Garrett is so surprised he actually lets go of Owen, taking a step back from the man with a slightly boggled look.
“What? No!” he protests, wondering how this conversation went off the rails so badly. Maker’s arse, this pollen is seriously fucking with him. “It’s just a bit funny that you only seem to want me when you can bend me over something and make me beg.”
It’s a sign of how far afield his mind has gone, that this is any kind of problem at all. But there’s a trace of something smaller and softer in it, a spark of doubt—a strange interaction of the tanglethorn’s need to dominate clashing with that deep-running fear he has of being used and helpless (and with the pollen, the arousal he usually feels for those exact same ideas is utterly absent). It’s strange, how these things rampage through his veins.
no subject
“What? No!” he protests, wondering how this conversation went off the rails so badly. Maker’s arse, this pollen is seriously fucking with him. “It’s just a bit funny that you only seem to want me when you can bend me over something and make me beg.”
It’s a sign of how far afield his mind has gone, that this is any kind of problem at all. But there’s a trace of something smaller and softer in it, a spark of doubt—a strange interaction of the tanglethorn’s need to dominate clashing with that deep-running fear he has of being used and helpless (and with the pollen, the arousal he usually feels for those exact same ideas is utterly absent). It’s strange, how these things rampage through his veins.