Destined For Her

by Laura Fang

  When I read what she had written, I was puzzled. I hadn’t expected anything like this at all. Was she asking me out? Like on a date? Dinner on Friday… That could only mean one thing, couldn’t it? There was no way this was real. My brain started coming up with all kinds of explanations—maybe she wanted to hire me, or discuss some sort of business deal. But nothing seemed as plausible as the most simple answer: she wanted to date me.

  It wasn’t that hard to believe, the more I considered it. We were both lesbian alpha and omega shifters. We practically belonged together. It didn’t matter how we had met. We could still pursue a relationship.

  I had to figure out what to write back to her now. Hello Cecelia, I wrote. It’s good to hear from you! I’m glad you liked the article. Dinner sounds like a great plan and I’m excited to find out what you have in mind.

  I included my phone number for good measure. This was so awesome. I had a date with Cecelia, and the next day, I was going to go to the festival. I sat in my chair for a good minute, staring into space and letting my happiness and excitement wash over me. My life had gotten a million times better in a short twenty minutes.

  I was interrupted by an unwelcome train of thought. Cecelia seemed much older. She was probably looking for a serious partner. Was that something I could handle? Was it even something I wanted? I had to really consider it more closely. I didn’t want to end up leading her on if we both wanted different things. I was so not ready to get married now. Not because of my age, or where I was in life—it was just that the whole thought of sharing your inner and outer life with someone else was terrifying.

  I tried to calm myself down by remembering that I wasn’t going to get married to her because I went on a first date with her. Shifters liked to move faster than humans typically did, but that didn’t have to mean anything. It was only a first date. If I felt uncomfortable, I didn’t have to go on a second one.

  Mollified by this, I sent the reply. In such a short time, my weekend had gone from monotonous to completely different. It was going to be a wild ride.

  * * *

  I anxiously powerwalked over to the restaurant Cecelia had suggested—Lemann Bistro, a small French place. I was already running a little late and I didn’t want to make a bad first impression. As it turned out, I needn’t have worried. Cecelia shot me a text saying she’d be ten minutes late. Apparently an investors meeting had gone overtime, and of course, she couldn’t duck out of that.

  I didn’t mind. I wasn’t in any mood to rush this evening. I was nervous, but I wanted to savor every minute of Cecelia’s company. It wasn’t every day that I got asked out by sexy, successful businesswoman. An investors meeting sounded terribly important.

  When she showed up, I realized that I had forgotten how sexy she really was. She was still dressed in a tie, blazer, and pencil skirt from the meeting and it made her even more mouthwatering. The lines of her clothes hugged her curves, making it obvious how fit she was. How did she do that? I wondered. It was probably an alpha thing. They oozed sexiness in a way other women didn’t.

  “You look great,” I said.

  She raised her eyebrow. “I rushed over here after the meeting so I didn’t have time to freshen up, really.”

  “You look fine,” I said. “Really fine.”

  She smiled. “You’re quite fine yourself. Ready to go on in?”

  She had made reservations, so even though it was packed, we had our own cozy table waiting for us. It was lit up primarily by candles and tea lights, hanging in lanterns overhead or flickering on the table. There were a lot of potted plants on a mantel next to us. The restaurant struck a balance between being luxurious and down-to-earth. I felt immediately comfortable.

  “This place reminds me of my grandmother’s house,” said Cecelia. “She loved candles and plants. And of course, she was an amazing cook.”

  “I was thinking that it was cozy,” I said. “Even though it’s a nice restaurant, I don’t feel like it’s pretentious or that I have to behave a certain way.”

  “Exactly,” said Cecelia. “I have to meet with the investors in really highbrow places and it can be stressful. I’m trying to focus on what they’re saying and trying not to look like an idiot. How can I talk about profitability when I don’t know what fork to use for my salad?”

  I immediately warmed up to her. She was as friendly and unpretentious as this restaurant. “It must be tough to run your own company,” I said.

  “It is. You have to really think about what you’re doing before you get into it. But it’s worthwhile. I have only myself to depend on for my income. And I can devote the majority of my working hours to something I believe in. And then, there’s the best part—I only have to ask myself when I want to go on vacation.”

  We were interrupted by the arrival of our waitress, a cheerful girl who was eager to get us started. I pored over the menu, unable to decide what I wanted. It all looked so good, and it wasn’t every day that I got to visit a restaurant this fancy.

  “I know what I want,” said Cecelia. “I always get the same thing here—the filet mignon. They use some special sauce with it that’s damn good.”

  “Such a typical shifter,” I said.

  “It’s true. I can’t imagine any of our kind being vegetarians.”

  It was always a little awkward broaching the topic with a new shifter acquaintance. Even though we could always tell if someone was a shifter or not—it was really obvious if you knew what to look for, and when you got close enough to smell them, that clinched it—for some reason, maybe because of the tone of modern life, it was odd to bring it up. There was never a good way to segue into the topic. But I’d managed.

  “What’s your pack like?” I asked, after the waitress came to take our orders.

  “They’re wonderful,” said Cecelia, immediately effusive. “We’re a tightly-knit community and I still visit frequently. They come and visit me, too. I feel like I have a whole town of cousins and aunts and uncles because we’re all so close, even though we’re not all related. I had a great childhood growing up with so many other kids to play with. And all the adults had an open door policy, so you could walk into anyone’s house and they’d set you up with milk and cookies.”

  I was stunned. My pack hadn’t been anything like that. “That’s awesome. Sounds like you had a pretty happy family.”

  “I did. And my pack is accepting of gay couples so that was never an issue for me. It’s like society is only now catching up to my pack.”

  “Yeah, I see that. Seems like it’s that way for a lot of shifters.” Why had I brought that up? I asked myself. It was only going to make me sad to think about how lacking my own pack had been. I didn’t want to feel down on the first date.

  “So what about your pack?” asked Cecelia.

  Of course, I should have known that she would reciprocate. I didn’t really want to talk about it, but then I had brought it upon myself. “They weren’t like your pack at all. They were pretty dysfunctional. For one thing, they were not at all accepting of gay and lesbian wolves. That’s why I found myself here in the city. I had to get away.”

  Cecelia seemed to recognize that she had struck a nerve. “I’m sorry to hear that, Tess.”

  I shrugged. “It’s whatever. I’m here now and that’s what matters. I don’t even have to deal with them ever again. They’re toxic. I’ve made friends here and I have a job I like. I’m doing well.”

  “There you go,” said Cecelia. I could tell she didn’t really know what to say.

  We were saved from the awkward turn in conversation by the arrival of our appetizer. I picked up one of the pieces of quiche and started on it, chewing contemplatively. I’d have to steer the conversation away from me by asking about Cecelia’s life. I was thinking about what question to ask next when she surprised me.

  “Have you ever heard about the concept of fated mates?” asked Cecelia suddenly.

  “I have,” I replied cautiously. “But I don’t put much stock in it.”<
br />
  “I didn’t either, but Tess, you’ve made me wonder.”

  I looked up and blinked at her. She was coming on strong. I had known that she would, since she was older and more established, and we were both shifters, but I felt distinctly uncomfortable, trapped even. Even though I knew it was a first date and I didn’t have to follow up if I didn’t want to, I was uneasy.

  “I’m sorry. That was too forward of me.”

  “It’s alright,” I said hastily. “I mean, I know a lot of shifters who believe in it. It doesn’t surprise me that you think it could be true. But how can you know when you barely know someone?”

  That stumped her. Though, I had to admit I was fighting some feelings of my own. Even though I didn’t think you could love someone you had just met, I did feel that compulsion to be with Cecelia that I had never felt for anyone else. At first, I had chalked it up to finding her attractive, but it was more than that. It wasn’t only lust, it was something a lot like love.

  “I don’t know,” admitted Cecelia. “But I know I have a feeling, and I’ve learned to trust my feelings.”

  From that point onward, the conversation was a lot lighter, and we had our food to focus on. We talked about personal finance—which was way more interesting than I had previously thought—and our college experiences. Cecelia had lived in the city for far longer than I had, so she told me about all the cool stuff that I could do here. Or rather, the cool stuff that we could do together. It was becoming increasingly clear that we clicked well and that there was potential to this relationship. I felt simultaneously thrilled and threatened.

  Cecelia smoothly snapped up the check at the end. “I was the one who asked you out,” she said. “Of course I’ll pay.”

  When we left the restaurant, we were at a crossroads. If I saw the potential for a serious relationship with Cecelia, I didn’t want to move too quickly with her. I was a virgin, after all, and the longer I put it off, the more important it seemed to be. But I didn’t want to be too cold, to make her think I wasn’t interested. I couldn’t decide what to do.

  “Want to come back to my place for a beer or two?” she asked, putting the ball right in my court.

  It took me a moment, but I had my answer. “Yeah, let’s do it.”

  Cecelia had a really nice place. I wasn’t surprised, considering she was in the tech industry, but it was still amazing to see such a lovely home. I was still in my first apartment, an admittedly crappy one bedroom. Now that I was making steady money with the paper, it was time to think about upgrading. The difference between this place and mine was stark.

  This was unlike any other time I had gone back to a girl’s place. For all those previous encounters, I had been drunk and it had been late at night. We had been fueled by lust, not romance. This was completely different. I had to tread cautiously. I didn’t exactly want to leave my comfort zone, nor did I want to put her off.

  She got me a cold beer, which was refreshing considering the summer humidity hanging in the air outside. We sat on the couch. It was silent except for the roaring of buses as they went by. I tried to calm myself down by focusing on all the wolf and nature themed decorations Cecelia had, as well as the snazzy looking electronic gadgets. I liked her style.

  “This place is well-decorated,” I said, unable to think of what to say. “I like that wolf painting.”

  “Thanks,” said Cecelia. “I’m pretty proud of how far I’ve come. A lot of people here have stuff paid for by their parents, but I’m proud that I’m a self-made wolf.”

  “You’re right,” I said. “It feels good to work to provide for yourself.”

  “Independence,” she said. “That’s what I like to see.”

  Of course, what she didn’t realize was that I could never ask my parents for money. I really never wanted to talk to them again, but she didn’t need to know that—just yet. That wasn’t a side of myself I had ever shared with anyone. I wanted to move on with my life and forget about them.

  But they wouldn’t let me forget. Even know, I was so scared of getting close to people. It was the primary struggle of my life right now. I liked Cecelia a lot. But how was I going to learn to trust her? How could I move forward if I didn’t? I’d have to open up to someone, eventually. I couldn’t keep putting it off. And I couldn’t keep putting off dating because of the walls I had put up around myself. If I kept delaying, I’d make it worse. I’d end up all alone, well past my mating peak.

  “You okay there?” Cecelia had caught me staring into space, lost in my own thoughts.

  “I’m fine,” I said. “It’s nothing.”

  She scooted closer to me. It was becoming hard to ignore my attraction to her, now that we were in this situation. I had to admit, I wanted her. I wanted to see what she looked like under her clothes, and I wanted to feel her body pressed up against mine. But if I went for it, I’d start a chain reaction that I wouldn’t be able to stop.

  Maybe I had already started it when I stepped into her house.

  She put her arm around me. We had finished our beers. The bottles made a clinking sound when we set them on the table. There didn’t seem to be any words to say; I was painfully aware of how close she was to my body, my heart pounding, tightness in my abdomen. I needed the release of kissing her.

  And then s did it. She took my chin in her hand and pressed her lips to mine. Bliss overwhelmed me, completely obliterating any apprehension I may have felt. This was utterly divine. It was wholly different from any other experience I had ever had. I had no idea kissing could feel like this. It was so pleasurable that I almost felt like I’d orgasm from it.

  When I had kissed girls before, I had been anxious, thoughts running through my head and spoiling the experience. But now, I felt like I had been drugged. I wasn’t worrying about a thing. That was strange, because I was sober now, not drunk like I usually was when I was with a girl.

  I put my hands on her breasts, squeezing and kneading them. There was a light dusting of peach fuzz on her chin that brushed against my face. I could smell her alpha scent; it was everywhere, and I breathed deeply. I couldn’t get enough of her.

  She wrapped her arms around me, pulling me tighter to her. We pressed our bodies together like the fabric wasn’t even there between us. Her tongue explored my mouth and I acquiesced to her searching movements, allowing her to go wherever she wanted. I felt my body opening up to her, even if my heart remained closed.

  A thought flickered in the back of my mind, which was fully engaged with sensory pleasures. Was the fated mate thing true? Was this the intense pleasure that was meant to happen when you kissed your fated mate? If kissing was this good, how was the sex going to be?

  Neither of us dared to break away. It was like the connection between us was a lifeline, and neither of us wanted to let go. I was too intoxicated. And I was getting more and more of an urge to rip her shirt off.

  Her cell phone rang, breaking the silence. It was an insistent, harsh sound. She broke away and looked at me, her eyes fiery but her expression apologetic. “I have to take this,” she said. “I’m pretty sure I know who it is.”

  “That’s fine,” I replied, too startled to say anything else.

  She extricated herself from the couch and went to retrieve her phone. To my complete and utter surprise, she began speaking another language—Chinese, maybe. She slipped into another room and I could hear her voice going a mile a minute, probably engaged in some kind of business deal. Who knew.

  Even though I was irritated that we had been interrupted, it was unexpectedly refreshing to get some breathing room. I was able to process what had happened. I had made out with so many girls before—in fact, I had hooked up with a girl just a couple of weekends ago. So why did it feel like this was the first time I had ever done anything like this? I felt like a new person, like a chapter in my life had only begun.

  It was frankly a little frightening. I wasn’t used to feeling like this and I didn’t like it. I could tell that if I didn’t have any hang
ups, I would have thrown myself into the feeling wholeheartedly and without reservation. It would have been like sinking into an ocean of bliss. But for me, the feeling was tainted by anxiety.

  I took some slow breaths. I could handle this, I told myself. We had been moving a little fast, that was all. All I had to do was ask Cecelia to slow down. She seemed like a good person; she’d agree to it.

  But I couldn’t ignore what my body wanted. My veins were still afire with lust and images of the two of us in bed together flashed through my mind, only arousing me further. I had never wanted someone so badly in my life.

  “Hey, sorry about that,” said Cecelia. She had returned from her call. “One of the investors had an urgent query. I had told him that I would take calls tonight. I guess I hadn’t thought we’d still be together this late.”

  I smiled. “I hope you’re not complaining?”

  “Of course not.” She came and sat down next to me. I was fully aware of the warmth emanating from her body and the smell of her sweat and perfume and soap. It was a cocktail that drove me even crazier.

  She put her arm around me again. I stiffened a little. Since I had a chance to think about it, my logical brain had resurfaced. The walls were going up again.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  “Nothing,” I said. “I just feel a little overwhelmed.”

  “That’s okay.” She squeezed my shoulder affectionately. “I’m pretty tired anyway. I have to be up early tomorrow morning.”

  “You have work on a Saturday?”

  “Yeah,” she said, running her hand through her hair. “It never ends.”

  “Bummer.”

  She shrugged. “You wanna sleep over? Or I could call you a cab?”

  I checked my watch. “A cab would be nice. It’s not that late.”

  She pulled out her phone to get one. “Okay, it’ll be here in five.”