Chapter 35
chapter
thirty-five
I’m not saying that having the most beautiful nest in the whole world makes what happened today okay.
But it helps .
I lie back on a mountain of pillows, admiring how their textures somehow complement each other. The big fuzzy magenta one, a small velvet cushion in marigold. The enormous ruby-silk blanket my Omega wants twisted around my legs for some reason…?
Psycho .
She’s so extra right now. As if having an epic meltdown in public and getting railed by two alphas in a locker room wasn’t enough of a day for her.
I told you: crazycakes.
All I want to do is lie here and stare at the soft pink light glowing inside the glass-bubble chandelier until I fall asleep. I’m too anxious to even scroll through my phone, knowing it’s only a matter of time before I stumble over a clip of The Incident .
But despite the exhaustion aching in my muscles— why did I run down twelve flights of stairs?! And who knew being bent between two alphas would be such a test of endurance? —and the heaviness weighing down my heart, the voice in my middle will not shut up .
She nudges me. The Alpha. We need to go.
“Go where ?” I grumble out loud. “We’re already in the same house, you loon.”
She isn’t backing down this time, though. To the Alpha! she shrieks. We have to go right now !
I blow out an exasperated breath, glaring at the ceiling. “They left a minute ago. I heard them walk out.”
Not all of them , she argues.
And, damn it , I know she’s right. I may or may not have been paying close attention to the sounds of doors and the number of footsteps. I know there’s still one alpha in the house.
Adrian .
I caught his musky, manly leather scent about five minutes ago, wafting through the closed door to the hallway. Given that I can still sense his essence even though I heard him walk away…
He must have lingered out there for a few minutes.
Was he thinking about knocking? Trying to talk to me? Or see my nest?
A small burst of perfume escapes at the thought, so I bottle it up and chuck it away. Into the dark, shifting sea full of similar notions—all the things I don’t let myself think, sealed tight and bobbing on the tide. Messages in bottles.
It’s no big deal .
The words are ink on the water. Oily and dark. Never quite sinking in. Distracting me long enough for my Omega to shove closer to the surface.
We don’t have time for this, she insists, bouncing frantically. Our Alpha needs us now. Now, now, NOW .
The last word edges close enough to a bark—I instantly pop upright and start to move. Then catch myself and huff, “Enough! This is insanity! If Adrian needed me, he’d tell me!”
The desperation in my middle yawns into a chasm of despair. But our Alpha! she cries. He’s hurting .
And—curse my big, stupid heart—that does it.
I stagger to my feet and climb out of the now-recessed nest mattress, onto the perfectly dark-teal padded platform around it. Muttering chastisements at myself, I swipe at the dried mascara crusted around my eyelids and smooth my hair back.
The chemise I have on isn’t exactly modest—but at least this nightgown has cups sewn into the lining. If nothing else, my nipples won’t be on full display.
Unless he wants them to be .
“I cannot believe I’m listening to you,” I grumble in reply, trudging to the door. “I swear, if this man isn’t in the middle of a heart attack, I’m going to find some sort of Omega muzzle. Or invent one. Or, hell, I’ll take suppressants again. I don’t even care at this?—”
Oh. Hooooooly shit .
The smooth, warm scent of leather heats my throat, smoldering until it strikes my lungs and gives off a shower of sparks. Every tired muscle in my body braces. My nipples prick, my head swims.
Adrian’s scent is thick enough to permeate every particle in the entire hall. And he isn’t even here. He’s…
In my bedroom .
My trembling core starts to melt, the tension between my hips gelling. I feel my face and chest flush. He’s not in pain… I realize.
Except, the noise that echoes behind the closed bedroom door sounds wounded. The muffled, tortured groan skitters down my spine, landing in the wetness puddled between my thighs.
Oh God.
OH GOD.
What do I do?
I could run , I think frantically. But would he chase me? Why do I want him to chase me? Or I could call Emma and ask for advice? Then again, her alpha rutted her into a literal tree and the HOA would have my ass if I let Adrian ruin one of their sycamores…
“Bridget ? ”
His voice is unlike anything I’ve ever heard. Heat layered over softness. Concern with a jagged edge of command.
Light over dark. Or dark over light? It’s hard to tell which part is in control—the Adrian I know or the Alpha he’s clearly battling every bit as hard as I fight my Omega.
If he’s so far gone, he shouldn’t remember my name, though. It must be the rut blockers , I realize. As the only non-athlete in the pack, he’s also the only one in my house who’s allowed to take suppressants. They should keep him from tipping all the way over the cliff, but…
The strangely layered voice speaks again, this time landing closer to Adrian’s usual timbre than the Alpha’s growly demand. “ Bridget, you have to go. Run, omega. It’s not —” his words break off on a ragged gasp “— it’s not safe .”
Okay, well. That definitely shouldn’t make me horny.
Horn ier .
Alright. Okay . Think , Bridget . I could run, but he might chase. I could call the guys to come back, but they may end up brawling.
Is it possible for me to slink back into my nest and lock the door? Leave him to sort himself out?
“ Please, omega .”
Shit, that’s his Alpha. Pure desperate pain, covered in a steely layer of authority. I move toward the door automatically, coming close enough to hear him slough out a tattered snarl.
When he speaks again, he’s wrestled some control. “I should have left, Bridget,” he pants. “Never meant to—” he pauses, his voice dropping back into a growl “—put this on you. Go. Now .”
Have I mentioned I’m abysmal at doing what I’m told?
It’s usually not an issue with this man. He speaks, and some innate piece of me wants to please him. It’s so seamless—him caring, me obeying—I’ve never questioned it. Now, though…
He’s hurting.
I remember the way I felt when he helped me through that heat-spike at the nest store. How my clothes scraped like nails. The painful snap of nerves, overstimulated and under-stimulated at the same time.
Motherfucker.
I’m going in there, aren’t I?
Every light in my bedroom is off. With the sun setting behind the tree line in the backyard, an orange glow bleeds through the blinds and casts everything in fire-trimmed shadows.
Including Adrian.
I’ve never seen him without his nice clothes , I think dumbly. Because the man I know is somehow always dressed to impress, even in joggers and the Kings cap he had on during today’s game.
Was that really today?
My thoughts are laggy and bumbling. No matter how hard I try to focus, every cell vibrating within my body only wants to zero in on the hulking, hewn figure standing next to my bed. Holding onto the white frame for dear life.
Lord, there’s so much of him. Wide, sculpted shoulders. A thick chest and abdomen, stacked with rows of ripples under tan skin. A dusting of chest hair to match the thick black locks slicked back over his crown.
I’ve never seen them rumpled before, but the few strands hanging over his forehead are almost as appealing as the silver glinting in his short beard. And the thin trail leading from his navel to his?—
Oh .
Holy fuck.
That knot .
I’ve never seen one so big. It swells as high as it is wide—perfectly proportional to his cock and six-foot-four frame and the bulging quad muscles flexing as he roots himself in place.
He’s… magnificent .
While we’re here, you can call me King .
He looked like one in his bespoke suit, but now?
He isn’t just a king. He’s a god .
And I think I’m the sacrifice.
My pussy squeezes at the thought, wet muscles contracting around the empty ache burrowing between my thighs. Adrian senses my perfume before it hits, his wild eyes flying to the outline of my pantiless mound under my thin chemise. The band of aqua rimming his enormous pupils thins.
Shivers of adrenaline streak down my spine. It snaps straight, pushing my breasts out. Adrian’s attention leaps to the lace and cotton straining around my boobs. His tongue slowly traces his lower lip as he stares.
Oh, dear GOD .
I’m in danger.
If he chained me up right now, I’m pretty sure I’d sob with gratitude.
A whine slips up my throat. Instead of making him wilder, the sound seems to ground him. He visibly inhales, his cut chest expanding on a deep breath.
“ I told you to go .”
That voice —the rough snarl layered over his deep velvet rasp. I tremble, pouring more perfume and slick. My head automatically falls forward, the prickle of shame I work so hard never to acknowledge scraping deep inside my belly.
I know my perfume isn’t perfect. I know it’s sharp and acidic. Just like I know this nightgown shows more dips and rolls than it “should.”
I don’t care, usually, because I can’t. This is who I am. I won’t hate myself because of a set of standards I didn’t consent to, can’t meet, and don’t agree with.
But, damn.
He is a King .
And I wish—just for a second—that my body could fit into the box labeled “Perfect Little Omega.” Delicate flower. Petite and fragile and sweet-smelling.
“ Omega .” His Alpha is winning. Adrian’s next command cracks into a bark. “ Come to me. ”
My feet stagger forward, closing the distance between us. Adrian holds himself still, tendons bulging in his neck from the effort. His jaw pops.
“ Naked ,” he commands. “ Now .”
I can barely gasp. My lungs alternate between shriveling into crumpled balls and swelling so full of his leather richness, my head swims. A choked whimper catches halfway up my throat as my fingers curl in the hem of my chemise, peeling it up.
Oh God, oh God, oh God .