Page 35 of Thorns That Bloom (Venusverse #3)

“Why is it that you believe you can’t want him?”

I choke out a laugh, and even I can hear that it sounds suspiciously like a sob. Where do I even begin? I feel frozen, stuck.

“If you’re not sure, you could try to list reasons or ways Theo has had a negative effect on your life,” Dr. Stewart suggests, her voice kind.

Negative? He’s had nothing but a positive effect since he walked into it. He’s only ever tried to help. He’s only ever been irrationally understanding and kind.

But that in itself is an insane thought.

I don’t even know him. I don’t know this man, and yet I’m drawn toward him so easily, like a stupid insect getting stuck in honey.

Isn’t that fucked up? Isn’t it dangerous, how effortlessly this man, who might very well be the same sort of monster as those who hurt me, found his way into my heart?

Simply by claiming he believes we’re fated mates?

By being nice to me and showing interest in my child and having a charming fucking smile?

‘What’s wrong with me?’ I think, even as some part of me is screaming in protest.

I put my head in my hands and stare blankly at the floor through my fingers as my chest tightens with unease.

This never would’ve been me before.

That must be it.

The old Sam would’ve laughed Theo off. I thought this entire nightmare had made me even more cynical than I already was, but it isn’t true. It’s made me soft. Weak. That’s the only logical explanation for this madness.

“I don’t even know him,” I whisper. “I have to keep myself and my child safe. Wouldn’t you agree?”

When I look at her, Dr. Stewart gives me that…

skeptical eyebrow raise. Like she knows I’m lying to myself, lying to her.

She would never accuse me, she would never throw it in my face, because that’s not what a professional does, but I know damn well what she’s thinking.

‘Deep down, you’re just scared because he’s an alpha,’ probably.

And I don’t even know if she’s right. I don’t even know myself anymore.

“I would agree, yes,” she finally says after what feels like an eternity of rattling silence.

“I always tell you that your primary focus should be yourself. And this is clearly causing you much distress and inner conflict.” I almost expect her to add, ‘which is why you’ve kept this from me,’ but she doesn’t.

“With the birth of your little one approaching, perhaps we should set some focused goals to keep your attention on that. Goals that will motivate and ground you. This will satisfy your most important priorities and needs, which are, as we’ve established, your child and yourself. ”

The tightness in my chest eases, but it doesn’t go away. It stays there, lingering, together with the swirling thoughts. Coming back to them feels like trying to walk through a tornado, so I face away from them instead.

I nod. Distraction. I need a distraction.

Still, I’m sure that even as I leave this office bound and determined to focus on myself and my daughter, I won’t be able to escape the memory of those blue eyes welling up with tears, looking at the picture of her sucking her thumb.

I won’t be able to stop trying to understand why something about him calls to me, like finally finding my way home.

?

Unfortunately, the true distraction proves to be exceptionally more difficult to simply dismiss. Two days after the emotionally exhausting session with Dr. Stewart, I wake up far ahead of my alarm, only this time, it’s not because of the baby or my seemingly shrinking bladder.

That’s what I thought it was at first, anyway.

As I groan and stretch, I feel slight wetness around my crotch.

I sit up abruptly and turn on the lamp next to my bed.

When I pull the blanket aside and reach down—because I can no longer see over my growing stomach—my entire body stiffens.

The moisture my fingers are met with is a sticky residue of the dream that still echoes in my mind; my half-hard cock a striking evidence of it.

Partially in shock and partially because I’m still on the edge of sleep, I sink back into my pillows and roll onto my side. As I press my thighs together, the friction sends a wave of residual pleasure through me.

The dream I just had is quickly fading from my mind.

Only hazy images and sensations remain, and the scent of Theo’s coconut-laced pheromones rules them.

Kisses. Sweet, delicious, hungry kisses.

Touches. All over. His hands caressing me, his tongue tasting my skin.

Me moaning underneath his muscular frame.

I swallow hard, unsure how to feel about it. Perhaps terrified because of how good I do feel.

This is the first one. The first dream to do with anything sexual I’ve had since that day that has felt pleasant. How it should. How it used to.

I need to change.

Even though I’d rather go back to sleep and maybe even forget about this, I slowly sit up. The baby kicks me in the rib as I’m about to stand, and I nearly piss myself.

“Okay, okay,” I mutter tiredly and struggle to take my ruined, cold sleeping shorts off.

I look at them in my hand with a disturbed grimace—how did I manage to come this much?

—and put on new ones. I’m not sure about my chances of falling asleep again, so I go to the toilet, get some more water, and try to get comfortable on my side with the help of one of my pregnancy pillows that are supposed to help me sleep better.

I succumb to the lure of my phone and stare at the screen for a moment, even though I shouldn’t. The blue light isn’t good for me. Thinking isn’t good for me, either.

Theo’s message from today, asking me if a rice bowl with a bunch of veggies and sesame tofu sounds good as a lunch for tomorrow, is the first thing that pops up when I open the app.

I intended my answer to be something short and harsh, telling him we have to end this…

thing we have. I know that if I told him I need to focus on myself and the baby, and that I never wish to see him again, he would accept it.

What’s worse, I know he probably would’ve made it his life’s mission to arrange his life in a way that there would be zero chance I could ever accidentally walk into him at work from that moment onward.

The idea sends a pang of pain through my heart. And suddenly, I feel wrong. Wrong and completely foolish. Again.

I don’t want to say that to him. Nor do I want him to disappear from my life.

He seems happy enough to ignore what I did at the clinic. And clearly, whatever the hell is happening in my brain, it, too, is happy to have him around.

I answer with the salivating emoji and a thumbs up. When the message gets delivered and I have no way to take it back, I put the phone on my chest with a sigh, letting my head fall against the pillow.

“I won’t be a mess like this when you’re here,” I whisper to the baby. “I promise.”

And so the madness continues.

In the two weeks that follow, Theo and I eat lunch at our spot almost every day. He would probably bring me a new culinary delight every time, but I tell him it would feel like too much, so he settles on just slightly modifying them.

Today is sunny and warm, so the balcony feels like an even nicer oasis of peace, especially compared to clacking away on a keyboard in a windowless room, which I’m getting slightly tired of.

“I was thinking,” I say in between chewing on the delicious duck stir-fry he made, “aren’t your colleagues bothered about this?”

Theo frowns sharply. “What do you mean?”

“Spending your lunches with me. I always saw you with them in the cafeteria, chatting and having fun and… Well, you looked like you were pretty popular. A proper social butterfly.” I smirk because of how different that is from me.

Theo draws his brows together before laughing softly.

“I don’t think they care where I spend my lunch, really.

I’m the youngest. They all like to tease me a lot.

I’m fine with it. It’s all good fun, but sometimes it gets a little annoying.

Besides, it’s not like I don’t spend enough time with them throughout the day.

Trust me, I welcome the break from those guys and all their shouting,” he says with a grin.

I nod and swirl the noodles, veggies, and meat around with the fork.

“I’ve never been much of a social person, so this is…nice,” I admit hesitantly.

A gust of wind blows in, sending my curls into my face. As I push them away, I flare my nostrils, and a realization hits me. I dart my eyes toward Theo, who pauses in the middle of taking a bite.

“You don’t have a scent.” I let the thought fall out of my mouth without considering how weird it is to say that.

I wonder if it might be just another lovely side-effect of pregnancy—the inability to sense pheromones was one of the less-common symptoms in the endless list—but then I remember I definitely smelled Ellie’s, the omega’s from the office, cinnamon pheromones this morning when we were together in the elevator.

Theo blinks sharply and rests his fork against the food container. “Well… I’m, um, in my rut period, so I’ve been using suppressants to not have to worry about it. Makes things easier,” he mumbles, his tone becoming a touch more tense with each word.

I know it shouldn’t, but the thought of Theo in rut sends shivers down my spine.

With a gulp, I avert my gaze to stare at the food. “Oh. You don’t…you don’t have to do that for me,” I say. Why is my voice trembling? Stop. Don’t. “I’ve gotten a little better at dealing with alphas’ pheromones.”

Most of the time, anyway. And in public places.

“It’s no big deal, really. They make me a little lightheaded, but nothing too bad. I’ve only taken them for a few days. Besides, I don’t mind, like…like I said, it’s easier this way, for everybody.”