35. Belle
BELLE
I feel gentle fingers tracing patterns on my bare shoulder, and for a moment, then memory floods back when Marcus was claiming me and the mark on my throat that still throbs with a pleasant ache, the knowledge that I'm now officially part of the pack I've been unconsciously seeking my entire adult life.
The heat is still there, simmering under my skin like embers waiting to be fanned into flame, but it's different now.
More focused, less desperate. The edge of panic that characterized my previous heats has been replaced by something warmer, more anticipatory.
I know what's coming next, and instead of fearing it, I'm looking forward to it.
"Good morning, beautiful," Felix's voice comes from beside me, soft and warm with affection. "How are you feeling?"
I turn my head to find him propped up on one elbow, watching me with those expressive eyes that always seem to see more than they should. His hair is mussed from sleep, and there's something incredibly intimate about seeing him like this, yet he's completely focused on my wellbeing.
"Different," I tell him honestly, my voice still rough with sleep. "Better. Complete in a way I didn't know I was incomplete."
"The bond with Marcus?"
I reach up to touch the mark on my throat, Marcus's claiming bite that still sends little shivers of pleasure through me when I press against it.
"I can feel him," I say wonderingly. "Even when he's not touching me, I can feel his presence in my mind.
His love, his protectiveness, his satisfaction that I'm finally his. "
"Where is he?" I ask, suddenly realizing that Marcus isn't in the nest with us.
"Kitchen," Felix says with a smile. "Making breakfast and probably reorganizing your entire pantry because that's what Marcus does when he's nervous."
"He's nervous?"
"We all are," Felix admits, his fingers still tracing gentle patterns on my skin. "This is new for us too, Belle. We've dreamed about having an omega, about forming a complete pack bond, but the reality is more intense than we imagined."
The honesty in his voice makes my chest tight with emotion. "Are you having second thoughts?"
"God, no," Felix says immediately, his hand cupping my cheek. "Belle, this is the most incredible thing that's ever happened to me. To all of us. It's just... overwhelming. In the best possible way."
I can smell the truth of his words in his scent, the way cedar and contentment mix with something deeper that might be awe. "Then why nervous?"
"Because I want this to be perfect for you," Felix says simply. "Because Marcus is a hard act to follow, and I want my claiming of you to be everything you need it to be."
The vulnerability in his admission makes me want to wrap him in my arms and never let go. This is Felix at his core—the artist who sees beauty in everything, who wants to create perfect moments and meaningful experiences.
"Felix," I say gently, sitting up so I can look at him properly, "it will be perfect because it's you.
Because you're the alpha who planned a chocolate-making date just to see me smile, who helped me build this nest because you understood that I needed to create something beautiful.
You don't have to compete with Marcus. You just have to be yourself. "
His eyes brighten at my words, and I can smell the way his scent shifts toward something warmer and more confident. "You really mean that?"
"I really mean that," I confirm, leaning down to press a soft kiss to his lips. "Besides, the bond with Marcus showed me something important."
"What's that?"
"Each connection is different. Unique. What I have with Marcus is profound and powerful and exactly what I needed from him. But what I'm going to have with you will be different, equally important but in its own way."
"And what do you need from me?" Felix asks, his voice dropping to something more intimate.
The question sends another wave of heat through my body, stronger this time, reminding me that while the desperate urgency has passed, the need is still very much there.
"I need you to show me what it feels like to be cherished by someone who sees art in everything.
I need you to claim me with the same creativity and attention to detail you bring to your designs. "
Felix's pupils dilate at my words, and I can smell the spike of arousal in his scent. "Belle..."
"I'm ready," I tell him, reaching for the hem of the t-shirt he's wearing. "I need you, Felix. I need to feel what our bond will be like."
He helps me pull his shirt over his head, revealing the lean, strong torso I've been fantasizing about since that first dance at the ball. His skin is warm and smooth under my hands, and when I trace the line of his collarbone with my fingertips, he shudders with want.
"You're sure?" he asks, even as his hands find my waist, pull me closer. "The heat isn't too overwhelming?"
"It's perfect," I assure him. "Manageable but present. I can think clearly, I can choose what I want. And what I want is you."
That's all the encouragement he needs. Felix's mouth finds mine in a kiss that's different from Marcus's claiming, because it’s soft at first, more exploratory, like he's learning the shape of my lips and the taste of my desire.
His hands frame my face with the same care he'd use handling precious artwork, and the tenderness in his touch makes my heart clench with love.
"You're so beautiful," he murmurs against my lips. "So perfect. I still can't believe you're ours."
"Believe it," I whisper back, my hands exploring the planes of his chest, the way his breath catches when I find sensitive spots. "I'm yours, Felix. Completely and permanently yours."
His response is to deepen the kiss, his tongue sliding against mine in a rhythm that makes heat pool low in my belly. I can taste coffee and something sweet on his lips, probably the pastries I know he keeps stashed in his kitchen for moments when inspiration strikes at odd hours.
When we break apart, both breathing harder, his eyes are dark with want and something deeper. "Belle, I need you to know something before we do this."
"What?"
"I love you," he says simply. "Not just as part of the pack, not just because you're our omega.
I love you, Belle Hartwell, the woman who gets excited about library science and makes terrible jokes about the Dewey Decimal System.
I love your mind and your heart and the way you make everything around you more beautiful just by existing. "
The words hit me harder than any physical touch could. This is what I've been craving without knowing it, to be loved for exactly who I am.
"I love you too," I tell him, my voice thick with emotion. "I love the way you see beauty in everyday things, the way you made chocolate-making feel like the most romantic thing in the world, the way you helped me create this nest because you understood what I needed."
"Then let me love you properly," Felix says, his hands beginning to roam over my body with increasing urgency. "Let me show you what it means to be cherished by someone who thinks you're a masterpiece."
The word choice is so perfectly Felix, because he’s artistic, romantic, and completely sincere. It makes me laugh even as another wave of heat crashes through me. "Show me," I agree, pulling him down for another kiss.
Felix takes his time with me in a way that's completely different from Marcus's passionate claiming.
Where Marcus was urgent and possessive, Felix is deliberate and worshipful.
He begins by kissing me thoroughly, deeply, until I'm breathless and aching for more.
His hands roam over my body with reverent touches, tracing patterns on my skin like he's memorizing every curve.
"So beautiful," he whispers against my lips, his hands skimming over my ribs, my waist, the curve of my hips. "I want to touch every inch of you, Belle. I want to learn what makes you tremble."
His mouth starts a slow journey down my throat, pausing to press soft, open-mouthed kisses to my pulse point. When he finds a particularly sensitive spot just below my ear, he lingers there, using his tongue and teeth in ways that make me gasp and arch beneath him.
"Your heart is racing," he murmurs against my skin, his breath warm and intimate. "I can feel how much you want this."
"I can feel how much you want it too," I reply breathlessly, my hands tangling in his hair as he continues his exploration.
He takes his time mapping my throat and shoulders, finding sensitive spots I didn't know existed. When his hands cup my breasts, when his thumbs brush over my nipples with feather-light touches, I moan with the intensity of sensation.
"So responsive," he breathes, watching my face as he continues his gentle torture. "Every touch makes you more beautiful."
His mouth finds my collarbone, and he spends long minutes lavishing attention on the sensitive skin there, alternating between soft kisses and gentle scrapes of his teeth. Every touch is deliberate, purposeful, like he's painting pleasure across my skin.
"You taste like sunshine," he whispers against my throat, and the romantic absurdity of it makes me smile even as my body responds with increasing urgency. "Sweet and warm and absolutely perfect."
His hands continue their exploration, skimming down my sides, tracing the curve of my waist, the flare of my hips. When he reaches my thighs, he pauses, his fingers drawing intricate patterns on my skin that make me shiver with anticipation.
"Tell me what you want," he says, his voice rough with desire as he looks up at me. "Tell me how to worship you properly."
"Touch me," I breathe, my hands fisting in his hair. "Everywhere, Felix. I need to feel your hands on me."
He complies eagerly, his palms warm and sure as they map every inch of available skin. When he reaches my breast again, he cups it gently, his thumb circling my nipple until I'm arching into his touch with desperate need.