Chapter 4 – JUNIPER
Chapter
Four
JUNIPER
T he blankets smell like home. Like Felix. Like blood we've washed out a hundred times but somehow still lingers in the fibers, metallic and sweet.
I drag another armful into the closet, my fingers trembling with need that has nothing to do with murder and everything to do with the fire building low in my belly.
The nest is almost perfect. Almost. Just needs more of him, more of us, more of everything that makes this converted warehouse loft feel like the only safe place left in a world full of sharpened teeth.
My hands find his shirt in the laundry basket—black, of course, because Felix owns exactly three colors and they're all different shades of darkness.
I press it to my face and inhale deep, letting his scent flood my system.
Clean winter mornings. Diamonds cutting through skin.
That artificial alpha musk he wears like armor, amplifying what's already perfect about him.
"You're such a little thief," Felix says from the doorway, but his voice is warm honey over broken glass. "That's the third shirt this week."
"You smell good," I tell him, not bothering to look up from my work. The nest needs another layer here, something soft against the concrete wall. "Like safety. Like mine."
"I smell like industrial-grade pheromone enhancers and yesterday's murder."
"Exactly." I turn to face him, still clutching his shirt like a lifeline. "Like I said. Safety."
He's leaning against the doorframe in just gray sweatpants that highlight the long outline of his cock and make my mouth water.
He's all pale skin and sharp angles and scars that tell stories I know by heart.
The tattoo covering the brand on his throat catches my eye, a dagger pointed down, wrapped in thorns.
Sometimes I trace it with my tongue when he's sleeping, tasting the ink and trauma and transformation all at once.
"I brought you snacks," he says, holding up a basket like some kind of Big Bad Wolf. "Those protein bars you like. The ones that taste like cardboard."
"They taste like chocolate," I protest, but my attention is already wandering. The room feels too warm. My skin feels too tight. Everything smells like want and need and— "I think it's starting."
"I know." His nostrils flare slightly. "You smell like flowers on fire. When did you last eat actual food?"
I try to remember, but time gets slippery when we're between jobs. Yesterday? The day before? There was definitely a burger at some point, or maybe that was last week. The shadows in the corner of the closet shift, forming shapes that might be hands or might be nothing at all.
"Juney." Felix's voice cuts through the fog. "Food. Now."
"After." I turn back to the nest, adjusting a pillow that doesn't need adjusting. "I'm almost done. Just need to—" My hands won't stop shaking. "Fuck. I'm so restless. Like there are bees under my skin."
"That's the heat talking." He sets the basket down, and I can feel him watching me with those silver eyes that see too much. "Can I come in?"
The question makes something warm bloom in my chest. He always asks. Even after all these years, all these heats, all these times I've begged him to crawl inside my skin and live there forever. He always asks.
"Of course you can come in," I say, abandoning the nest building to press myself against him. His skin is cool against my fevered flesh, and I melt into him like wax meeting flame. "You live here too."
His lips find mine, soft at first, then harder when I nip at his bottom lip. He tastes like mint and control and all the things I want to unravel. My hips roll against his, seeking friction, seeking him.
"Nest first," he murmurs against my mouth, but his hands are already tangled in my hair. "Then I'll take care of you."
I whine but I listen. I always listen to Felix. He's the compass when my world spins off its axis. I grab the last few blankets, arranging them with fingers that fumble and shake. The nest is a cocoon now, soft walls to keep the world out and us in.
"There," I announce, pulling him into the center of my creation. "Perfect. Now kiss me like you mean it."
He does. Oh, fuck, he does.
His mouth claims mine with a hunger that matches my own, tongues dancing, teeth catching on lips.
My hands find the waistband of his sweatpants, tugging, needing skin against skin.
His shirt—my shirt now—gets tossed somewhere in the chaos of hands and want after I claw it off his lean, athletic body.
"Wait," he says, pulling back when we're both half-naked and panting. "Let me get the toys."
"Felix," I whine, grinding against the obvious bulge in his pants. "I need?—"
"I know what you need, Juney," His thumb traces my bottom lip, and I suck it into my mouth just to watch his eyes go dark. "And I'm going to give it to you. Every last fucking thing."
He disappears for a moment that feels like forever, returning with the box we keep for times like this. The times when biology demands things Felix can't naturally provide but tries to anyway because he's mine and I'm his and that's all that matters.
"Come here," he says, setting the box aside and pulling me back against him. His hands are gentle as they peel away the rest of my clothes, reverent like I'm something precious instead of something broken. "Let me see you."
I'm naked now, fever-flushed and trembling, and his gaze travels over me like a physical touch. He starts with my breasts, cupping them in his palms, thumbs brushing over nipples already hard and aching.
"So fucking perfect," he murmurs, then his mouth replaces his hands and I see stars.
He sucks and nips and laves attention on my breasts until I'm writhing beneath him, my hands fisted in his hair. Every pull of his mouth sends electricity straight to my core, building and building until I think I might die from want.
"Please," I gasp, but he's already moving lower, kissing a trail down my stomach that makes me arch off the blankets. "Felix, I need?—"
"Shh." His breath ghosts over where I'm wet and aching. "I know."
The first touch of his tongue makes me scream. He licks into me like a man starving, like I'm the only thing keeping him alive. His tongue finds my clit, circling, flicking, driving me higher with every stroke. My thighs shake around his head, and when his tongue enters me, I shatter.
The orgasm rips through me like lightning, but it's not enough. It's never enough during heat. I'm already bucking against his face, fucking myself on his tongue, needing more, more, more.
"Please," I beg, my own fingers delving into the space his tongue just occupied when he comes up for air, desperate and shameless. "Put something inside me. Anything. I need—fuck, I need?—"
His eyes flash dangerously as he watches me fuck myself on my own fingers. "That's my pussy,” he growls, pushing my hand away and replacing my fingers with his own, arching them into me as punishment that feels like the sweetest reward. " My pretty omega's pussy, and I'm going to fucking ruin it."
The words make me shudder hard, filthy and perfect and exactly what I need. I scream as another orgasm crashes over me in response, but it only makes the hunger worse. Each peak pushes me further into the madness of heat, until I'm nothing but raw, frayed nerve endings and need.
"Look at you," he continues, his voice rough with want. "So desperate for it. So fucking wet. You'd take anything right now, wouldn't you? Let anyone fill this greedy little hole."
"No," I gasp, clawing at his shoulders. "Only you. Always you."
"That's right." He withdraws his fingers, and I nearly sob at the loss. "Only me. Because you're mine, Juniper. Every inch of you belongs to me."
I watch through hazy eyes as he finally, finally strips off his sweatpants. His cock springs free, hard and thick and perfect. He's big—as big as most alphas, bigger than most omegas could take—but I'm not most omegas. I'm his, made for him, hungry for him.
The prosthetic knot sheath he's already slipped over the base of his shaft catches my attention, sleek black silicone that will inflate when he's ready. When I'm ready. When we're both so lost in each other that nothing else exists.
"Let me," I beg, scrambling to my knees as slick gushes down my inner thighs and I’m throbbing with need so intense it's agonizing.
But I don't just want to be fucked, I want to taste him.
I want him in every hole, fucking me, tearing me apart, digging in deep until I lose track of where I end and he begins.
"Please, let me taste you first, Felix," I whine.
He groans like the pitch affects him as intensely as any alpha, but doesn't stop me as I take him in my mouth, worshipping every inch with lips and tongue.
He tastes like skin and salt and home, and I moan around him, taking him deeper, showing him with my mouth what my words can never quite capture.
"Fuck, Juney." His hand tangles in my hair, not forcing, just holding. "That mouth. That perfect fucking mouth."
I look up at him through my lashes, hollowing my cheeks, and his control visibly cracks. He pulls me off gently, and I whine at the loss, my nails digging into his hips viciously enough to leave little red crescents.
"On your back," he commands. "Spread for me. Show me what's mine."
I fall back onto the blankets eagerly, spreading my legs wide. My fingers find my pussy, dripping wet from his silver tongue and his filthy words, pulling myself open for his hungry gaze. I'm so wet it's obscene.
"Good girl," he praises, and those two words make me clench around nothing. "My good fucking girl, showing me that pretty pussy.”
He positions himself between my thighs, the head of his cock nudging at my entrance. We both groan as he pushes in, stretching me, filling me, completing me. The prosthetic knot bumps against my entrance, not yet inflated, just a promise of what's to come.
"Yes," I hiss, wrapping my legs around his waist. "Fuck me. Use me. Make me yours, Felix."
He does. God, he does.
He fucks into me with long, deep strokes that hit every perfect spot. His hands grip my hips hard enough to bruise, and I hope they do. I want his marks on me, evidence that this is real, that we're real, that nothing else matters but this.
"You take me so well," he growls, picking up the pace. "Made for my cock. Made to be filled."
Another orgasm builds, coiling tight in my belly. He must feel it because he shifts the angle, hitting that spot that makes me see into the aether, and I come screaming his name.
"That's it," he encourages, fucking me through it. "Come on my cock, Juney. Show me how much you need it."
He starts working the knot against my entrance, the pressure intense and perfect and not quite enough. I'm so wet, so open, but it's still a stretch. He rocks it against me, teasing, testing, driving me insane.
"Please," I beg, barely coherent. "I need it. Need your knot. Need all of you."
"Turn over," he commands, pulling out despite my protests. "Hands and knees. Let me see that perfect ass in the air."
I scramble to obey, presenting myself shamelessly. He groans at the sight, hands spreading my cheeks, thumb pressing against my entrance.
"So fucking perfect," he mutters, then he's pushing back in, the angle different, deeper.
The knot presses insistently, and I push back against him, grinding, needing it inside me more than I need air. He works it slowly, carefully, until finally, finally, it pops past the rim.
"Felix!" I scream, the stretch incredible, overwhelming, perfect.
"That's it," he soothes, holding still to let me adjust. "You've got it. Such a good girl, taking my knot so well."
Then he presses the button.
The knot inflates inside me, and I come so hard I nearly black out.
Every nerve ending fires at once, pleasure so intense it feels like it'll kill me.
In fact, I'm pretty sure I die a few times over, babbling his name and other incoherent obscenities.
I'm sobbing into the blankets, my body clenching around him, milking him when I come back to myself.
He growls—actually growls like the alpha he's so fucking good at pretending to be—and I feel him pulse inside me, filling me with his release.
His teeth scrape against my neck, right over the scent gland where a dagger pierces a rose over a mark I'd peel off my own skin if I could sits, and I lose my mind.
"Do it," I beg, tilting my head to give him better access. "Bite me. Mark me. Make me yours forever."
His teeth sink in, not quite deep enough to bond—he can't, we both know he can't—but enough to satisfy the primal need. I come again, screaming, my vision whiting out as my body convulses around him.
When I finally come back to myself, we're lying tangled together, still connected. He holds me carefully, like I might break, pressing soft kisses to the bite mark that will fade too soon.
"I'm sorry," he whispers into the darkness of our nest.
I blink, confused, still floating in post-orgasmic bliss that even the darkest shadows taking up residence in the corner can't taint. "Why?"
"Because I can't..." His voice cracks slightly. "I can't really give you what you need. The real thing. A proper knot, a true bond. You deserve?—"
I turn to face him as much as our position allows, taking his face in my hands. His silver eyes are full of something I've never seen before, something that looks like shame and fear and love all twisted together.
"We're all each other needs," I tell him firmly, pouring every ounce of conviction into the words. "Just the two of us against the world, like always."
He closes his eyes, leaning into my touch, and I press my forehead to his.
I just wish I could make him believe that.