Chapter 23 Beau #2
“What’s wrong, Wills?” Jake says gently, carefully. “I can smell it on you, and it’s driving my Alpha crazy. What do you need?”
“I don’t know.” Her voice is tight, frustrated. Small. “I can’t turn it off. It’s like all my Omega instincts are on overdrive. Everything feels too much and not enough all at once. I can’t—I don’t know how to—“
“Hey, hey.” I cup her face, turning her to look at me. Her pupils are blown wide, her breathing too quick. “Stop spiraling. We’ve got you.”
I know what she needs. I know it the same way I know how to breathe, how to set a rope, how I know I could find her in a crowded room every time.
“Let us scent mark you,” I say, keeping my voice calm and steady even though my Alpha is demanding I do something—fix this, make her feel safe. “It’ll help. Ground you. Remind your Omega that you’re not alone.”
She hesitates, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. Then nods.
Jake moves first—because of course he does, the bastard always knows exactly what to do with her.
“C’mere, Wills,” he says, voice gone soft and coaxing. Before she can respond, he picks her up—just lifts her like she weighs nothing, and her legs automatically wrap around his waist in a move that’s pure instinct.
My mouth goes dry.
Jake buries his face in the curve of her neck, rubbing his cheek along the scent gland there. Then lower, across her collarbone, against her chest where her shirt dips low. Marking her. Claiming her. Making sure anyone who gets within ten feet of her tomorrow will know she’s got a pack.
She makes this soft, breathy sound and then—fuck—she does it back. Nuzzles against his neck with her own cheek, her scent glands leaving buttercup and honey all over his skin.
“That’s it,” Jake murmurs, setting her back on her feet but keeping his hands on her hips to steady her. “Good girl.”
Before she can catch her breath, Charlie’s there. He pulls her into his arms and kisses her—deep and claiming and thorough enough that I can see her knees go weak.
When he finally releases her mouth, she’s breathless and flushed, and he takes advantage of that dazed state to rub his cheek along hers in a slow, sensual slide. Sage and sweetgrass mixing with buttercups until the whole driveway smells like them.
She presses a kiss to his cheek, soft and sweet, then marks him the same way she did Jake—face buried in his neck, scent glands working against his skin.
“Perfect,” Charlie breathes. “You’re perfect, Omega.”
I love how she flushes with the praise.
Then she makes eye contact with me, and I see the shyness there. The uncertainty. Like she’s not sure what to expect from me.
Oh, little Omega. You have no idea what you do to me.
I step forward, and she tilts her head back to look up at me. I don’t say anything, just pull her into my arms and lift her in a princess carry, adjusting her weight until her neck and shoulder are at my level. She gasps, hands clutching at my shoulders for balance.
“Beau—”
I don’t let her finish. I bury my face in her neck and kiss my way up the column of her throat—soft, open-mouthed kisses that make her breath hitch and her fingers dig into my shirt.
By the time I reach the spot just below her ear, she’s trembling, and a little whine bubbles out of her that nearly destroys me.
Then I rub my scent along her skin. Neck. Shoulder. Cheek. Marking her so thoroughly that no one—and I mean no one—will ever doubt who she belongs to.
She’s breathing hard when I finally ease back enough to look at her face. Her pupils are blown, her cheeks flushed, and her scent is pure Omega satisfaction now—all that anxiety is burned away and replaced with something warm and sweet.
Slowly, tentatively, she rubs her own cheek along mine. The feeling of her scent marking me sends a thrill through me so intense it makes me hard. My Alpha rumbles in satisfaction, in possessive pride, and I have to grit my teeth against the urge to carry her inside and never let her leave.
“You need to be a good Omega now,” I say, my voice coming out rougher than I intended. “Go inside. Take a shower. Sleep.” I lean in close, my lips brushing the shell of her ear. “Because the next time I see you, you won’t get away with only a scent marking.”
The innuendo makes her face heat, and I can smell the spike in her scent—arousal mixing with the buttercups like honey drizzled over flowers. She makes a soft sound in the back of her throat that nearly breaks my resolve.
I set her down carefully, making sure she’s steady on her feet before I release her. She looks drunk on pack scent, swaying slightly.
She waves as she turns for her door. We just stand there like three idiots, watching her fumble with her keys, push open the door, and head inside.
Only when the door closes behind her do we finally head back to the truck.
“After this season,” I say quietly, more to myself than to them, “she’s never spending another night alone. Never feeling anxious without us there to calm her.”
“Agreed,” Jake says immediately, his voice rough.
“Agreed,” Charlie echoes.
I stare out the window at her house, making a promise to myself and to her—even if she can’t hear it yet.
I’m going to keep her.