14. Morning After Tempting Chaos
Morning After Tempting Chaos
~FELIX~
T he buzz of my phone jerks me from a deep sleep, the screen's glow painfully bright in the darkness.
6:00 AM glares at me accusingly.
"Fuck off," I mutter, slapping blindly at the screen until the alarm stops. The room falls back into blessed silence, and I burrow deeper into whatever makeshift pillow this is.
Fifteen minutes later, the alarm blares again.
"I swear to God, Felix," Carter's voice growls from somewhere to my left. "Shut that shit up before I get up and knock you out." A pained groan follows. "Fuck, my back hurts."
I force my eyes open, squinting at the blurry world around me. Everything's a fuzzy mess without my glasses, which... where the hell did I put them last night?
Memories start filtering back slowly as I pat around the surface next to me.
We'd ended up in the kitchen after the whole scene in Holmes's office. I remember watching Carter, of all people, actually cooking.
That was something I hadn't seen in years.
The memories are crystal clear in my mind.
Carter moving through the kitchen with practiced ease, pulling ingredients from cabinets and working with the kind of focused intensity he usually reserves for high-stakes negotiations.
Elizabeth had perched on the counter, her legs swinging as she watched him with fascinated amusement.
It reminded me so much of when we were younger.
Back when Carter would spend hours in the kitchen, experimenting with recipes from every culture he could find. His mother had encouraged it, always praising his creations and suggesting new techniques.
Of course, we learned later that her enthusiasm had less to do with nurturing his culinary interests and more to do with covering up other activities. The constant baking, the elaborate meals—they were all carefully orchestrated to mask the scents of blood and death that permeated the Giovanni mansion.
Nothing covers the metallic tang of blood quite like fresh-baked bread and complex spices.
But Carter had genuinely loved it.
He'd light up whenever he mastered a new technique or successfully recreated some complicated dish. It was one of the few things that made him seem like a normal kid and not the heir to one of the most powerful criminal empires in existence.
That all changed after the incident.
When his parents were attacked, leaving them permanently wounded and unable to maintain direct control of the empire, Carter had to step up. At sixteen, he'd been forced to transform from an aspiring chef into a ruthless leader overnight.
The kitchen had gathered dust after that.
The elaborate spice collection his mother had curated went unused.
The copper pots and pans that had been his pride and joy were relegated to storage.
Until last night.
Watching him cook for Elizabeth had been like seeing a ghost of the old Carter. The way his hands moved confidently with the knife, the little smile that played at his lips as he explained each step to her—it was like stepping back in time.
He'd made something Russian, probably trying to impress her after that little display with Holmes. The kitchen had filled with the aroma of garlic and dill, and for a moment, it felt like home. Like we were just normal guys having dinner with a girl, not three of the most dangerous Alphas in the underground trying to maintain our cover in this academic farce.
Elizabeth had watched him with genuine interest, asking questions about techniques and ingredients. She'd laughed at his terrible attempts at Russian pronunciation, correcting him with a patience that suggested she actually enjoyed teaching him.
They didn’t leave me behind, which is something that commonly happens because I’m generally quiet. It’s not like I’m not interested in the conversations being said, but I guess it’s in my persona to blend with the crowd versus stand out.
But Elizabeth wouldn’t have that.
She’d bring me into the conversation when I went on too long in my silent observation, asking questions that allowed her to learn more about my hobbies and interests. Didn’t realize how much I do like to talk until last night.
That I’m not completely an introvert, but it depends on the type of company around me.
Most surprisingly, she'd helped clean up afterward. No Omega we'd ever encountered would dream of doing something so...domestic. They usually expected to be waited on, and treated like precious dolls rather than equals.
But Elizabeth had rolled up her sleeves, metaphorically because she was in that sinful bodysuit, and jumped right in, hip-checking Carter out of the way to take over washing duties while he dried the plates and cutlery.
It was...nice.
Normal in a way our lives rarely are.
Too normal, probably, but I didn’t hate it.
It’s a level of peace and serenity I didn’t think I’d enjoy.
I try to recall more in detail, thinking back to the kitchen once more, the events playing in my head yet again, like a recording that needs to be remembered and replayed for further analysis.
I remember I ended up joining them for dinner, the three of us falling into a surprisingly easy conversation about cars and electronics. It was strange, talking to someone who seemed genuinely interested in our passions and hobbies outside of the usual blood and violence that consumed our daily lives.
Many Omegas used to say we weren’t interesting because we didn’t keep up with the current trends in luxury and drama. Hearing it so many times, I figured they were right, but Elizabeth had such a different reaction last night.
She lit up when Carter started talking about the engineering behind his Ferrari collection, asking detailed questions about torque and aerodynamics that proved she wasn't just pretending to be interested. And when I'd mentioned my latest drone modifications, she'd leaned forward with genuine curiosity, wanting to know about the AI systems I'd integrated into the control mechanisms.
When was the last time we'd talked about normal things?
We'd gotten so caught up in the underground world — in survival and power plays and constant vigilance — that we'd almost forgotten who we were beyond our roles as leaders in this dark empire.
Cars, cooking, technology...they'd become distant memories, hobbies we'd abandoned in favor of maintaining our grip on power.
Squinting in the darkness now, I pat around myself again, trying to locate my glasses. As my vision slowly adjusts, I realize we're not in the living room as I'd first thought.
We're in the garage.
Holmes's form of punishment, no doubt, for losing control of the situation last night. And he had lost, spectacularly so. Elizabeth had played him like a virtuoso, pushing every button with precision until his carefully maintained control had cracked.
I can't help but smirk, remembering his expression when she'd pulled away. He'd probably needed a very cold shower after that display and sensual experience, followed by at least thirty minutes of dealing with his knot. It's rare to see Holmes so thoroughly outmaneuvered, especially by an Omega.
But Elizabeth isn't just any Omega.
The way she'd handled the whole situation— from Victoria's presence to Holmes's silent treatment — showed a level of strategic thinking that went far beyond mere defiance. She'd assessed the battlefield, identified her targets, and executed her attack with devastating efficiency.
No wonder Carter's so taken with her.
Maybe I’m starting to warm up to her as well.
Speaking of Carter, I can hear him shifting on whatever surface he'd crashed on, probably one of the vintage leather car seats we keep meaning to restore in a new model. His breathing suggests he's still mostly asleep, probably dreaming about the way Elizabeth had praised him last night.
It's been years since I've seen him this... content. Like some part of him that had been locked away is finally breathing again. Falling back asleep so quickly was usually a struggle for him, but looks like he’s out.
Maybe being exiled to this academic hellhole won't be such a punishment after all.
A dull throb starts behind my eyes as I give up searching for my glasses in the dark. The slight headache reminds me we'd been drinking last night—not heavily, but enough beers and shots to leave their mark.
The memories flood back, crystal clear despite the lingering alcohol.
Elizabeth had been mesmerizing in that black silhouette bodysuit, the fabric clinging to every curve and muscle like it had been painted on. The way she moved was hypnotic — each gesture a perfect blend of classical training and raw sensuality.
Her platinum hair caught the low lighting as it fell in waves around her shoulders, creating a halo effect that made her look almost ethereal.
She'd collected Carter’s and Holmes’ ties like war trophies throughout the evening, draping them around her neck in a makeshift scarf that somehow made her look both playful and far too tempting.
The silk accessories swayed with her movements as she danced.
"S?o Paulo" by The Weeknd featuring Anitta pulsed through our premium sound system, and Elizabeth moved like she was born to embody the music.
Her body rolled with the beat, hips swaying in perfect time as she sang along. The Portuguese lyrics flowed from her lips without hesitation, her pronunciation flawless as she twisted and turned through the space between us.
She incorporated elements of different dance styles seamlessly—a ballet turn here, a hip-hop body roll there, all woven together into something uniquely her own. It was like watching art come to life, the kind of performance that makes you forget to breathe.
All of this happening in our luxurious kitchen which seemed to heighten the unexpected performance.
Her training was evident in every move — the perfect control, the effortless transitions, the way she could make even the simplest gesture look graceful. But there was something else too; wild and untamed that no amount of classical training could contain.
When she spun, the ties would fan out around her like wings. When she dropped into a low move, her muscles would flex visibly beneath the bodysuit's fabric, showing those hidden muscled lines proving she did the work in the gym and wasn’t all show and curves.
Every movement was purposeful yet seemed completely spontaneous like she was creating the choreography on the spot.
Carter watched her with undisguised fascination, already shirtless from our earlier drinking games which I swear he initially lost in hopes of getting fully naked. His chiseled muscles — usually hidden beneath designer shirts —caught the light as he leaned forward in his chair, completely captivated.
I couldn't blame him as I observed in a chair on the sidelines.
Elizabeth commanded attention without seeming to try, her presence filling the room in a way that had nothing to do with typical Omega allure and everything to do with pure talent and confidence.
At one point, she'd incorporated the ties into her dance, using them like props in a burlesque show — but there was nothing vulgar about it. Instead, it was playful and artistic, turning simple accessories into extensions of her movement.
"How many languages do you speak?" Carter had asked, his eyes tracking her every move. "Besides Russian?"
The question came after she'd been singing along not just to the Portuguese parts of the song, but to several other international tracks that had played earlier.
She'd switched effortlessly between languages, her voice carrying each accent and inflection perfectly.
"Five by default," she'd answered, her movement never faltering as she circled Carter's chair.
There was something predatory in the way she moved around him, like a cat playing with its prey. Her hand had traced along his shoulders, fingers dancing across his skin with deliberate lightness.
The way she touched him was like another form of dance—precise yet sensual, controlled but with an underlying current of something wilder. When she hooked her arm around the front of his neck, leaning down to brush her lips against his skin, the movement was so smooth it looked choreographed.
Carter had melted into the touch, a groan escaping him as his head fell back. The sound seemed to please her — I caught the hint of a smile just before she pressed another kiss to his neck. His hand came up to tangle in her hair, pulling her down into a proper kiss that made the air in the room feel electric.
The chemistry between them was undeniable.
The way they moved together, responded to each other—it was like watching two expert dancers performing a duet they'd rehearsed for years, except this was completely spontaneous and only one had to be moving to give the illusion of a refined performance.
Every action and reaction flowed naturally, as if they could read each other's minds.
Their scents had blended perfectly too, creating something new and intoxicating.
Carter's usual warm musk and whiskey merged with her sweet-dark aroma to produce a fragrance that filled the room with promises of passion and possibility. It was the kind of scent combination that made even my head spin — and I'm usually immune to such things.
Scent compatibility at that level is rare.
I'd heard of it before — true scent matches, where two people's pheromones complement each other so perfectly it creates an almost instant bond. But I'd never actually witnessed it firsthand. It explained their immediate connection, the way they seemed to gravitate toward each other without conscious thought.
Even now, hours later, Carter's scent lingered on her skin, marking her in a way that went beyond physical attraction. It was like their essences had merged, creating something entirely new and powerful.
She'd listed off her languages between kisses — English, Russian, Portuguese, French, and Italian — each one rolling off her tongue like music. She even admitted she’s trying to get the hang of German.
Carter had watched her with a mix of awe and desire that I'd never seen on his face before, not even when acquiring his most prized cars. His gaze was just glued on her, watching every movement like a hawk waiting to strike, but I’m positive that my absence would have encouraged another round of sexual endeavors that would echo through the house.
I wouldn’t even complain.
They fit together so naturally, it was almost painful to watch. Like witnessing something private and precious, a connection that transcended the usual Alpha-Omega dynamics we were all so tired of playing out.
In the end, it was obvious this was more primal — the kind of bond that could either save us all or tear everything apart if things didn’t go the right way.
And I'm not sure which outcome I'm hoping for.
The memory shifts, becoming hazier around the edges as the night had progressed and the alcohol had really kicked in.
Carter had suggested musical chairs of all things — probably just looking for an excuse to get his hands on Elizabeth again.
Not that he needed one, given how naturally they gravitated toward each other.
They'd stumbled around his prized vintage armchair, both far too drunk to maintain any semblance of grace. Elizabeth's dancer's poise had abandoned her completely, replaced by genuine, unrestrained joy as she giggled and squealed every time Carter caught her.
"That's cheating!" she'd laughed as he grabbed her waist, pulling her down onto his lap instead of letting her claim the chair. "You can't just—Carter!" Her protest dissolved into more laughter as he buried his face in her neck.
The sound of their combined laughter had echoed through the kitchen at 2 AM, probably loud enough to wake the dead. Elizabeth's platinum hair had come completely loose from its earlier style, falling around them both like a curtain as she'd twisted in his lap to face him.
I remember thinking how different she looked in that moment—all traces of the defiant, carefully controlled Omega gone, replaced by someone who seemed genuinely happy.
The kind of happiness that makes you forget about everything else…
Carter hadn't been much better, his usual dangerous grace replaced by clumsy enthusiasm as he'd tried to stand up with Elizabeth still in his arms.
They'd nearly toppled over, both dissolving into more laughter.
"Put me down!" she'd demanded between giggles, not making any actual effort to escape. "You're going to drop me!"
"Never," Carter had declared with drunken solemnity, though he was swaying dangerously. "You're mine to keep now."
What happened next is a bit blurred in my memory, though certain moments stand out with stark clarity. The way Elizabeth's expression had softened at his words, the way Carter had looked at her like she was something precious and wild all at once.
They'd ended up...
I shake my head, trying to clear the images that follow. Even through the alcoholic haze of last night, some things were impossible to forget—though I probably should, for the sake of everyone's dignity.
But one thing stands out clearly: the pure, uninhibited joy in both their faces.
It was like watching two people who'd been wearing masks their whole lives finally let them slip, if only for a few hours.
When was the last time any of us had laughed like that?
I lean back against the garage wall, having to scoot back a bit and allow myself to nurse the remnants of my drink as I recall my observation of unfolding chaos between Elizabeth and Carter.
The two of them are pressed together on one of the armchairs, their heads close, their laughter spilling into the air like music. Carter’s dark eyes are locked on hers, a look I haven’t seen him wear in years—unfiltered awe mixed with hunger.
I’m trying not to think about it, as if it’s not a good memory to revisit again and again, but it keeps replaying in my mind, forcing me to remember tidbits that begin to come together and replay like a movie.
“She’s so fucking hot,” Carter murmurs, almost to himself, his voice low and reverent.
“She is sitting right here,” Elizabeth giggles, a sound so warm and sultry it slides through the room like smoke. She tilts her head coyly, her platinum hair tumbling over her shoulder. “Besides, you’re pretty handsome yourself,” she teases, her words slightly slurred from the alcohol. “But, shhh. Don’t tell him.”
I’m fighting hard not to laugh at the memory.
Carter chuckles, raising a hand to his mouth and mimicking the motion of zipping his lips.
“My lips are sealed.” He smirks, his gaze dropping to her mouth. “Though I might need some extra help with that.”
Elizabeth grins, leaning closer, their faces mere inches apart.
“I can help with that.”
Without hesitation, she bridges the gap, her lips capturing his in a kiss that starts soft but deepens quickly. Carter’s hand finds her waist, pulling her fully onto his lap as they lose themselves in each other.
From where I sit, the scene is mesmerizing. Elizabeth’s curves mold perfectly against Carter’s frame as they kiss like the world beyond this room doesn’t exist. There’s no hesitation in her movements, no coyness — just raw, unrestrained passion.
I feel the heat rising in my own body, a flush that starts at the base of my neck and spreads upward. It’s probably the alcohol, though the way Elizabeth moves is enough to make anyone’s blood run hot.
Her hips shift slightly, grinding against Carter as his hands slide to her thighs, gripping her like he can’t bear to let go. The room feels charged, every breath thick with pheromones and tension.
“It’s hot,” I admit to no one in particular, my voice rougher than I’d intended.
Elizabeth breaks the kiss first, her lips swollen and glistening as she turns her head toward me. There’s a wicked glint in her eye, the kind of look that tells me she knows exactly the effect she has on the both of us.
“Hot, huh?” she says, her tone teasing as she slides off Carter’s lap with the grace of a predator. She stretches her arms overhead, arching her back as though she’s loosening up for a performance.
“I wonder…” Her voice trails off as she saunters toward the center of the room, swaying her hips in a way that makes it impossible not to watch. She spins to face Carter, her hands brushing down her sides as she tilts her head. “Should I dance for my Alphas to distract you from the heat?”
Carter groans, his head falling back against the chair.
“Yes,” he growls, his voice thick with anticipation. “Fuck, yes.”
Elizabeth grins, her expression playful but laced with something darker. When she looks my way, I give her an approving smirk while bobbing my head. Watching her dance is clearly a turn on I don’t yet want to acknowledge, but it doesn’t hurt to enjoy the show.
At least try to hide my hard-on with the low lighting of the kitchen.
The opening notes of a new song fill the kitchen — Into the Garden by 070 Shake & JT. The pulsing beat wraps around her like a second skin as she begins to move.
The way she dances is hypnotic. Every roll of her hips, every twist and turn of her body is perfectly in time with the music. It’s not just movement—it’s art, a seamless blend of control and abandon that draws the eye and holds it captive.
Carter is transfixed, his knuckles white as he grips the edge of the chair. His jaw is slack, his gaze drinking her in like a starving man at a feast.
Then Elizabeth’s eyes flick to me, her gaze piercing.
“What about you, Felix?” she says, her voice carrying over the music. “Want a turn?”
I blink, caught off guard, but the faint smirk tugging at her lips tells me she already knows the answer.
Carter catches her arm, pulling her close enough to murmur something in her ear.
Whatever he says makes her laugh, the sound rich and unrestrained. She nods, then spins toward me with the kind of precision that only comes from years of practice.
The next thing I know, she’s standing in front of me, her hands resting lightly on my shoulders.
“Come on,” she says, her tone low and inviting. “I can tell you’ve been dying for this since you found out I had pole experience.”
I swallow hard, my mouth suddenly dry as she straddles my lap, her movements fluid and sensual. Her hips begin to sway, her body pressing against mine in perfect rhythm with the music. I don’t know where to put my hands, and I’m trying to figure out some sort of understanding to this change in predictament, but nothing is coming to mind.
My mind races, torn between propriety and the magnetic pull of her body against mine.
Elizabeth leans in, her breath warm against my ear as she whispers.
“Relax, Felix. You can touch.”
Her words break whatever restraint I have left. My hands find her waist, and I’m struck by the heat of her skin through the fabric of her bodysuit. She feels like fire—untamed, consuming, and impossible to resist.
She moves against me with an intoxicating mix of elegance and raw sensuality, her body rolling and twisting as though the music flows through her veins. The tie she’s wearing swings against my chest with every movement, a taunting reminder of her defiance.
“You’re good at this,” I manage to say, my voice rough and uneven.
She laughs a sultry sound that makes my pulse quicken.
“What can I say? I aim to please.”
Carter whistles from across the room, his tone low and appreciative.
“Felix, you lucky bastard.”
Elizabeth turns her head toward him, a smirk tugging at her lips.
“Jealous?”
“Always,” Carter replies, leaning back in his chair with a satisfied grin. I wouldn’t be surprised if he pulled his cock out and began stroking himself.
The song fades out, but Elizabeth doesn’t stop moving, her body slowing to a sensual rhythm that matches the pounding of my heart. She leans in close, her lips brushing against my ear.
“Think you can handle me, Felix?”
I don’t know if it’s the alcohol or the moment, but I find myself smirking back.
“You’re full of surprises, Abercrombie.” She grins, pressing a kiss to my cheek before sliding off my lap with a flourish. “I can handle you.”
Elizabeth’s grin widens, and before I can brace myself, she’s sliding back onto my lap, her body fitting against mine with practiced ease. She leans closer, her face just inches from mine, and for the first time, I realize how striking her features are up close.
Every line, every curve—it’s all designed to hypnotize.
Her hands reach up, lightly brushing against my temples as her fingers curl around the frames of my glasses. In one smooth motion, she slips them off my face.
“Wait, I need those,” I say, my voice sharper than intended.
Elizabeth tilts her head, her lips quirking into a playful smile.
“Nah, you don’t need to see for this special segment of my dance.”
I frown, reaching for the glasses, but she holds them just out of reach.
“Vision is integral to perception,” I argue, falling into the safety of logic as a distraction. “You’re removing a key sensory input, which reduces my ability to?—”
“To what?” she interrupts, arching a brow. “Overthink how hot this is? Because trust me, Felix, you don’t need perfect vision to enjoy this.”
I want to argue further, to point out the philosophical implications of impaired sight during a moment of heightened sensory experience. But as I try to form words, her fingers trail lightly down my jawline, and suddenly, my argument feels less important.
“What was that you said earlier?” she teases, her tone low and sultry. “About perception? Maybe you need to see a little less clearly so you stop thinking so philosophically and start acting on what you want.”
Her words settle in my chest like a challenge, but before I can respond, she leans in, pressing her lips against my neck. Her kiss is soft at first, but it quickly deepens as she sucks gently at the skin, leaving deliberate marks.
Fuck…this feels far too good.
Each pull of her lips sends a shiver down my spine, and I can feel the blood rushing through my veins, spiking through my hardened cock.
I groan involuntarily, my hands gripping her hips as she moves against me.
“Elizabeth…” I manage to say, but it comes out more like a plea than a protest.
She hums against my skin, the vibration sending another wave of heat through my body. Her lips travel lower, her fingers already working on the buttons of my shirt. She takes her time, unfastening each one with maddening slowness, her nails lightly grazing my skin as she goes.
Even without my glasses, I can see her faint silhouette, the golden halo of her hair catching the low light as she moves. My other senses sharpen to compensate for the lack of sight, and suddenly, every touch, every sound, feels magnified.
When she flicks her tongue against one of my nipples, I gasp, the unexpected sensation drawing a low groan from my throat.
My reaction makes her pause, her eyes flicking up to mine as a smirk tugs at her lips.
Her fingers brush against the bare skin of my chest, tracing over the faint indents.
“Oh,” she says, her tone playful and curious. “You have piercings.”
“Had,” I correct her, my voice breathless. “I took them out earlier. The uniform material is cheap, and I was worried they’d show through.”
It’s not something I’ve needed to hide, but I didn’t want anything else fucking up our chances at Knot Academy. We were going to be hit with a potential “disadvantage” — if you can call it that — for being mafia drug lords. Don’t need the word going around that I’m some weakling with pierced nips.
Or I could just be afraid of being a target like when we were in actual highschool all those years ago.
She tsks softly, her lips curling into a pout that’s almost too perfect to be real.
“That’s a no-can-do,” she says, shaking her head. “I don’t give a damn if everyone can see those metal barbells through your shirt. In fact…” She trails off, leaning down to press her lips against one of my nipples.
Her mouth is warm and wet as she sucks deliberately, and I bite back another groan, my head falling back.
“I want to enjoy the sight of them,” she murmurs against my skin, her voice low and teasing. “And I want everyone else to guess what’s underneath. Let them wonder.”
Heat blooms across my face, and I feel the flush creeping down my neck.
“I’m not used to being that...confident,” I admit, my voice barely audible over the pounding of my heart.
Elizabeth pulls back slightly, her hands resting against my chest as she tilts her head, studying me. Her expression softens, and for a moment, there’s no teasing, no playful challenge—just something warm and genuine.
“Confidence doesn’t matter,” she says softly, her voice steady. “You didn’t get those piercings to please anyone but yourself, right?”
I nod slowly, her words sinking in.
She slides my glasses onto her face, adjusting them until they sit just right.
“Then own it,” she continues, wrapping her arms around my neck and pulling me close. Her breath is warm against my ear as she whispers, “Life is short, Felix. No way are we walking through it pleasing people who don’t give a damn about us.”
Her words land like a punch to the chest, leaving me breathless in a way that has nothing to do with her proximity.
I want to respond — maybe something sarcastic, maybe something profound — but I catch movement in my peripheral vision.
Carter’s presence is impossible to miss.
He’s stepped closer, his broad frame looming just behind Elizabeth, his expression unreadable except for the sharp hunger glinting in his dark eyes.
“She’s got a point,” Carter says, his voice smooth and tinged with humor. “And maybe you’ll actually listen, since it’s not coming from one of your bros, but from an Omega who actually gives a damn.”
I grunt, my grip tightening slightly around Elizabeth’s waist as I try to tamp down the growing heat in my body.
“Go away, Carter.”
“Nah,” he replies easily, his lips quirking into a wicked grin. “See, I lasted watching the whole blowjob thing with Holmes. Barely. But this?” He gestures vaguely at us, his gaze trailing over Elizabeth’s body like he’s memorizing every inch. “No way I’m surviving this right now. Not without appeasing myself.”
Elizabeth’s head tilts slightly, a flicker of amusement crossing her features as Carter steps even closer. His arm moves in a smooth, deliberate motion, wrapping across the front of her neck. His touch isn’t rough, but firm and commanding, as if daring her to move away.
“Look back at me, sweetheart,” Carter murmurs, his voice low and gravelly.
She does, tilting her chin just enough to meet his gaze.
Their lips hover inches apart, the tension between them palpable.
“You like those piercings of Felix’s?” Carter asks, his tone teasing but with an edge of something deeper, darker.
Elizabeth doesn’t hesitate.
“Yes,” she replies, her voice steady, though her blush deepens as the word leaves her lips.
Carter grins, his eyes glinting with satisfaction as he leans in and captures her mouth in a hard, unyielding kiss. His grip tightens slightly, holding her firmly in place as his lips move against hers, devouring her like he’s starving.
A low groan escapes him, muffled by the kiss, and he pulls back just enough to mutter against her lips.
“I can smell how fucking aroused you are.”
Elizabeth’s blush deepens, her gaze flicking briefly to mine before she admits.
“I’m on my last pair of scent-blocking panties...and I’ve probably drenched these too many times to do justice anymore.”
Carter groans, his forehead pressing briefly against hers as if he’s trying to gather his composure. I, however, feel my restraint slipping. Her confession sends another jolt of heat through me, and I feel a boldness rising that I hadn’t expected.
“Then maybe,” I say, my voice rougher than usual, “we should remove them. They’re pretty useless now that they’re soaked with slick.”
Carter’s head turns slightly, his gaze locking with mine, and the approving smirk he gives me sends a surge of adrenaline through my veins.
Elizabeth’s reaction is more hesitant.
She glances up at Carter, her blue eyes wide, her lips parted slightly as though silently seeking his permission. He’s clearly savoring the moment, his posture radiating dominance as he tilts her chin upward with two fingers.
“You’re looking at me like that,” he murmurs, his voice a low growl. “Like you need me to say yes.” His lips brush against hers again, just barely, before he pulls back and meets my gaze. “Let’s do it. I’ll lift her up enough so you can slide them off.”
The room feels charged as Carter slides his arms around her waist, lifting her effortlessly until her hips hover just above my lap. My hands move instinctively, brushing against the soft fabric of her dress before finding the waistband of her panties.
Elizabeth shifts slightly, her breath catching as my fingers hook around the thin material.
“You’re trembling,” I murmur, my voice quieter now.
She laughs softly, the sound shaky but filled with nervous energy.
“And you’re taking your sweet time.”
Carter chuckles above her.
“He’s savoring it, sweetheart. Don’t rush the man.”
My hands move slower, deliberately teasing as I ease the slicked material down her thighs. The fabric clings to her skin, soaked through, and the scent that rises as I slide them past her knees is heady, intoxicating.
“Goddamn,” Carter mutters, his voice tight. “That’s...yeah, that’s something else. Fuck you smell delicious baby and so damn wet.”
Elizabeth hides her face in the crook of Carter’s neck, her blush spreading to the tips of her ears. Her shyness is at odds with the bold, confident woman she usually projects, and it only makes her more alluring.
I let the panties fall to the floor, my fingers lingering against her thighs as Carter lowers her back down onto my lap.
She feels different now — warmer, softer, more vulnerable.
Carter leans close, his lips brushing against her ear as he whispers something too quiet for me to catch. Whatever he says makes her shiver, her arms tightening around his neck.
The air between us is thick, charged with tension that feels almost impossible to breathe through.
Elizabeth is still perched on my lap, her body warm and pliant against mine, and the scent of her arousal is maddening. I can feel Carter’s gaze burning into us from above, his presence as commanding as ever, but I’m too focused on her — on the Omega who’s pushing every one of my buttons without even trying.
“Felix,” Carter says, his voice smooth and dripping with humor, “you must be ready to eat some dessert, huh?”
Elizabeth stiffens slightly, her eyes darting up to Carter’s, but I see no resistance there — only curiosity, a flicker of challenge.
“Dessert?” I echo, my voice rough, though my body already knows the answer. My hands tighten against her thighs, my fingers brushing along the bare skin where her panties once were.
Carter leans down, pressing his lips to her neck and trailing kisses along the delicate column of her throat. She moans softly, the sound vibrating through her body and into mine.
Her scent spikes, sweet and heady, and it’s all I can do not to lose myself in the moment.
“God, you’re even wetter now,” Carter mutters against her skin, his teeth grazing just enough to make her shiver.
I can’t resist anymore.
My grip on her hips tightens as I shift beneath her, sliding my hands lower until I’m holding her firmly. With one swift motion, I lift her, relishing the way her soft gasp fills the room.
“You’re stronger than you look,” she teases, but her voice is breathless.
“Yeah, well,” I murmur, adjusting my hold until her legs dangle along my shoulders, “I do more than just type on computers all day.”
Her thighs are soft against my hands, and the weight of her is perfect, manageable, as if she’s made to be held like this. I grip her firmly, angling her closer, and intentionally inhale deeply, letting her intoxicating scent flood my senses.
“Fuck,” I mutter, my voice low and almost reverent. “You smell...incredible.”
Carter grins, his hand resting lightly against her stomach as he keeps her steady.
“She’s all yours, Felix. Enjoy.”
My gaze flicks downward, and the sight of her glistening wetness is enough to make my mouth water. Her slick coats her inner thighs, dripping in a way that makes heat surge through me.
I run my tongue along my lips, as if trying to quench a thirst that only she can satisfy.
“Beautiful,” I say, almost to myself, before leaning in.
The first taste of her is electrifying—sweet and salty and utterly addictive. My tongue drags along her folds, slow and deliberate, savoring every drop of her slick. Elizabeth trembles against me, her thighs tightening around my head as a soft, breathy moan escapes her lips.
“Good girl,” Carter murmurs, his voice warm and encouraging. “So good for your Alphas.”
The praise sends another spike of heat through her, and I can feel her body responding, her slick flowing even more freely. I dive in, my tongue pressing deeper, exploring every inch of her with deliberate attention. The way she squirms, her hands gripping Carter’s forearms for support, only spurs me on.
Her moans grow louder, filling the room with the sound of her pleasure.
The pheromones in the air are dizzying, a heady mix that feels almost intoxicating. It’s like being drunk, but instead of numbing the senses, it heightens everything — every sound, every touch, every taste.
I grip her thighs tighter, pulling her closer as I focus on the swollen bundle of nerves at the apex of her heat. My tongue circles it slowly at first, teasing, before latching on and sucking just enough to make her cry out.
“Felix,” she moans, her voice trembling. “I—oh god, I can’t?—”
I know she can hold off a little longer so I can work her up even more.
She does just that, allowing me to work her pussy with my tongue, building her orgasm that threatens to ride through her at any moment with how her body is quaking in anticipation.
Her moans are loud, rocking through the kitchen and probably half the house. I wouldn’t be surprised if all the maids and bulters were awakened by our foreplay, which makes me want to hear her moan and whimper even louder.
For everyone to hear about the sinful deeds we’re committing in the peak of the night.
“Yes, you can,” Carter growls in motivation, his hand stroking her stomach in soothing circles. He’s watching every single movevemt, listening to the slurping madness I’m causing. “Be a good girl and let yourself go.”
Her entire body tenses, her back arching as she screams her release.
The sound is beautiful, raw, and unrestrained, echoing through the room like music. I don’t stop, licking her through the waves of her climax, savoring every tremor, every shiver that passes through her.
By the time her body finally stills, she’s fighting not to tremble, her chest heaving as she struggles to catch her breath. I lap up the remnants of her slick, making sure she’s clean before Carter gently lowers her back onto my lap.
Her cheeks are flushed, her eyes half-lidded as she looks up at me. I don’t give her a chance to recover before I lean in, capturing her lips in a deep, lingering kiss. She tastes of herself, and the intimacy of it makes the moment feel even more profound.
“I’d bend you over and fuck you right now,” I murmur against her lips, “but I want you sober for that. I want to hear you begging for your Alpha.”
Her lips part as if she’s about to fire back a defiant response, but before she can, Holmes’ voice cuts through the haze like a blade.
“If you don’t stop being so fucking loud,” he growls from the doorway, his tone sharp and biting, “I’m kicking you all out of this house.”
Carter groans, resting his forehead against Elizabeth’s shoulder.
“You’re such a douche, Holmes. Admit it, you’re just mad you can’t join in.”
“Garage. Now,” Holmes barks before walking away, the sound of his retreating footsteps echoing down the hall.
Carter sighs dramatically, his hands sliding to Elizabeth’s waist as he helps her stand. “Fine, fine. Let’s go, sweetheart. No way I’m letting you sleep without my warmth. Ignore Holmes’ stubbornness.”
Now that I remember why we actually ended up in the garage, I realize Elizabeth has to be around as well. My gaze sweeps the room, searching for her.
I finally spot her curled up in a pile of what looks like our clothes, tucked into one corner of the garage.
I don’t recall bringing the clothes down here, but there she is, nestled in them like she belongs there, her body completely at ease. Her chest rises and falls in the steady rhythm of deep sleep, and her platinum hair spills over the makeshift nest like a silken veil.
What catches my attention most, though, are my glasses perched on her face.
The sight is enough to make my heart stutter.
They’re too big for her, slightly askew, but somehow, that only makes her look cuter. There’s a softness in her expression that I haven’t seen before, a peacefulness that makes her even more captivating.
I must have been staring at her for a while because the shrill sound of my alarm jolts me out of my thoughts. The screen glows with the snooze setting I’ve been abusing all morning — 15 minutes, like clockwork.
Carter groans from somewhere across the room, his voice muffled as he buries his face into his crossed arms, having turned onto his stomach on the floor.
“Again?” he mumbles, his tone heavy with irritation.
I glance over and see him sprawled out, but he’s trying to stretch out once more. He forces himself into a sitting position, raking a hand through his messy hair.
“Do we have someone to kill or something?”
He has to be disorientated, though I’m sure he’ll recall everything that happened in a few short minutes.
I smirk despite myself.
“We have school,” I remind him, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “Like preteens.”
Carter groans louder, tilting his head back dramatically before cracking open one eye to glance around the garage.
“Where’s Abbie?”
“Who’s Abbie?” I ask, confused.
He scoffs, waving a hand in the air.
“Elizabeth. It’s her nickname.”
I follow his gaze now that he’s located her, still curled up in the pile of clothes, completely oblivious to the conversation. Her peaceful state contrasts starkly with the chaos of last night, and it’s oddly grounding.
“When did she get all those clothes?” I mutter, more to myself than anyone else. I guess I’m hoping Carter will have an answer.
Carter shrugs.
“God, I don’t know,” he says, standing up and stretching. His joints crack audibly, and he lets out a satisfied sigh before adding, “Barely remember shit from last night.”
“Same…”
I decide to feign forgetfulness.
Last night was hot as fuck, and the last thing I need is to revisit every detail again right now. Unless I want to sport a very obvious hard on in our grey uniform set.
Carter groans again, rolling his shoulders as he looks over at Elizabeth.
“Well, I’m not letting her sleep on the damn garage floor,” he declares.
Ilift an eyebrow.
“What are you doing?”
Carter strides over to Elizabeth, crouching down beside her.
“Taking her to my room,” he says simply. “No way is my half-sober ass leaving her here like this. I didn’t do it last night because Holmes would’ve dragged us out of the house if we destroyed his beauty sleep but it’s practically morning now. Fuck him and his jealousy.”
I blink, surprised by the casual possessiveness in his tone.
“You remember the time Holmes did that?”
Carter grins, his voice light with amusement.
“Oh yeah. Pissy mood and everything.”
I nod, the memory flashing briefly in my mind.
Holmes and his short temper were no joke when he felt his space was being invaded.
Carter slides his arms beneath Elizabeth, lifting her effortlessly.
She doesn’t even stir, her body pliant and completely at ease in his hold.
“We need to make her a proper nest,” Carter says as he heads toward the door. “With her staying, it’s a must.”
I glance at him sharply.
“It’s still an if,” I remind him, though even I can hear the lack of conviction in my voice.
“After last night?” Carter smirks, his tone smug. “It’s a must. And I’m not just talking about the office incident. You know what I mean. The kitchen, after the lap dance.”
Heat rises in my cheeks at the memory, and I look away, trying to focus on anything but that. Carter’s smirk widens when he catches the faint blush creeping up my neck.
“Admit it,” he teases, his voice low and conspiratorial. “You fucking loved it.”
“Shut up,” I mutter, but my tone lacks any real bite.
Carter chuckles, shifting Elizabeth slightly in his arms as he moves toward the door.
He pauses, glancing back at me.
“Hurry up,” he says, his tone suddenly serious. “I’m only keeping my room open for five minutes. If you don’t make it, you’re sleeping alone.”
The invitation catches me off guard, but I don’t let it show.
Instead, I nod, pushing off the couch as Carter steps out of the garage.
“Oh,” he adds over his shoulder, his voice teasing again, “put your piercings back in before you come.”
I blink, startled, before realizing what he means. My hand moves instinctively to my chest, brushing against the faint indents where my piercings usually rest.
“Thanks,” I mutter, the word quiet and almost reluctant.
Carter doesn’t reply, but I can hear the faint amusement of an approval noise while the sound of his footsteps begin to fade as he heads down the hall towards the elevator to take us back up.
I waste no time, rushing to retrieve my piercings and set them in place.
As I fumble with the metal, a small smile tugs at my lips. The thought of curling up with them for one last morning snuggle before this ridiculous “student” life begins feels strangely... right.
Or maybe I’m excited to be myself for once.