Chapter 25 #3
Her chin wobbles before she covers her mouth with her hand.
“Let’s get some towels. You’re drippin’ wet,” I say, my voice coming out gruff.
“So are you,” she says unnecessarily.
“I’ll go get the–” I start.
“I’ll just go up to the…” She points to the staircase behind her.
“Yeah. I’ll…” I let that hang.
There’s awkward silence I’ve never experienced with her before and finally she puts her purse on the table by the front door, takes the initiative, and climbs the stairs.
I follow her up and into the bathroom at the top of the stairs, immediately clocking two new hooks on the wall beside the tub that weren’t here before.
Black metal signs, each the size of a playing card are above each octopus style hook.
His. Hers. The hooks hold fluffy new towels.
I grab one and pass it to her before I take the other for myself and step back, moving into my bedroom and flicking on the light while rubbing my wet hair.
“Flippin’ heck,” she mutters and I realize why.
Rose petals in the shape of a heart on top of my bed.
Shit. My mother and sisters. This bed has Gwen written all over it. And I’m sure Mom and Taylor encouraged it. Taylor is a couple years older than me, Gwen is the youngest, four years younger than Sherry. And Gwen is known for decorating with flowers.
When I left for Italy, the place was clean.
Mom and Tay helped after Linc moved out.
Before I took off, I made the bed, something I don’t usually bother to do, but had a sneaking suspicion things would kick off while I was gone and that I’d be bringing my mate home.
But now there’s a new white quilt, half a dozen new pillows on the bed, and all these rose petals.
I reach into my closet, which has also been tidied since I left and grab a flannel shirt.
She’s holding the towel, staring at the bed. And the tears are streaming down her cheeks, but she’s not making a sound.
“Here. You can sleep in this,” I hand the shirt over, not knowing what I can say or do to get her to stop crying. Stop feeling whatever this is she’s feeling that’s making her hurt. Because right now it feels like my throat is clogged, like there’s a boot on my chest. I hate this shit.
She accepts the shirt and walks out and down the hall.
“Where you goin?”
She doesn’t answer, so I follow.
She’s standing just inside the doorway to Linc’s old room.
The room is empty. She walks down the hall to the end where the rooms that used to be Rye’s and Joel’s are.
I turned Rye’s old room into an office, but it’s still littered with boxes and their old bed frames and mattresses are upended against one wall.
“No guest bed?” she asks.
“Not yet. I decided you could pick the new furniture when you moved in.”
“I could put one of those mattresses on Linc’s bedroom floor”
“They’re pretty buried by the frames.”
Thankfully.
She is not fuckin’ sleeping on Linc’s or Rye’s old beds.
“I’ll… crash on the couch. Unless you want to give up your bed like a gentleman?”
I make a critical error, turning up the charm and drawling, “There’s nothing I want more in the world right now than to have you in my bed, Bailey Blackwood.”
This is the wrong thing to say by the look on her face.
But she doesn’t explode. She doesn’t say a word.
Instead, she walks back into my room and I stand in the doorway, leaning on the frame, watching as she sets my shirt on the upholstered bench at the end of the bed (which is also new.
I didn’t have one of these before I left for Italy).
She proceeds to carefully lift each of the bottom corners up before she carefully folds the ends toward the middle of the bed.
She walks up to the head of the bed and adjusts pillows on one side, then climbs up, her sweet peach of an ass up in the air as she stretches to do the same on the other side.
She falls forward, grunts, and gets back on her hands and knees, making me adjust my package with discomfort.
Returning her focus to what she was doing, she carefully folds the bedspread in an attempt to save all the rose petals. She puts the folded bedspread on the top of my long dresser. I see the comforter I made the bed with the other day is still on the bed so I won’t have to get another.
Is it a good thing that she attempted to preserve it? A positive sign, finally?
I’m still leaned against the doorframe, watching. She walks toward me, staring at the floor with red eyes and damp cheeks before she slips by, heading into the bathroom with my flannel shirt.
It’s still storming outside and there’s dampness in the air so I shut the bedroom window and stare outside seeing the bonfire across the river, the male bodies surrounding it, the arm wrestling match happening between Cade and Linc at a picnic table.
I fall into a daze for a minute before I move to the gas fireplace in the corner of the room, turning it on.
Bailey walks in, climbs up onto my side of the bed and gets under the covers before she takes her glasses off and turns her back to me.
I turn the lights out and peel my clothes off to my boxers before I get in on the wrong side of the bed.
“Wish I could hold you,” I say softly.
This results in an audible sob from her as she fails at holding emotion in.
I grit my teeth, regretting opening my mouth.
“I’d go sleep on that couch, but I can’t even imagine how many females you’ve screwed on it,” she states coldly. “Not at all shocked you’re not being a gentleman and sleeping on it yourself. Then again, this bed’s probably worse than the couch. Here I am lying on ground zero of your manwhor–”
“I bought this bed two weeks ago. Nobody’s slept in it but me,” I tell her. “New bedding and pillows too. Tossed my old sheets out.”
She doesn’t say anything.
I add, “I figured if it didn’t happen while I was away then it wouldn’t be long after. If you want, we can move into Rye’s old room. It’s bigger anyway.”
“But it doesn’t have a fireplace,” she mutters, then starts ranting.
“You probably figured it’d be Dani. Probably hoped it was her you’d get to bring to this nice, new bed. Impress her with those his and hers towels.”
“My mom and sisters must’ve put those hooks and towels up.
Decorated to welcome you. But I’m not gonna lie to you, Bay,” I say.
“So, you might want to stop going there with me. It’s pretty fucking clear I had no idea it’d be you.
I didn’t know who it’d be. Figured it’d probably be a stranger since the first four mated with females who weren’t part of this pack. ”
“How about if we not talk at all? I’ve got a wine headache. I need to close my eyes.”
“Red wine and cookies for dinner. No wonder you’re feeling shitty. I’ll make you some food and get you some headache pills.”
“I’m not hungry. I’m gonna sleep.”
I get out of bed and go downstairs to make food for her anyway. And to get her some pills and a glass of water. Because I need to do something.
I open my freezer for some ice and it’s nearly full of food. I open the fridge door and it’s stocked, too. Seeing what’s here, I’d say it was coordinated by my mother but with some help from Taylor and Dad.
Taylor was raised like my oldest sister, but she’s technically Dad’s cousin.
My parents adopted her at eight years old while I was a toddler after her parents were killed in a car wreck.
Dad and Tay are both excellent cooks. A smile tugs at my mouth, thinking on how my folks likely argued the entire time working in the kitchen on this stuff.
Or, more likely, Dad chased Mom out by pretending he needed something at the supermarket so he could cook in peace rather than listen to her bitching about the mess he was making.
Undoubtedly, when he vacated the kitchen she cussed him out because it took her hours to clean up after him.
I haven’t spoken to them since everything kicked off.
I’ve had calls and texts from Mom, Dad, Taylor, and my youngest sister Gwen.
Nothing from Sherry, though I’m not surprised about that.
Sherry and I haven’t ever been buddies the way I’m tight with Tay and Gwen.
She’s always been bitchy, up her own ass.
Of course I’ve done shit for her, despite all that.
But these days she’s in a different headspace because of being mated to that prick Wyatt Meadows.
I haven’t been in the headspace to return calls or texts, but I’ll make sure to remedy that soon.
I don’t have any bread to make Bailey a sandwich. They probably knew I was staying at the Blackwood place so didn’t leave anything likely to spoil. I nuke a frozen TV dinner that was already in the freezer before my family stocked us up. When the microwave beeps, I carry it and the drink upstairs.
“Bailey?”
She’s asleep.
I linger for a minute, taking in the vision of Bailey Blackwood sleeping in my bed, wearing my shirt.
And despite how fucked up this has been so far, something in me feels like this is how it was always supposed to be.
And it’s a strange sensation. One that pisses me off.
Because I wish I’d had a clue a few months ago, so I could’ve saved us both all this angsty bullshit.
How would Bailey of even a few weeks ago have reacted to me telling her she’s mine? A vision snaps into my mind of her squealing happily and jumping into my arms.
Frustration pulses at my temples and I consider taking some of the pills I leave beside her eyeglasses.
I probably need food. Hydration. To shift and go for a run.
But I’m not leaving tonight, not a chance, so I take the food downstairs and eat it over the sink before I guzzle a bottle of water, then head back up for a shower.
Standing under the hot water, I fist my aching cock. I need release. I’ve been hard for days. My nuts haven’t ever ached like this.
I spot suctioned hooks on the tiled wall with his and hers washcloths that match those towels. His and hers.
Jason and Bailey. Mr. and Mrs. Jason Creed. Bailey Creed.
I envision her in my bed, feeling warm thinking about how she looks wearing my shirt.
Another image flashes as I choke my cock harder. Her twirling before poking my chest as she told me off at Roxy’s.
I take control of the images and change the narrative – see myself lifting her, her legs circling my waist as our lips fuse together.
How have I never noticed how soft her lips look?
An idea assaults me, so I whip the shower curtain open, zeroing in on her damp clothes hanging on the hooks on the back of the bathroom door.
I rush for them. Sweater. Tank top. Bra. Jeans. No underwear, which was my goal.
This means Bailey Blackwood is in my bed in a pair of undies, no bra, just the fabric of my flannel against her bare skin. That skin is imprinting its scent into my sheets the same way it’s been inking itself through every layer of my skin.
The bra is against my nose while I practically sprint back into the shower, adrenalin and need accelerating so fast and furious in my blood that I nearly wipe out, skating across the puddle I’ve made.
Back under the showerhead, hot water pelting my skin, I wrap the lace around my length while pressing my forehead to the wet tiled wall.
And the head of my cock is immediately weeping as I groan out my need, masturbating on the bra of my mate.
I never did this shit even as a teenager. I’ve never been this deprived, and I’ve also never wanted it this much.
I envision her, in my bed, lying on top of the bedspread, on those red rose petals, not a stitch of clothing on, covering her chest with one arm, her hand covering the triangle between her thighs with the other. I get closer and closer to her in my mind, my senses filling with her scent.
“I’ve been saving this for you, Jase. I’m all yours. Only yours. Nobody’s kissed me. Nobody has touched me. Nobody has even seen my body. Because it’s not for them. It’s for you. It’s always, always been for just you. I’ve just waited so long for you to realize it.”
“Bailey,” I rasp out as sensation shunts through my system and I spill my load all over the white lace in my fist.
***
No, definitely not a gentleman.
Absolutely not.
I lie as close to her as I can get without touching her, pulling her scent into my lungs.
She turns over and faces me, sound asleep.
I’m grateful for super-alpha sight right now because despite the darkness, I can count her eyelashes.
She’s got a dusting of freckles across the bridge of her nose.
She has a tiny scar on her chin that I’ve never noticed before.
She’s still got that red lipstick on her mouth. Fuck, I can’t wait to taste this mouth.
I pull the blanket down and can see more than a hint of cleavage as the top three buttons of my rust and black striped flannel are undone.
I pull the blanket down some more, and decide fuck it, yanking it off her entirely. She’s on her side, facing me, and my shirt covers her behind, unfortunately, but I’ve got a nice view of her bare legs.
She mutters something unintelligible in her sleep before she shivers and scooches into me just as I flick the covers up so they’ll drop over her.
Her nose is touching my bicep.
She moans and nuzzles my arm, making goosebumps rise everywhere on me, making my cock spring awake again.
I brace, hoping she’ll sprawl over me. If I’m perfectly still, I might avoid a zap. But it doesn’t happen. Her breathing evens out.
Shooting my load all over her bra did not remotely ease this need inside me.