55. Jack
Jack
My first courting date, ever. That’s kind of pathetic for an alpha in his early thirties, but it’s true. I’ve been on plenty of regular dates, but I’ve never formally courted someone. I just never felt that instant connection. That spark that made me believe I’d found my person.
With Clara though? It’s a no-brainer.
I won’t waste my opportunity to prove I’m the person to take care of her for life.
But I’m not showy like Victor or lyrical like Bram. I’m into easy comforts and traditions. And I’ve noticed Clara’s love for the autumn season. So, when she asks what she should wear, I tell her jeans and a warm shirt will work.
To my delight, she comes down in just that.
Jeans that hug every curve and dip of her perfect ass, a soft purple flannel unbuttoned just enough to hint at the curves beneath, and black boots.
Her hair is done in two French braids, the orange melting into black like Halloween licorice.
She’s an autumn dream, and the fire that sparks in my core heads straight for my groin.
I want to do filthy, reverent things to her in those jeans.
In the front seat of the car, she smiles while telling me the gossip from her shift at the Evergreen Café. When we pull up to our destination, she spots it and actually squeals in pure, unfiltered joy.
A r ustic cabin marks the entrance to the orchard. People wander with cups of steaming cider and cinnamon sugar doughnuts, scarves tucked under chins.
I hop out and circle around to open her door. She giggles softly before stepping out. “It’s okay, Jack. I can open the door for myself,” she says with that teasing smile that makes me want to spoil her even more.
“I know you can. But why should you if I’m around?” I counter. She looks at me like she can’t think of a good answer.
“I hope you don’t mind a little work on our date,” I go on. “I figured apple picking sounded fun. I saw that picture you have from apple picking years ago. That’s where I got the idea.”
She smiles, but it’s a small, sad one that twists something in my chest. I reach for her hand, slowly, so she can pull away if she wants. Instead, she squeezes back. Permission.
“My mom passed in a car accident when I was almost fifteen,” she says. “That picture was from the autumn before. We’d gone apple picking. She was out getting groceries and hit a patch of ice.”
My chest tightens. “I know it doesn’t change anything, but I’m so sorry.”
She nods, then asks, “What about your parents?”
“They’re in Minnesota. My mom’s an omega. She had two alphas, but one passed from a heart attack before I was born. My dad’s a good man, but he’s pretty old-school. When I was younger, because I liked cooking and homemaking, he feared I might be an omega.”
“Feared?” she echoes, eyebrow lifting.
“I know it makes him sound bad, and he wasn’t perfect.
But I never doubted he loved me. Still… when I presented as an alpha, he was so relieved it left a mark.
I chose my job partly because it’s mobile, but partly because I knew he’d approve.
But he was also there for every nightmare, every baseball practice, my first job. It’s complicated.”
We buy tickets, get our bag, and head toward the rows in season.
“If you could’ve chosen without his influence,” she asks, “what would you have done?”
I don’t even hesitate. “Homemaker.” It's the first time I've ever said it out loud to anyone. I've always been worried about other people’s reactions.
But Clara just… smiles. Warm and sure, like I’ve told her something worth treasuring. “That makes so much sense. You take such good care of everyone. You know what they need before they do. Like Dagan’s honey-in-coffee thing. You’d be amazing as a homemaker.”
The tightness in my chest loosens. She doesn’t just accept it, she believes it. And in that moment, I feel seen in a way I didn’t realize I’d been aching for.
We pick apples, go on hay rides, and choose pumpkins. Mine is the biggest I can carry, hers is small and flat on one side.
“It was lonely in the corner,” she says. “And I think the flat side gives it character.”
Back home, we make apple crumble. I sneak her tastes, soaking in her humming approval. We talk about her family, my childhood, the quiet in-between pieces of who we are. The rest of the pack is out doing their own stuff as is good pack etiquette when someone’s on a courting date.
When the crumble goes into the oven, I turn to ask what movie she wants to do next, but her lips are suddenly on mine.
For a moment, my brain stutters. Then my arms wrap around her, one hand at her lower back, the other cupping the back of her neck.
I deepen the kiss, beard brushing her jaw, my tongue sweeping inside to taste her sweet heat.
She moans into me, and I lift her onto the counter. Her legs wrap around me, pulling me close until her panty-clad heat rubs against my aching cock. I break from her mouth to trail my lips down her neck, letting the scrape of my beard tease her sensitive skin.
Her perfume swells, and a growl rumbles up from my chest. She slides a hand between us, slipping under my waistband to grip me. A sharp hiss escapes me. “Apple, if you don’t stop, I’m going to embarrass myself,” I warn, forehead dropping to her shoulder.
She chuckles and it's a wicked little thing. I take her wrist gently, pulling her hand away, then hook my thumbs in her panties and tug them down.
My hands skim her inner thighs, spreading her open. Her head falls back, throat bared. I drag my tongue from her collarbone to her ear. She shivers, the sound in her throat making my cock throb.
I free myself from my boxers, her hand immediately guiding me to her entrance. I press a thumb to her clit as I sink into her heat, slow and deliberate, groaning at the way she clenches around me.
“God, omega, you’re perfect. You were made for me,” I rasp. She claws at my shoulders, urging me faster, until her little squeaks tell me I’m hitting that perfect spot deep inside.
“Jack, I’m—g-going—”
“Come, omega. Come all over my cock,” I growl, and she breaks apart, fluttering around me. I push in, planting my knot deep inside of her, feeling it swell and expand as I mark her as deeply as I can with my come.
We breathe hard, foreheads pressed together, her braids loose and wild around her flushed face. I kiss her forehead, and she wraps her arms around my neck, holding me there like she’ll never let go.
My mate.