Breaking Point (BWWM)

13. Variance

Lucy was just laying Aesir in his cot when she heard a soft knock at the bedroom door. Aesir huffs sleepily, she shushes him quietly. It's just me, Lucy. Her husband's link chimed in her head. She froze for a moment, not having heard it in a while.

I'll be right there. She explained, making sure their son was settled with his little knitted buddy before opening the door. She always forgets how much taller he is than her, having come directly into contact with his broad, bare chest. There was some dark brown hair sprouting from it, though not a lot. And she actively avoided looking down at his happy trail. She'd surely catch a glimpse of the dimensions of his v-line.

Braxton was leaned against the door frame, he peeks in for a moment, "Is he already down?" He inquired.

She nods, folding her arms over her bust, trying to ignore how hyper-sensitive her body suddenly felt. "Wasn't hard to put him to sleep." He nods approvingly at that.

"Um... you left this in my office. I figured you'd want it back." He whispered, showing her the book she'd been reading earlier. Her cerulean bookmark poking from between the pages. She huffs hotly to herself, that wave of heat washing over her. He smelled good, he must be fresh out the shower, his ivory skin had that familiar gleam dressing it. Not to mention the musk of his scent was heavy on her senses. It reminded her of cedar, a pleasant scent she'd enjoyed a handful of times. The way it was permeating off him, infusing into her own being was almost intoxicating.

She smiles at him, taking the book back. His fingers grazed hers in the brief exchange, and it caused her spine to quiver as a result. He had to have felt that shock, too. Though if he did, he doesn't show it, "I've got an early day tomorrow, I should get some sleep."

A large part of her conscience urged her to invite him back in. They could sleep together, again, nothing more... though she doubted that it would be as simple as that. Even the slightest physical touch was making her want to squeeze her thighs together. She felt her core dripping with desire, and was sure that - even with their severely damaged bond - he could sense it. His tongue pokes his cheek, "Goodnight, Braxton. Sleep well." She muttered softly, her voice hardly capable of much else without producing a groan.

He nods, pulling his weight off the frame, "You too."

She shuts the door, rushing to her drawer and popping in a pill. She lies back in bed, hands at her sides, gripping the sheets, waiting for the fire in her core to go out. Though it didn't dull in the slightest, if anything the heat was exacerbated. She pulls a silk-dressed pillow over her face, whimpering softly into it. That meant she'd already built a tolerance for the suppressors. Which meant this wasn't going away anymore, not unless....

Lucy's fingers twitch, wondering if it'd be worth trying to get herself off if it meant temporary relief. Though if it's not Braxton, her pain will get even worse, and she was writhing enough as is. She musters the strength to stumble into the bathroom, grabbing their thickest towels and laying them on top of the bed, just in case her painstaking arousal starts to flow. Braxton had commented once that she could flood a room during one of her previous heats that he helped her with.

Braxton wasn't doing much better himself. Across the hall, he could smell his wife's scent permeating through the walls. It had never been so strong, which was saying something considering their initial entanglement in addition to when she gave birth. This was worse than both of those occasions put together. It was intoxicating, that sweet scent, and he found himself in a trance-like state. He buries his face into his pillow, lying prostrated on his bed. His groin ached to no end, and the slightest bit of friction provided little to no relief. He could hear her heart pulsing hard and fast, both from panic and arousal. He wasn't sure how he was meant to last like this. They're both ailing from this.