34. Emmeline
34
Emmeline
“ H
ow’s your food?” Paxton asks, and I grin.
“Delicious.” I pat my mouth clean and sip my water, before asking Paxton, “So what did your therapist say?”
I press my leg against Paxton’s under the table, wanting to offer the most comfort that I can.
“That communication isn’t optional in courtship. That you’re not a project and I’m not here to micromanage your life like it’s a quarterly review.” He pauses, then adds, “Also he thinks that I might benefit from not using business metaphors in every personal relationship, especially since you’re as much as a workaholic as the rest of us.”
I snort, rubbing my chest to ease the building heartburn. “Groundbreaking, really.”
Sterling grins, shaking his head. “That’s Paxton’s summary of it. I guarantee the good doctor would’ve said it far more eloquently.”
“What, I wasn’t eloquent enough for you?” Paxton asks.
They both laugh, and Paxton sighs. “It made me think, though. I’m courting you, but I’m not doing a good enough job of it. A courtship is more than presents and well, presence. It’s about communication, and building trust.”
“It’s about building the foundation of our life together,” Oscar says, and I glance at him in surprise.
He quite often comes out with the deepest statements, and yet his face barely twitches.
I blink once. Twice.
“You really are dangerous when you speak,” I mutter, and it earns a ghost of a smile from him. “But you’re right. We never did that. Even with our talks, we just kind of fell into this. But I don’t want to fumble my way through it. I want to know what courting me looks like—for each of you.”
“And you,” Paxton says, calmly. “You’re what is most important.”
The door opens and two waiters enter, quietly and swiftly clearing our table. I trace the rim of my water glass, staying quiet, as I think about Paxton’s words. I understand his point, I really do, but it doesn’t sit right.
I don’t want to be the most important or to be the top of the priority list. I don’t want to feel like my needs have to come before theirs.
Because that’s easy enough for them, when romantically they’re only interested in me. But what do I do when two of them need me at the same time? Or what about when my needs directly contradict theirs?
Is that just… what love is? Putting aside your own selfish wants, to benefit their needs?
I don’t know.
“You agreed that I could court you on our date,” Sterling says the moment we’re alone. “But then I stepped back when it was clear that you needed space. I’ve left you alone, and I didn’t consider how that would look or feel to you. Shit courting mate, huh? I’m here now, and I hope it’s not too late to start over and do things right this time.”
“You’re acting like it’s been months when it’s only been three days. You’ve not failed,” I say, with a dry laugh.
Sterling smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “After the way I started, the resentment and the nastiness, well, it feels like much longer. Like I took the small relief you gave me, and threw it back at you without a single care for things.”
“That’s not the case at all,” I protest.
Unfortunately, I’m forced to sit silently as the next course is brought around by the two waitresses. Tension thrums through me, through us all really, and I can only imagine what the waiters think about us.
Sure, they’re not allowed to gossip where we can hear them—but that doesn’t mean they’re not doing it behind our back.
They’re quick, and quiet, and I don’t even look at my food before focusing back on Sterling.
“You’ve not done anything wrong. I don’t expect material things, not even a little bit.”
“But you yourself told me that omegas like them,” Oscar says. “That omegas like presents, and soft gifts, and beautiful things.” He raises a brow.
“You don’t enjoy being an omega,” Sterling adds. “But you went out of your way to mention this to Oscar.”
I frown, glancing at Paxton and Uri, neither one meeting my gaze. “I don’t like this. It feels like I’m being ganged up on.”
Paxton immediately meets my eyes, growling low in his throat. “That is not how we want you to feel, and I apologise that we’ve made it feel this way. I like buying you gifts. My love language is absolutely gifts. Buying them, receiving them, putting all that thought and effort into picking something out… it’s one of the biggest ways I can show my affection.”
“That’s different then,” I offer.
“What’s your love language?” Uri asks, raising his eyebrow at me.
“Um, no idea. What are the options?”
“Physical touch, acts of service, words of affirmation, quality time, and receiving gifts,” Oscar recounts. “My love language is physical touch. If I’ll share my scent with you, you’re loved.”
“If they actually got to smell you, I can promise you, nobody would feel loved,” Sterling teases, and Oscar rolls his eyes. “I’m an acts of service man, through and through. Words mean fuck all, and touch is a way to manipulate. Receiving gifts, as nice as Pax made it sound, is another manipulation tactic.”
“Quality time?” I ask, voice thick with amusement. “How can you make that one seem manipulative?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” he asks, glancing around the table. We all shrug. “The more time you spend with someone, the longer that they have to worm their way in and poison your brain.”
“Huh, sounds just about right,” Oscar says, nodding. “That leaves acts of service. Who would be able to convincingly meet your needs for a long period of time, unless they actually wanted to do it?”
“Exactly!” Sterling exclaims. “You get it.”
“I don’t,” Uri says, with a shrug. “I’ve never really thought about it before, but I think that words of affirmation is more my thing.”
“Which would leave me with the quality time to make a full circle, right?” I ask.
Oscar shakes his head. “That’s not how it works. You don’t just pick it so we have a complete set. Although, I’d much prefer it if that were the case.”
“I think that acts of service feels most right,” I say, biting my lip. “Maybe?”
“It’s not that important,” Uri says, with a shrug. “I’ve survived this long without thinking about it.”
“And how many successful relationships have you had?” Oscar asks.
I laugh, barking out a sound, immediately ducking my head when I feel multiple pairs of eyes on me.
I can’t help it though. Even without trying, Oscar provides the comical relief exactly when it’s needed.
“What?” he exclaims, and I look up in time to see the disapproving look on Paxton’s face.
“How many successful relationships have you had?” Uri asks, raising a brow. “Do you really want to share that number with your mate?”
Oscar shrugs. “One. Odelia.”
“Cheater,” Sterling calls, shaking his head as I giggle. “Then again, that was a pretty good answer.”
“What’s her love language?” I ask, finally pulling my plate towards me.
I look at my plate, the steam rising lazily, and my mouth actually waters. The buttery scent hits me first, followed by the sharp, nutty tang of parmesan. My fork twitches in my hand, as my stomach grumbles.
How I managed to ignore the beautiful smell is beyond me. But now that the baby has spotted it, my body won’t allow me to do anything but eat.
A comforting heap of parmesan polenta is on the plate, soft and buttery with the slightest crisp at the edges. I’ve had this only twice before, and it’s divine. Topped with charred courgette ribbons, blistered baby tomatoes, and crisped asparagus tips, my stomach is grumbling as if I haven’t already eaten.
“Nice?” Uri asks as I shovel the second forkful into my mouth under their watchful gaze.
It’s mortifying how little restraint I have when it comes to filling my stomach. I should be embarrassed, but with the strong scents that my alphas are giving off, it makes it very hard for me to find that emotion.
I swear, I’ve never been so ravenous before,” I mutter.
Paxton leans back in his chair, with a satisfied hum. “Good. This gives us the perfect opportunity to discuss some rules and expectations.”
I glance over at him, fork paused, my eyes narrowing. “This feels like a trap.”
Uri clears his throat. “We all talked last night, and made sure we were on the same page with our expectations. One of which is that we strive to eat dinner together every single day as a pack.”
“I tried to argue that striving to eat dinner and actually eating dinner is not the same thing,” Oscar says, “but I was overruled.”
“I mean you’re not wrong. It’s not the same thing.”
He grins at me, before spearing a carrot.
“It doesn’t matter where we have it, or what it consists of,” Paxton continues, and I know he’s trying to pacify me. “But the goal is that we all try to eat together.”
“Why?” I ask, brows pulled together. “I don’t understand what this will do.”
“It means we’re bonding. It means we’re making sure you eat something, and it gives us the chance to help you stabilise after the work day,” Paxton says firmly.
“And honestly, it means we’re going to make the effort to be home and eat something too, so it’s beneficial for us all,” Sterling says, winking at me. “We pick a time, and we all agree on where we’ll be eating.”
“Okay.” My tummy grumbles, and I groan as a few of them laugh. “It seems your child is determined to get me to agree to this rule.”
“ Our child?” Sterling asks, and I don’t understand the expression on his face. It’s not one I’ve seen before, but it’s kind of cute.
“They’ll be our child when they’re naughty, Emme’s child when they’re perfect, and all of ours when they’re being adorable,” Oscar says.
“You’re not wrong,” I say, with a laugh.
“Rule two is one I demanded and the others agree with,” Sterling says, and I freeze on the spot, not sure how far this one is going to go. Knowing Sterling, it’ll be security related, and I’m terrified to think what measures he wants to put into place.
“It’s negotiable—they all are,” Paxton interjects.
Uri’s hand reaches over to squeeze mine, and I know they’re trying to calm the burst of anxiety I’m feeling.
“You sleep at our place. I don’t care which bed, nest, or room you inhabit, but you’re in our home six out of seven nights a week. Minimum,” Sterling says. “If I had my way, it would be every night, but Paxton insisted you need the chance to have some space.”
“I think he meant from me,” Oscar says.
Paxton shakes his head. “I meant from all of us.”
My brows lift, glancing at each of them. “You don’t care where I sleep as long as it’s at your place?”
“Correction,” Uri interjects smoothly, “we all care. Very much. But we’re trying to be respectful and not turn it into a dick-measuring contest where we all beg for your company each night. That’s not what this is about.”
“Speak for yourself,” Oscar mutters.
“You want to measure dicks, Os?” Sterling asks, waggling his brows. “I’m happy to whip mine out.”
Oscar sneers. “No. I mean I’m absolutely willing to beg for Emme’s company each night.”
Paxton gives them all a warning look before turning to me. “The reason behind that demand is simple. Your health suffers when you’re away from us. You don’t eat properly, don’t sleep well, and you carry the entire weight of the world on your shoulders,” Paxton says, his voice quieter now.
We’ve had some time together over the past few days, but it’s clear that he’s hid his feelings from me with the distance. Lacey’s vile words she would utter at him, the way she made him feel…
Have I made my alpha think he’s not good enough? Have I made him doubt himself?
“Plus, our bond is strengthened with proximity,” he says, glancing at Oscar wearily. “And well, Oscar’s anxiety is quite intense at the moment and he’ll benefit too.”
“Blame it on the malfunctioning logic processor,” Oscar mutters, deadpan. “Or whatever part of me doesn’t understand feelings unless someone gives me a spreadsheet.”
“Don’t say that about yourself,” I snap, shaking my head. “We’ve all got things that we struggle with, and it helps knowing that being there will help you, and I won’t just be a… freeloader.”
Uri growls. The sound is loud, deep, and so fucking erotic.
Oops. I’m sure he means it to sound angry.
Paxton barks out a laugh. “I don’t think you’re doing a good enough job of releasing your alpha tendencies here, Uri.”
“Look, I don’t like the idea that you think you’re a freeloader. This is what pack is—it’s how we function,” my very first scent match says, firmly. His eyes are trained on me, his lips tight with intensity. “Besides, we’re all going to feel better having you near. And before you say it—yes, we know that’s selfish.”
“It’s not,” I say quietly, and I mean it. I bite my lip, my heart racing, and I just blurt the truth out. “I feel better with you too. I sleep better with you. I am better with you. It’s not selfish. It’s…” I smile hesitantly at Uri. “It’s pack.”
“It is.”
“It’s going to be a nightmare to move my stuff over, because I want some of my stuff out of my nest, and office,” I say, thinking the logistics over. Fuck, I’ve got so much I’m going to have to move. “But I like that rule. It makes me feel… wanted. Like I’m not just an afterthought.”
“You’re not,” Uri says instantly. “Not now. Not ever again.”
I smile at him before reaching for my glass of water to take a sip.
“Sacred Sundays remain pack time,” Paxton says, counting on his fingers. “We spend at least an hour of alone time together each week—and I mean on a one-to-one basis.”
“That one was annoying,” Uri mutters, and I look at him in surprise. “Pax doesn’t just mean you and each of us, little dove. He means all of us.”
“Oh, I love that,” I say, excitedly. “I really love that.”
Sterling smirks. “You would.”
I roll my eyes. “Anything else?”
“I have something extra,” Sterling says.
“You do?” Oscar asks. “It’s not on my list.”
“Well, I’ve just thought of it.” He’s dismissive with Oscar as he turns to me. “If something is wrong, you tell us. No lying, no disappearing, no deflecting. Physically, mentally, and most importantly—safety-wise. If someone is threatening you, if you’re worried, if you’ve got a dickhead client. Anything that scares you.”
“That one will be harder. At least physically and emotionally,” I say quietly. “But I will try.”
“We all will,” Oscar adds, smiling at me. “And realistically, that’s all we can ask. We can’t punish you whilst you’re pregnant.”
I frown, as his grey eyes fill with mirth. “What do you mean by that?”
“Well, I’ve always liked sexual punishments. Orgasm denial, and edging are my favourites,” he says, calmly cutting into his food without an ounce of shame.
Uri and Paxton fight to hide their amusement, but Sterling doesn’t even bother.
“Edging?” I whisper, sounding out the vowels. “I don’t… what even is that?”
“It’s quite interesting. I like to run the probabilities of how long?—”
“Oscar, bro, no,” Sterling groans, shaking his head. “Please tell me you don’t ruin edging by doing maths ?”
“Well how do you do it?”
“I pay attention to my partner’s responses, and I?—”
“Don’t talk about other women,” Uri snaps.
They start all getting animated, and I miss so much of the conversation as they debate it.
“Guys!” I raise my voice, and they all turn to me expectantly. “What is edging?”
“It’s where your partner gets you to the brink of an orgasm and then stops ,” Paxton says. My scent thickens, and I’m embarrassed at how quickly I go from irritated to aroused.
“But then they do it over, and over, and over,” Uri continues, his hand feeling like fire where it touches me.
I adjust in my seat, cringing at the wetness I feel coming from me. My seat is soaked, and nobody has done anything.
Fuck.
This is torture.
“Every time your pleasure spikes, getting you to an orgasm faster and faster,” Sterling continues, the huskiness of his voice making me whimper.
I drop my head onto my forearm, resting on the warm tablecloth. My fingers grab onto it the best they can, as if it’s the only thing anchoring me. My thighs squeeze together without conscious thought, slick already coating my skin like a second perfume.
My body feels like electric shocks are vibrating through it, my core spasming pleasurably.
My arousal is all I can smell, and I have no doubt it’s all they can smell too.
“It’s a good time,” Oscar says. “I learn what makes you tick fastest. A brush of your nipple with my tongue, or a hidden spot on your thigh that likes to be bitten.”
“I usually find the gland on a neck is the most potent,” Paxton says.
My whine is uncontrollable, and I tighten my grip on Uri’s hand. My walls keep trying to clamp down on the cock that isn’t there, and I press my thighs together, to try and get some friction. My orgasm builds, and I’m desperate.
Desperate to be fucked. To be tasted. To be knotted.
I don’t care, as long as it comes with the release of this pressure inside me.
“Something wrong, little storm?” Sterling’s voice is thick with amusement. I’d think he was mocking me, if I couldn’t smell how turned on he is.
It’s subtle, hidden under the more potent scents from my alphas, but it’s there.
“I’m going to combust,” I whisper, face still pressed to my arm. “And none of you are helping.”
“You need help, little dove?” Uri asks, but he doesn’t move.
“I think that’s what she was asking for.” Paxton’s the one to speak now, and he’s not even trying to hide his lust. It’s thick, desperate.
Oh fuck, it’s electrifying.
“What does that math say about how close she is, Os?” Sterling asks.
“If we touch her—ten seconds or less. If we don’t…” he trails off.
“No, please, please,” I beg, lifting my head to meet Paxton’s gaze. I look to him first, as the head alpha, but also because he’s directly in my line of sight.
“I think the waiters should be here for our plates any minute,” Uri says, almost dryly.
“Ten seconds or less,” Oscar repeats.
“Please, alpha,” I beg, fluttering my eyelashes, as I clench my thighs again. I’m so fucking close, so desperate.
But now that I know a touch is in the realm of possibility—even just a feel—I can’t let go without it. My ache won’t subside, my body won’t allow it.
“Let’s be quick then,” Paxton says. He leans closer, his hand sliding up my thigh. I drop my head back on my arm but Sterling loudly tuts.
“Ah, ah, ah,” he says, and my head flies back up as Paxton’s hand stills. My whimper doesn’t sway him—it doesn’t sway any of them. “Eyes on one of us, little storm. If you want that orgasm, you’ll look someone in the eyes and be grateful for it.”
I shiver, and nod my head, meeting Oscar’s icy grey orbs across the table. I don’t feel confident enough to hold Sterling’s gaze, and I think if I look at Uri, I might lose the nerve entirely.
Oscar’s seen this, and it was a decision I made when not under the haze of my heat.
Paxton’s hand moves again, moving my dress out of the way.
“Oh, you’re drenched, little treasure,” he murmurs, and Uri groans, his hand tightening underneath mine. “Soaked just for us.”
“Yes.” I nod my head, blinking far too slow for Sterling’s liking, before Paxton stops again, until I open them once more.
Oscar’s not yet blinked, his intensity overwhelming in all of the best ways. The way he’s looking at me is as if I’m something special.
As if I’m someone worthy .
Paxton moves my knickers to the side, and I don’t know if he thought he’d have more time to get me off, but the moment his finger brushes my entrance, the orgasm crashes over me.
I fling my head back, grinding down onto Paxton’s finger, as I unabashedly moan and whimper. Paxton claims my lips, and Uri holds me still, as they try to smother the noises I’m making.
I don’t care right now who hears. Who sees.
This orgasm is fucking everything.
Powerful enough to attack every single nerve ending in my body.
My eyes are tightly shut, my nails digging into Uri’s thigh and the chair as I ride it out. Paxton’s tongue and mine are battling, but I don’t intend to win.
I just like the fight.
“Huh, it’s different on this side,” I vaguely hear Oscar say. “I think I’d quite like to recreate this at home, where I can watch properly.”
Sterling barks out a laugh. “Kinky son of a bitch, you are.”
“I’m the son of Marie,” Oscar says. “She’s not a bitch.” He clears his throat. “She’s just a narcissist.”
And that snaps me out of the orgasm bliss. Paxton presses his lips to mine for one quick peck, before pulling away entirely. Uri wraps his arm around my waist, and lifts me onto his lap.
I shake my head, not wanting to sit there because of the slick dripping down my thighs, but he holds me firmly in place. I try to explain, but he cuts me off.
“I don’t care.” His voice is firm. “Now sit still, and let me clean you up.”
I look over to a smirking Paxton, and the moment he senses my eyes on him, he raises his hand, and sucks on his finger.
I gasp, loud enough that everyone looks my way, and I can feel my cheeks heating up.
“What’s wrong, little storm?” Sterling asks, smirking as he looks at Paxton before me. “Something bothering you?”
“Nope.” I shake my head, wiggling a little on Uri’s lap. “So, Oscar, you and your mum don’t get along?”
“No. Nor my dad either,” he says. “My family is Odelia and I. The rest can burn in hell.”
“I see,” I say, despite very clearly not seeing.
“Don’t worry, you’ll never have to meet them,” Oscar reassures me. “They don’t even live in the country any more.”
“Do you want to explain why?” Paxton asks, and I note the tender tone he uses with Oscar. How he’s encouraging, without pushing too hard.
“When Emme was diagnosed with OPS they shipped her off, and tried to hide it from everyone,” Oscar snarls, the anger clear in his tone. “We weren’t rich like those two, but we had more than enough to put her somewhere better than the Omega Centre did. They traumatised her, and I hate them for it.”
“OPS is the illness that Odelia has,” Paxton says, as Sterling reaches over to rub Oscar’s back. “Omega Precocity Syndrome. It’s part of the reason Oscar’s made our company such a huge success.”
“Funds. Numbers make sense. Numbers are what guide my sister’s life, and finances are what pay for all of her treatments,” Oscar explains.
He’s so matter of fact, his tone devoid of any unhappy or negative emotion. It’s unsettling.
“But we can talk about my sister another day. I want to know about your stipulations,” Oscar decides.
I furrow my brow, wishing I was close enough so I could reach him. “Oscar, I’d much rather?—”
“Of course you would,” Sterling teases. I watch him squeeze Oscar’s shoulder, before getting back comfortable in his seat. “Because you love to deflect. But we’re here to talk openly, so share.”
“Okay, fine.” I cross my arms, and Paxton’s gaze sharpens. “No decisions about me get made without me. Not by anyone. Not even if you think it’s for my own good. Especially not then.”
Oscar lowers his head, a faint flush rising on his cheeks. “Noted.”
“I’m serious,” I say, voice quiet but hard. “I don’t want you shielding me from things I should know. I don’t want you updating records or changing plans or talking to doctors unless I’m involved.”
“You deserve to be part of those conversations,” Paxton says evenly, like it’s obvious. But if it were, we wouldn’t have had the last three days filled with tension.
I nod. “I do.” I stretch my legs out under the table. “I also want to have a weekly check-in. Maybe on Sundays?”
“What for?” Uri asks, exchanging a look with Sterling. I don’t know if I’m meant to have seen it, or what.
“A mental health check-in. A relationship check-in. Anything. Do you feel neglected? Was there something in therapy you want to share with the group? Is there a new fear you have?” I ask, listing a few things. “You get the idea.”
“I like that. Open dialogue,” Sterling says.
“My therapist suggested something similar,” Paxton says, calmly. “I like it.”
We’re all quiet as the table is cleared, the soft clinking of plates and cutlery the only sounds in the candlelit hush. I keep my head hung low, just in case the waitresses try to meet our eyes.
I don’t want to face anyone, considering how strongly our section smells of me . It’s heavy with the scent of my slick, of my pleasure.
The gossip will be flying around.
Eventually we’re alone, and a moment passes before Uri speaks again. “No claiming talk yet.”
Sterling sighs, dramatically forlorn. “Not even a little?”
“Everything happens naturally,” Paxton reminds him.
Oscar finally looks up, grey eyes cool but clear. “No rush. No pressure. We build this right, or we don’t build it at all.”
That earns a quiet chorus of agreement.
I lean forward slightly. “One more rule from me.”
“Which is?”
“Everything we do is with the baby as our priority,” I say quietly. “She, or he, is what matters. They come before egos, before fights, before anything.”
“Agreed,” Uri says. “Completely and utterly.”
Paxton, Oscar and Sterling all agree, and I relax back against Uri’s chest.
“Well then, we’re agreed. It just needs a name.”
“What does?” Sterling asks, glancing at Oscar.
“Courtship version two.” He clicks his fingers, in an aha-moment. “I’ve got it. Our courtship is now called the not-screwed-up one. I’ll have to update all of my spreadsheets.”
He starts tapping against the table, and I know that we’ve lost him.
Sterling snorts. Uri chuckles. I giggle, and Paxton’s smile is warm but restrained. He doesn’t seem anywhere near as amused as the rest of us are.
But I don’t care.
Today was healing in a way I didn’t expect. I wasn’t even aware that this was something I needed, but it was.
It is .
I know now that we’ve actually got a chance.
At pack.
At love.
At forever.