from her now. Things are only going to get worse. In the meantime, I’ll get Doc Jane and she’ll be to you ASAP.”
There were some more jumbled syllables, and Butch cut them right off. “Get yourself locked in. I’ll handle the rest.”
As he hung up and dialed the Pit, he had to shake his head. See . . . this was why you did not get involved with witnesses.
Things could go from sucky to totally tits up in the matter of hours. Although he had to admit, the needing thing?
Even with all his homicide experience, he would never have seen this one coming.
Boone wanted to think the Brother Butch was wrong. He wanted to believe the best of himself, that he was a gentlemale first and foremost, that he had self-control and restraint—that he could therefore take care of Helania as she twisted and contorted on that cold tile in the bathroom. He wanted to confidently expect that he could rise above her needing, and cover her with a light sheet, and stand over her with a bath-sized towel, fanning her to cool her down.
With everything that Helania meant to him, he truly wanted to believe that he could put her needs before his own as they waited for help to come.
In the end, however, as the hormone surges she was wracked with got more and more intense, he had no choice but to do what the Brother instructed. And it even got so bad that he not only put himself in the bedroom and closed the door, but also pushed the mattress against the panels to try to keep things shut.
Which, when he thought about it, was stupid. If he was strong enough to move the bed over there, he was strong enough to shift it back.
But that was beside the point.
As he curled up on the floor in the bedroom, his knees all the way against his chest, his arms locked around them, his body shivering not from being cold, but from the paralyzing sexual need that crushed him . . . he squeezed his eyes shut and prayed that he didn’t go to her.
Not because he didn’t want to get her pregnant.
But because he did.
The idea that he could be free from his family’s legacy . . . and start his own, with Helania? It was the kind of destiny he hadn’t even known he could pray for. And now, with the possibility right in front of him?
Well . . . in the room next door?
A happy family was the only thing he could picture. The only thing he wanted. The only way he could keep going in what had been feeling like an empty void of late. Mated to Helania, with young . . . he would have purpose. Grounding. A place and a bloodline that he had created with love, not been born into.
Except . . . he didn’t know what Helania wanted. And in the absence of being sure where she stood, he couldn’t take a chance. When females went through their needing, all males in the vicinity were affected to some degree—but a male who was emotionally tied to the female to begin with? Who had clearly bonded to her? Boone’s sexual urges were nearly as bad as her own—
The bing! that went off beside him brought his head up and he looked at his phone.
It was Jane, texting him that she was just outside the door to the apartment.
Groaning, Boone went to stand up, and he nearly orgasmed as his cock bounced around, brushing his leg, knocking against the floor.
Fucking hell, he was still naked. Willing the light on, he located his slacks and managed to get his seesawing legs into them. Yanking on his shirt, there was no tucking it in. His hands were shaking too badly.
Moving the bed out of the way, he stumbled from the bedroom, training his eyes on the door Doc Jane was standing on the far side of. He did not allow himself to look toward the bathroom. He did not take any breaths in through his nose. He refused to permit his feet to turn his sorry ass around and propel his body into that bathroom and down onto that floor and in between his female’s legs.
He didn’t so much walk over to the apartment’s door as run headfirst into it, his loose inability to control his legs making proper balance impossible. Fumble . . . fumble . . . fumble with the doorknob. When