she says. “Then talk.”
I nod quickly, grateful for the structure, for something to anchor myself to.
“Yeah. Okay.”
I step back again, gesturing toward the kitchen before turning and walking ahead. I can hear her footsteps behind me—steady, unhurried—and just knowing she’s there sends another shiver through me.
I lead her into the kitchen and gesture toward a chair.
She doesn’t sit immediately. Instead, she waits until I do.
Something about that—about the quiet patience in it—makes my chest tighten.
Once I settle, she takes her seat across from me.
I offer a small smile and pick up my fork.
She follows my lead.
We eat.
At first, it’s quiet, then slowly, we fall into small talk—light, careful, almost like we’re testing the ground beneath us. Nothing heavy. Nothing too close to what we both know is waiting.
When she tells me the food is delicious, I feel heat rise to my face.
“Thanks,” I mumble, ducking my head slightly.
It’s ridiculous how much that simple praise affects me.
We finish eating, the conversation tapering off naturally. Then, without needing to say anything, we both move—clearing the table, rinsing dishes, working side by side in an easy, familiar rhythm.
It feels… domestic.
Natural.
Dangerously so.
Once everything is clean and put away, we end up standing there, facing each other in the quiet.
For a moment, neither of us speaks.
We just look.
Then Lottie steps closer.
Instinctively, I step back.
The movement is automatic, reflexive.
Her head tilts slightly, studying me, and then she steps forward again.
This time—
I don’t move.
But my body betrays me anyway, a faint tremor running through me as she closes the space between us.
She lifts her hand slowly, deliberately, like she’s giving me time to pull away if I want to.
I don’t.
Her fingers brush down my arm—light, careful—sending a trail of heat in their wake until she reaches my hand.
She laces her fingers through mine.
My breath catches.
“C’mon,” she says softly, giving my hand a gentle tug. “Let’s go to the living room. We can get this talk out of the way.”
Something about the way she says it—out of the way—makes my thoughts spiral briefly into what comes after.
Because it sounds like she already knows there will be an after.
I let her lead me.
We move into the living room and sit on the sofa, close enough that I can feel the heat of her beside me.
She clears her throat softly, grounding the moment.
“How long have you known we were fated mates?” she asks.
I look away for a second, gathering my thoughts, then back at her.
“A few weeks,” I admit. “Before you came over… that night.”
She nods slowly.
“So you knew I would go into rut and come to you.”
Not a question.
A fact.
I nod once. “Yeah. I did.”
A beat.
“I didn’t tell you,” I add quietly. “Because I didn’t believe in it.”
She studies me, something curious flickering in her gaze. “Why not?”
I exhale slowly.
“Because I didn’t like the idea that something like fate gets to decide who we belong with,” I say. “It felt… too absolute. Too out of our control.”
“Even after everything we felt?” she presses gently. “The way we kept being pulled toward each other?”
I shake my head slightly. “I thought it was the bond doing that. That it was… manipulating us. Making it feel stronger than it actually was.”
She nods again, absorbing that.
“And now?”
The question is quiet.
Simple.
But it lands with so much meaning.
Heat creeps up my neck as I look down at our joined hands, my fingers tightening slightly around hers.
“I think…” I start, then stop, forcing myself to say it clearly. “I think you’re mine… just as much as I’m yours.”
The words feel bigger out loud.
Real.
When I look up, her entire expression changes.
A smile breaks across her face—bright, certain, relieved.
Before I can react, her hand slides to the back of my neck, warm and steady, guiding me closer.
Close enough that I can feel her breath against my lips.
“That’s all I needed to hear,” she murmurs.
And then she closes the distance.
Her lips meet mine, soft but sure—and everything else falls away.
Her kiss deepens, and I melt into it, my previous resistance forgotten. Weeks of pent-up longing and confusion dissolve as her tongue explores my mouth with a confident, possessive stroke that makes my toes curl. I'm completely lost to the sensation, my body arching toward hers despite my mind still catching up.
The air suddenly shifts as her pheromones spike—the sharp, clean scent of fresh pine in a snowy forest flooding my senses. My own scent flares in response, the sweet, citrusy aroma of grapefruit dipped in honey pouring from me as slick begins to leak from my hole. The competing scents mingle in the space between us, creating an intoxicating cocktail that makes my head spin.
When we finally break apart, panting, her eyes are dark with desire. "I've wanted this for so long," she admits, her voice husky with need.
I can only nod, words escaping me as she guides me to lie back on the sofa. Lottie hovers over me, her body pressing against mine in all the right places. I can feel her hard length through her jeans, and my body responds with an immediate rush of slick that soaks through my pants.
"Looks like someone's eager," she teases with a smirk, her hand trailing down my chest until she cups me through my trousers.
My hips buck involuntarily. "Lottie..." I breathe out, not even sure what I'm asking for.
She understands anyway. "Shh, I've got you." With practiced efficiency, she undresses us both, her movements growing more desperate as our scents intensify. A fleeting thought crosses my mind—how experienced she seems, how confident in her movements as she bares our bodies without hesitation or fumbling. We're naked and exposed in the soft light of the living room, my eyes drawn to her dick—thick, hard, and already leaking with anticipation.
I take a steadying breath, meeting her gaze with determination. "I want to suck your dick," I say, the words coming out more confident than I feel.
A flicker of surprise crosses her features, quickly replaced by heat. "Yeah?" she asks, her voice dropping an octave.
I nod. "Please."
A tremor of nerves runs through me. This is new territory. Our previous encounter was nothing like this. I've never done this with anyone before.
Sensing my hesitation, Lottie leans down, kissing me gently. "We don't have to..."
"No," I interrupt, determination replacing uncertainty. "I want to. I need to."
Her smile returns, softer this time. She shifts position until she's straddling my chest, her dick just inches from my face. "Just take it slow," she murmurs, stroking my hair. "Do what feels natural."
My hands tremble slightly as I reach for her, one wrapping around her shaft while the other cups her balls. She groans appreciatively as I begin to stroke, her hips moving in a subtle rhythm.
I lean forward, tentatively flicking my tongue across the tip. The salty taste of her pre-cum makes my mouth water, and more slick pours from my entrance, soaking the sofa beneath me. The scent of my arousal grows stronger—sweet grapefruit and honey filling the room—and Lottie responds with another wave of her pine forest pheromones.
"Fuck, Patrick," she gasps, her fingers tightening in my hair. "Just like that."
I take more of her in, stretching my jaw to accommodate her impressive girth. My inexperience shows in my technique, but Lottie doesn't seem to mind—if anything, she seems to enjoy my fumbling eagerness. She begins to thrust gently, careful not to overwhelm me as I find a rhythm that works.
One of her hands moves to cup my jaw, her thumb stroking my cheek as I suck her. The tenderness of the gesture contrasts with the rawness of the act, making my heart ache with emotion. I look up, meeting her eyes, and the intensity I see there makes me moan around her length.
"You're doing so good," she praises, her voice strained with pleasure. "So fucking good for me."