Chapter 18
I woke in the middle of the night, skin sweating and core aching. My body was pissed off I’d been with four scent matches and gone home alone. It wasn’t entirely my fault. I couldn’t ask Ava to babysit this often just to roll around with my fated mates, and I couldn’t have them over when my kids were in the next room. My bedroom wouldn’t fit all of them, even despite the other logistical issues.
Unfortunately my omega instincts didn’t care for excuses and were trying to prime me anyway. I squirmed beneath the blankets and slipped a hand under my waistband, almost instantly meeting slick. I dragged a pillow over my face to keep silent and let my fingers glide over my clit. In the quiet of the night with no one to see me, I let myself indulge. My own touch was nothing compared to the alphas I remembered, but it was better than nothing. Barely.
I needed them. Francisco’s generous mouth, Dylan’s sweet laugh, Eduardo’s gaze full of heat, and Beau… I didn’t know about Beau yet, but he was all twisted up in my brain too. I craved all of them in ways I didn’t quite understand and certainly wasn’t used to. I’d boxed up so many of my omega instincts to survive my marriage, and now that they’d been activated again, they were proving too unruly to stuff back where they belonged.
Maybe I could just…
I summoned up the memories of fevered touches and hushed breaths, whispered praises and frantic joinings.
The first rush of an orgasm left me more frustrated than when I had begun. I growled against the pillow and added my other hand, plunging my fingers into my pussy while I worked my clit. It didn’t feel the same. I needed them , not this. My touch was like trying to sate my hunger with a protein bar when what I really needed was a feast. I hadn’t known at the time how unpalatable everything else would become once I’d tasted my scent matches. I’d been just fine in my world awash with gray and now everything was technicolor. How was I supposed to cope?
I bit down on the fabric, fucking myself to the edge and over, only to end up blinking away tears over how little it satisfied me.
It wasn’t fair.
I withdrew my hands, body aching even more than before, and squeezed my thighs together. Crying seemed like a decent outlet. Tears soaked into the pillow and I let myself climb to the edge of hysteria, sobbing over everything I wanted and was too afraid of because of everything I’d had before.
It took every ounce of willpower not to reach for my phone to message the number Francisco had given me, to beg any or all of them to come over, close their fingers over my mouth so no one would hear me, and fuck me until I couldn’t see straight.
I needed my brain to shut off.
It wasn’t only the pleasure I craved. Sometimes I just wanted to be held. I’d heard about extreme cases over the years where touch-starved omegas got sick easier, and had more pain. Seemed like a failing of evolution if you asked me. Besides, I wasn’t technically touch-starved. My kids were always glommed onto me, but I was the one doing the holding, the one providing every comfort and attending to every need. I couldn’t even remember the last time someone had taken care of me. Would my matches have, if I’d stuck around long enough to let them?
I snatched up my phone, typing and deleting over and over before I chickened out entirely, and then I tossed the device into my laundry hamper so I wouldn’t be tempted again.
It was too soon. Didn’t they say it was about a month for every year you were in a relationship to mourn the sharpest edges of the grief? I’d only had a year of chaos, of rebuilding my life, and trying to figure out who the hell I was while standing on my own two feet.
A fitful sleep was all that awaited me. I didn’t deserve anything more than that.
“Mommy.” I cracked open an eye to see Ollie’s stuffed dog, Waffles, sitting on the bed in front of my face. “It’s past breakfast.”
Dizziness overwhelmed me when I tried to sit up, and I curled back into a ball on the bed. Breathe. Focus. I didn’t have time to be sick when my kids needed me. I could get through this. I’d done it a hundred times before when I’d had no one to help. “Have anything you want out of the pantry.”
Ollie tilted his head. “Do you not feel good, Mommy?”
“No, baby. Mommy doesn’t feel well. Can you get Sammy, please?”
Ollie disappeared to do just that and then both of my boys were in my bedroom, staring at me.
“Honey, are you okay to find something for you and your brother to eat? No oven or stove. Just what’s in the fridge or pantry.”
“Sure. Can we watch cartoons?” Sammy asked.
“Watch as much as you want, as long as you’re quiet.” I groaned. “I’m going to sleep a bit more.”
Ollie climbed in next to me, waking me from what felt like two minutes of sleep. He nestled into my arms.
“Hey, baby. What time is it?”
“Ten,” said Sammy, climbing in after Ollie.
Fuck. I still felt like a cat had thrown me up. My body throbbed and my head ached, nausea and dizziness punishing me for fighting fate. Or at least I assumed that was the cause. A regular illness wouldn’t have my pussy dripping slick.
I could rail against fate later. I had to be a mom right now.
“Do you need a doctor?” Sammy asked.
What would a doctor even do for me? “Just rest, honey.”
“Should we call someone? You didn’t have breakfast. I can get you some cereal.”
I shook my head, stilling instantly as the dizziness grew worse. “I’ll eat later.”
My poor Sammy had so much worry in his eyes.
“Come here, baby. We can all have a cuddle.”
Sammy wedged himself in, and I tried to purr for them, but the vibration made my queasiness unbearable. They whispered among themselves, but I was too far gone to catch many of the words.
Ollie fed me dry cereal from a bowl and every so often shoved the straw of a juice box against my lips. My sweet boy. That wasn’t his job. I had to get up, take care of myself, take care of them. Sammy put cartoons on the tablet and I floated in and out of awareness, startled by more cereal or something loud in the cartoon.
By lunch time the mom guilt was stronger than my symptoms and I managed to get myself vertical, balancing against the walls to navigate my way into the kitchen. What on earth was going on with me? I’d heard about bonding sickness, but that was supposed to be after a bond took place. Maybe I’d simply been without for so long every cell in my body was launching a protest over having a taste and it all being yanked away.
Boxed mac and cheese seemed potentially manageable and had the bonus of the boys loving it hot or cold, so leftovers would sustain them for a bit. Sammy dragged a chair into the kitchen for me before settling himself and Ollie in the living room to watch a movie. Bless them for actually being calm today. Usually when I felt horrendous, that was the day they chose to pick thirty fights that devolved into screaming and wrestling. I didn’t have it in me to deal with that today.
I dumped two boxes of pasta into the boiling water and clung to the countertop while I fetched milk and butter to make the sauce. Beau was probably on his flight back to New York. Why hadn’t he hurried up and moved here already? How was I supposed to succumb to my pitiful omega needs when he was across the country? We’d already been vulnerable with each other, and he had the added benefit of wanting the match as little as I did. We could help soothe each other’s instincts without either of us worrying about it meaning more than that.
Reaching out to the others… No. They wanted more than I was capable of giving them. Even if they hadn’t said it outright, I could see it in their eyes. Now that they knew we were scent matches, they wanted everything that was supposed to go along with that.
My boys sat down to their mac and cheese, inhaling their portions while I picked my way through a half serving. Determined to be present, I slid onto the floor next to my kids, halfheartedly collecting some of their numerous toys into a basket, if only so I could curl up on my side and assuage the dizziness for a moment.
“Mommy,” said Sammy, “where’s your phone?”
“Hmm? Hamper.” My vision swam.
I just needed to…close my eyes…for a minute.