Page 68 of Claim Me
I look at Gabriel standing by the window, staring out over the city.
Whenever he isn’t attending online college classes, he usually spends his time either standing around deep in thought or subtly watching me, but today he seems especially absorbed in whatever’s outside that glass.
My gaze slowly drifts over him.
He’s at just the right angle for his hips to be turned slightly toward me.
And my eyes, completely against my own will, drop lower.
Right there.
Unbelievable.
Me, Blue Lowen, staring at what some alpha has between his legs…
One thing is certain, Gabriel seriously needs to invest in reinforced boxer briefs because no matter how he stands, there’s still an extremely noticeable bulge below his waist.
I already got a partial glimpse of that monster at the pool, and I just don’t understand how someone walks around carrying something like that all day. It probably weighs two pounds.
The most irritating part is that looking at his crotch makes me hard too, and naturally I fight it because obviously I do, but it’s becoming genuinely frustrating at this point, stubborn and persistent in a way I’m no longer used to handling.
A long time ago I gave up on the idea that I’d ever have a partner to share those kinds of experiences with, and technically I still stand by that decision, but whatever has started blooming inside my mind lately in this chaotic flood of increasingly vivid fantasies is… another matter entirely.
Maybe I should simply accept it without resisting so much. My life situation has changed radically, after all. It’s probablynormal for my mind to start exploring unexpected scenarios and possibilities in a slightly disorganized way.
And once again my attention drifts there.
Gabriel.
My brain seems weirdly determined to conduct some kind of bizarre experiment.
Gabriel isn’t looking at me right now.
Taking advantage of the moment, I slowly slide my hand down to my crotch. I never do this because there’s usually no reason to, but now something keeps pulling me toward it. While looking at him, I brush my fingers lightly over the hard outline beneath my pants like some kind of pervert, and I almost want to laugh because that’s the last thing I am, and yet…
My own dick isn’t particularly impressive in size, let’s be realistic about that, but right now it’s painfully hard, solid as steel, and I find myself exploring this completely unfamiliar feeling of being turned on by aspecificperson.
In the past I occasionally had vague thoughts involving abstract situations and some faceless alpha, though I never let those fantasies develop very far, and surely never once did those thoughts revolve around an actual individual for one simple reason:
Nobody had ever managed to genuinely interest me before.
It was to such an extent, actually, that I’d started thinking of myself as practically asexual.
Of course I own the same kinds of toys many omegas do, things like dildos, but my attempts at experimenting with them never led to anything remotely spectacular. I simply felt nothing. It was mechanical, empty, an action without emotional response or satisfaction.
Which is exactly why all of this involving Gabriel feels so shocking.
And the intensity, as well as the frequency of these reactions, is becoming almost… unsettling. So much that I’m beginning to wonder whether Storm’s words might actually hold some truth.
Could Gabriel and I really possess unusually high genetic compatibility?
Technically, I could test it. I have access to an exam capable of classifying someone as incompatible, Low Mate, or Half Mate, though it wouldn’t detect anything above that threshold, not High Mate and certainly not True Mate.
So the question is whether there’s any point in checking at all.
But what if he actually was… my fated?
That would be a particularly strange joke from Fate.
