It had been a week, but he still raw and sensitive – and if he was honest with himself - aroused.
His hole pulsed, all needy at the mere thought of him.
Jamue took in a shaky breath.
Sirhe reached for his hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze.
“Master Rosh won’t be there. We’re going to have dinner as a family. We haven’t done that in a long time,” he said.
It's because they haven’t behaved like a family in a long time.
They drifted to the end of the airway and entered the residential area.
Too soon, they drifted to a stop in front of his house.
“Let’s go,” Sirhe said.
They made their way into the house. The house manager led them to the room with the cooking station.
His father loved to have his food served straight from the cooker.
Jamue didn't miss much about his home, but he missed that. The food his father had the maids prepare was delicious.
Jamue walked to the long table facing the counter and pulled out a chair next to his dad, the alpha’s scent drawing him in.
He immediately reached for his hand under the table. Jamue wanted to lean into him, but his father was staring at him, giving him that disapproving glare he should be used to by now.
He wasn’t.
His insides shrivelled up and rose to his throat. He let go of his dad’s hand and sat up straight.
“I think we should eat before we talk,” his dad said.
His father nodded and turned to the maids.
“You may serve us,” he said.
His dad gave him a gentle smile. The alpha never said much, but Jamue knew he loved him.
Sirhe sat next to his father. The silence was awkward and strained as they ate. Jamue tried his best to eat every piece of morsel placed on his plate, but his stomach was twisted in knots ever since he met Hym.
He hasn't gotten sick yet, which was a surprise.
The alpha unsettled him, but he didn’t push him all the way to sick like he usually became when he thought of an alpha touching him.
And he did touch him. He did more than touch him.
The side of his neck tingled, and his cock throbbed.
Jamue whimpered, gripping the table.
“Are you alright?” his dad asked.
“I’m fine.” Jamue pushed his plate away. He couldn’t eat anymore. He reached for the glass of water, but his father gripped his arm, dragging his attention to him.
“Are you? You look like you haven’t eaten in days. This must stop. You’re going to get sick, fighting the inevitable. Look at you,” his fingers tightened around his arm to a painful grip as his frustration mounted. “We’ve been patient enough, Jamue. This can’t go on. You can’t suddenly change your mind. We made a promise to the family. What do you suppose we tell them?”
"Tell them I can't do it."