Chapter 16
Okay, maybe I wasn’t being honest when I said I was well enough to go home.
Because the heated need under my skin returns when I go into Ambrose’s room and find his scent permeating the space, turning it into an intoxicating oasis.
The room is decorated in creams, blues and grays, and there’s a surprising number of photographs in a gallery along one wall, but the lights are too dim to make out who they feature.
Ambrose guides me to sit on his bed. Before I can think better of it, I grab his pillow, clutching it to my chest and inhaling greedily.
As soon as I stop huffing his pillow, and scent marking it in the process, my cheeks burn. I shouldn’t be touching his stuff. I shouldn’t even be in his bedroom. It will give them the wrong idea.
Won’t it?
My head is still fuzzy enough with the bizarre dichotomy between my physical discomfort and the pleasure from being touched and surrounded by scents my omega craves.
I should’ve shut this down already. The way Ambrose and Jackson are looking at me is so hopeful and adoring, it makes me want to fall into their arms and never let them go.
River’s guilt-tinged overtures seem so real, and the idea of forgiving him and starting fresh is almost irresistible.
I don’t know which of these feelings are real, and which belong to my omega’s instinct to avoid pain by finding a pack to protect and provide for me through the heat spike. What if, when those needs go away, I realize my relief, remorse, and desire to get back together are gone too?
I don’t want to hurt them, and it’s impossible to believe that they’ll be okay if I walk away from tonight and pretend like nothing has changed.
“You’re thinking way too hard, Cami,” Jackson says, plopping down beside me and wrapping an arm behind my back.
The tension in my spine eases at his touch, and I sag against him, resting my head against his shoulder.
It hurts how much I’ve missed this. I’d convinced myself I was okay getting by with my sad little cow plushie, but when given the real thing, it’s almost laughable how feeble a stopgap measure that was.
“Thank you,” I murmur, placing my hand on Jackson’s thick thigh, needing to touch him back. My pulse spikes when he lets out a shuddering exhale at my touch, like he’s missed this as much as I have.
Jackson presses a kiss to my temple, stroking broad circles across my back.
Ambrose heads to his closet, cursing as he digs around to find his medical bag in the jumbled mess of stuff crammed inside.
The sight makes me smile, though logically a messy closet shouldn’t endear him to me.
It’s just nice to see a side of him that isn’t perfect, when he always presents a solid, unflappable front.
Ambrose catches me watching him as he turns around with the medical bag in hand, and I quickly look away, only for my eyes to land on River.
He meets my gaze, understanding clear in his eyes.
Despite his rigid posture, there’s a hint of a smile on his lips that tells me he also finds Ambrose’s mess endearing.
“Dude, do I need to stage an intervention?” Jackson asks, clearly not as charmed by the older alpha’s closet. He leans forward, eyes narrowing as he looks into the closet. “Hey, is that one of my paintings? I threw that out!”
Ambrose shrugs, unbothered by the beta’s shock. “It’s beautiful. I couldn’t let it end up in a landfill because you’re too critical of yourself.”
Jackson sputters, but has no comeback for that.
“Can I see it?” I ask. Partially because I’m intrigued, but also because the longer they take to do the tests, the longer I can stay in this room where my omega is happier than she’s been in months.
Jackson mentioned his hobby to me in passing, but he made it sound like he was an amateur.
Ambrose is a sweetheart, but his words don’t sound like false praise.
An unexpected flush rises on Ambrose’s neck. “Oh, uh, sure.”
“Don’t show her!” Jackson protests, springing up from the bed to intercept him and bodily block the painting from view.
My omega whines at the loss of contact, but I cover it with a laugh and stand. “Now I really need to see it.” I walk over to the closet, and both Jackson and Ambrose give me pleading, embarrassed looks. I tilt my head at their behavior. “Is it something dirty?”
“No! But it’s not good. Let’s go sit back down so the doctor can run his tests,” Jackson says, tugging my arm.
I hold my ground.
“I want to see it too,” River calls from where he’s still half in, half out of the bedroom.
“For that, you’ll have to stop lurking like a vampire who isn’t sure he got an invitation inside, dude,” Jackson huffs over his shoulder.
River stiffens, like he didn’t realize he was doing that. “I…” His gaze flicks over to Ambrose. “I didn’t know whether that would be okay or not.”
Oh. When Ambrose said he hadn’t fully forgiven River, I didn’t realize that meant they hadn’t been intimate again yet. Not that it’s any of my business. That feeling of intruding on their long-established bond flares to life inside me, the lighthearted moment gone, and I step back from the closet.
“Of course you can come in,” Ambrose says in an uncharacteristically frustrated huff.
“Yeah, stop being weird,” Jackson adds, rolling his eyes. “You can feel through the bond as much as I do that he wants you in here with us.”
“Okay fine, sorry for trying to be respectful of my mate’s boundaries,” River says drolly, the tension in his spine bleeding out as he strides over to where we’re clustered together. “And I’m not the one being weird. You two are hiding a painting from us like it’s clown fetish art.”
I blink at him, surprised at the teasing. The River I remember would’ve brooded and gone cold, but the distance he’d been holding himself at melted away once it was pointed out.
Maybe he really is changing.
My stomach does a little flip at the thought, and with the three of them this close to me, I struggle to keep my breathing even. They smell so damn perfect together, my omega is ready to go back over to the bed and pull them all down on it with me.
“It’s not clown porn!” Jackson snaps. “Fine, you can see it, but save your ‘oh, it’s not that bad’ comments.”
Ambrose sighs. “I just don’t want to seem like a creep. I was keeping it in here until…” He doesn’t finish the sentence, turning the painting to face me as Jackson steps out of the way.
My heart stops. Tears spring to my eyes.
It’s me.
A far more beautiful, stylized version of me, but the subject is clear. As is the artistry and passion imbued in every brushstroke.
“Holy shit,” River murmurs, stepping closer to inspect it.
I stare at the painting, chest aching. This isn’t just a portrait. It’s a love letter.
“I know I messed up the eyes, and the hair isn’t quite right,” Jackson mumbles, taking my stunned silence as a critique.
Pulling my gaze from the portrait, I turn to face him and find he’s curled in on himself, shoulders slumped and arms wrapped around himself like it’ll protect him from us hating his art.
“It’s perfect,” I whisper, tears slipping down my cheeks. “I can’t believe you…”
I can’t believe you love me.
I don’t say it, too terrified to acknowledge the depth of emotion found in his painting.
But it doesn’t matter if I say it aloud or not, because the way his gaze pierces into mine tells me he understands.
And being the amazing man he is, Jackson doesn’t push or say the words.
He just nods with a small, vulnerable smile.
I’m on him in an instant, wrapping my arms around his neck and pulling him down for a kiss. Jackson moans against my mouth, gripping my hips to press our bodies closer. An ache builds between my thighs, and the heat that’d been simmering flares.
“It’s pretty, but it’s not that good,” River says, and I pull back from the kiss to glare at him in time to see Ambrose smack him in the chest. He shrugs, eyes molten with desire despite his attempt at nonchalance. “The real thing is much better.”
Butterflies kick up in my stomach as he rakes his gaze across me.
Jackson nods. “That’s why I got rid of it. I tried over and over, but none of it was good enough for her.”
A purr stutters to life in my chest at their praise. It’s ridiculous. The painting is objectively far more beautiful than I am, but my omega still soaks it up with delight.
Ambrose huffs a small laugh. “It’s still lovely and worth keeping. If we threw away everything that was slightly imperfect, we’d all be in the garbage.”
That pulls a laugh from me, and I love the sentiment as much as their over-the-top compliments. “I know I definitely would be.”
Jackson shakes his head, glaring at Ambrose. “No way! You and Dolly would be safe.”
“True, Dolly doesn’t deserve that kind of slander,” River adds, pretending to chastize his mate.
“I didn’t mean Dolly,” the older alpha grumbles.
A warm laugh bubbles out of me at their bickering, and how good it is to be a part of it.
It’s followed promptly by a cramp, making me groan.
“We should probably do those tests. I think it’s going to get bad again.
” Not that anything about letting these men have their way with me feels bad right now.
Ambrose sets the painting down and nods. “Right.”
When I sit back down at the edge of the bed, Jackson returns to my side, stroking my back as Ambrose checks my vitals. I do my best not to squirm, but I’m growing needier by the moment, the small brushes of Ambrose’s fingers as he takes my pulse and Jackson’s caresses making me burn.
I whimper when Ambrose steps back to get a small instrument from his bag, not wanting him to move away. My compliant patient side is quickly losing out to my horny omega.
“Touch her,” River rasps, directing his words to Jackson.
Yes, touching me is an excellent idea. I squirm against the beta, spreading my legs to give him access.
“I don’t want her to get too worked up while Ambrose is still doing his thing.”
Ambrose returns with a device that looks like it’s used for a finger prick. Shit, I hate those.
River’s eyes flash to mine as I grow tense at the prospect. “It will help distract her. Touch her.”
I shiver at the command in his tone, bordering on the edge of an alpha bark.
“Maybe you’re in charge in the bedroom with Ambrose, but I’m not your submissive. Stop barking orders at me,” Jackson retorts.
River scoffs. “I know you like it when I tell you what to do.”
“W-what? No, I don’t!” Jackson sputters in protest.
The thought of River bossing Jackson around makes my nipples harden.
“Enough,” Ambrose sighs, rolling his eyes at the pair. “Do you want Jackson to touch you while I do the finger prick, sweetheart?”
“Yes,” I gasp, leaning back against the solid beta and spreading my thighs wider.
Jackson grants my request, slipping his hand in through the ripped slit of my dress and stroking my slick pussy lips until he finds my clit.
I barely register when Ambrose takes my hand and does the finger prick, moaning as Jackson works me with skilled precision.
“Are we done with the tests?” I pant as Ambrose steps away again.
He nods. “I’m done torturing you. It takes an hour for that test strip to work, so we have some time to kill.”
“What do you think, Cami?” Jackson rasps in my ear as he brings me closer and closer to the edge. “Is an hour long enough to satisfy your needy pussy?”
I gasp as I come, the sensation almost painful with nothing inside me. “N-no,” I moan.
An hour isn’t nearly enough. I don’t think I’ll ever get enough from them.