Chapter 30 – BELLA
CHAPTER 30
BELLA
W armth.
That's the first sensation that registers as I drift toward consciousness. Not just any warmth—the heavy, encompassing heat of another body curled protectively around mine. My eyes flutter open to the soft gray light of early morning filtering through curtains I don't recognize.
For a moment, disorientation swirls through me until my body shifts slightly and I feel it. The fullness, the connection, the gentle pressure inside me.
I'm still joined to Cole.
The events of last night flood back in a rush of sensory memory: his hesitant kisses growing bolder, his hands reverent against my skin, the look of wonder in his eyes when I touched him without fear. The intensity when he claimed me, his knot locking us together as we tumbled over the edge.
I remain perfectly still, suddenly worried about waking him. His breathing is deep and even against my neck, his massive arm draped heavily across my waist, holding me securely against the front of his body. We're on our sides, his chest pressed to my back, the position allowing his knot to remain inside me even as we slept.
The intimacy of it squeezes something in my chest. I've never experienced this before. This physical connection, this vulnerability with another person. Braxley and I never shared a bed, let alone anything this intimate. The thought of Braxley feels distant now, like someone I knew—and wish I didn't—in another life.
Cole stirs behind me, his arm tightening almost imperceptibly. His breathing pattern changes, becomes more conscious. He's awake.
"Morning," he murmurs, his voice even rougher than usual with sleep. The sound vibrates through his chest and into my back.
"Morning," I whisper back, uncertain of the protocol here. Do I acknowledge our current state? Pretend it's completely normal to wake up still joined to someone? Maybe it is.
Cole solves my dilemma by shifting slightly, causing a delicious friction where we're connected. "I'm sorry," he says, though he doesn't sound particularly apologetic. "My knot must have swelled again during the night. Especially with..."
"With what?" I prompt when he doesn't continue.
"With a scent match," he finishes gruffly. "Everything's more intense. And I haven't… done this in a while. So it's lasting longer than usual."
I twist my neck to look back at him and notice immediately that his right eye is firmly closed, the damaged side of his face partially buried in the pillow.
"Your eye," I say softly, not a question but an observation.
His expression shutters, the openness from seconds before vanishing. "Had to take the prosthetic out last night," he says stiffly, shifting again, uncomfortably this time. "Can't sleep with it in."
I turn more fully toward him, wincing at the tug where we're still connected. "Can I see?" I ask gently.
The question hangs between us. I'm asking for more than just a look. I'm asking for his trust, for him to reveal yet another layer of vulnerability.
His response is sharp and immediate. "No."
I blink, surprised by the vehemence in his tone. He sighs, his expression softening. "I'm sorry," he murmurs, his voice softer now. He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. "I'm just not ready for that. Not yet."
I nod, accepting the boundary without pushing. "It's okay," I tell him, and I mean it. "You don't have to show me anything you're not comfortable with."
He studies me for a long moment, as if searching for signs of disappointment or rejection.
"Just like that?" he asks, sounding genuinely surprised. "Most people would push."
I nod. "Just like that." I nuzzle his nose. "And I'm not most people."
He stares at me for a long time, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly, he leans over me and presses his lips to mine in a kiss so gentle it makes the butterflies rise up in my chest all over again.
"No," he murmurs against my mouth. "You're definitely not most people."
The kiss deepens, his rough hand sliding up my side to cup my breast. Heat flares inside me again, my body responding instantly to his touch. I moan softly, arching into him, feeling his knot shift inside me.
"Cole," I gasp, breaking the kiss. "Your knot?—"
"Your squirming has that effect," he says, his voice rough with renewed hunger. "Give it a few more minutes."
As if to prove his point, he rolls his hips slightly, the movement sending new sparks sizzling through me. I clutch at his arm, my nails digging into his skin.
"You want to take a shower with me before we head out?" he asks huskily, breath whispering against the bared side of my throat.
"Yes," I answer softly. The thought of warm water washing over us both, his hands sliding over my skin—it makes my lingering heat flare again. "But aren't we... can we...?" I glance down to where we're still joined.
Cole follows my gaze, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Not going anywhere just yet," he murmurs, stroking my hair back from my face. "Not until my knot goes down."
We lie together, snuggling as blissful minutes pass. I trace lazy patterns on his arm, the one that's wrapped around my waist, following the paths left by marks that wrap around his muscled forearm. It's as if he had a strap coiled around it like a snake that burned a winding pattern into it. At first, he flinches every time I brush my fingertips against it, but finally, he begins to relax at my touch.
Eventually, I feel him begin to soften inside me. Cole notices too, his arms tightening around me slightly. He shifts carefully, adjusting our position. I feel the gentle pressure as he tries to ease his knot free. There's a moment of resistance, then a sudden release as he slips out of me, leaving me feeling strangely empty. A warm trickle follows, making my cheeks flush at the physical evidence of how we spent the night.
Cole rolls away, sitting up with his back to me. I catch a glimpse of his profile, the pink tissue in his empty eye socket briefly visible before he closes it again and covers it with his hand, too.
"I need to..." He gestures toward the bathroom with his free hand.
"Of course," I say quickly, pulling the sheet up to my chest though he's not looking at me. And it's not like it's anything he hasn't seen before. But his sudden self-consciousness is rubbing off on me, apparently.
He stands, gloriously naked, his muscular body moving with athletic grace despite the extensive damage on his right side. It doesn't seem to hinder him. He quickly grabs something off the nightstand I realize is his prosthetic eye before disappearing into the adjoining bathroom, closing the door softly behind him.
I sink back against the pillows, allowing myself to fully process what's happened between us. I've just spent the night with Cole Beaumont. Cole, with his gruff demeanor and wounded soul. Cole, who carves beautiful things with his hands. Cole, who looks at me like I'm something miraculous when he thinks I'm not paying attention.
My body feels… different.
Pleasantly sore in places that haven't been used in far too long, and tingling with the lingering effects of my heat. The suppressants prevented a full-blown heat, but they couldn't eliminate it entirely, just dampen it enough to keep me functional. The simmering embers still linger beneath my skin, banked for now but threatening to flare at any moment.
This is what a scent match does, I realize. The chemical compatibility between us magnifies everything. Every touch, every glance, every shared breath.
I'm still lost in these thoughts when the bathroom door opens. Cole emerges with a towel wrapped around his waist, water droplets clinging to his face and damp white hair. The blue prosthetic eye is back in place, and his posture is slightly straighter now, more confident. Not much, but enough that I notice.
He hesitates in the doorway, his gaze traveling over my sheet-covered form. "You want to take a shower together?" he asks, his voice carefully neutral.
God, I really hope he isn't slipping back into being Aloof Cole again. He's like a feral cat.
I sit up, letting the sheet pool around my waist, feeling a surge of confidence when his gaze darkens at the sight of my bare breasts. "I'd like that," I say, surprised by the husky quality of my own voice.
Must be hoarse from yelling his name all night.
Still can't believe I took an alpha his size.
I slide from the bed, conscious of his gaze following my movements as I cross the room. When I reach him, I have to tilt my head back to meet his eyes. He's so tall, so solid—but he was nothing but gentle and reverent when he touched me last night.
"You sure?" he asks, searching my face. "About this? About me?"
Instead of answering with words, I rise onto my tiptoes and kiss him. His breath hitches sharply, but he doesn't stop me.
The bathroom is cool when I step inside, but Cole quickly turns on the shower, steam gradually beginning to fill the space. He drops his towel without ceremony, and I try not to stare at his naked body, but it's impossible not to appreciate the powerful lines of him, the careful balance of strength and control evident in every movement.
He is so freaking hot. How does he not see it?
Stepping into the shower first, he extends a hand to help me in. The spray feels heavenly against my skin, washing away the stickiness between my thighs and soothing muscles I didn't even realize were sore.
Cole stands awkwardly at the far end of the shower, as if unsure of his welcome despite my clear invitation. I smile, finding his uncertainty endearing given everything we shared last night.
"Could you pass the shampoo?" I ask, nodding toward the bottle on the shelf behind him.
When he hands it to me, our fingers brush, and that simple touch sends electricity skating across my skin. My scent shifts immediately, the suppressed heat flaring at his proximity.
His nostrils flare, his pupil dilating as he catches the change. "Bella," he says, my name a warning and a question.
"Cole," I say his name softly, reaching for him through the steam.
Droplets cascade over us both, running in rivulets down his chest, tracing paths I want to follow with my fingers, my lips. The fragrant soap fills the air with a clean, masculine scent, but it can't mask the intoxicating stone and pine that is uniquely Cole. My body responds instantly, a flutter deep inside me despite the suppressants dampening my heat.
Watching me intently, his massive frame tenses with restraint. "Your heat..." he starts, voice rough.
"Isn't this," I interrupt, stepping closer until the spray falls between us like a veil. "The suppressants are working, Cole. This is just me wanting you."
Doubt flickers across his face, and my heart aches. He doesn't believe me. Doesn't believe anyone could want him—the real him, without the influence of biology forcing the attraction.
Words aren't enough.
I need to show him.
Deliberately, I close the distance between us. The warm water creates a shared space that feels somehow separate from the rest of the world. A bubble where only we exist. My hands reach out, palms resting against his chest—one on smooth skin, one on textured. Both parts of the same man. Both equally part of who he is.
Under my touch, his heart thunders, a rapid tempo that reveals everything his carefully controlled expression tries to hide. He wants this too. Wants me. But that sharp edge of doubt still cuts between us.
"Bella." My name sounds reverent yet cautious on his lips. "You don't have to?—"
"I know." I hold his gaze, letting him see the truth in mine. "I'm not doing this because I have to. I'm doing it because I want to."
To prove my point, I rise onto my tiptoes, pressing my lips to his again—not tentatively, but with purpose. With certainty. I pour everything I'm feeling into that kiss, willing him to understand that this isn't obligation or biology or pity. This is desire, pure and simple.
For a moment, he remains frozen, unyielding. My heart falters, fear spiking through me that I've misread everything, that I've pushed too far. But then, with a groan that reverberates through his chest and into mine, he yields.
His arms encircle me, massive and strong, drawing me against him until every inch of my wet skin presses against his. I gasp as he deepens the kiss, his tongue meeting mine with a hunger that matches my own. Any lingering doubt that this is mutual evaporates like the steam surrounding us.
He wants this.
Wants me.
The knowledge emboldens me, drives me to show him exactly how much I want him in return.
Breaking the kiss, I trail my lips along his jaw, feeling the contrast between the smooth left side and the raised, ridged texture on the right. When I reach the corner where his lips are pulled into a permanent snarl, I pause, feeling him tense beneath my touch.
This is the moment. The test. Will he let me in, truly let me in, or will he close himself off as he has for so long?
I press my lips deliberately to that corner, where an exposed canine tooth catches slightly on my bottom lip. A ragged sound tears from his throat and his body goes rigid, his strong hands tightening on my waist.
"Bella," he warns, his voice barely audible over the shower. "You don't have to?—"
I silence him with another kiss, right on that same spot, letting my tongue trace the seam where smooth meets textured. "I know," I whisper against his skin. "I want to. Every part of you, Cole. Not just the parts you think I should want."
Time seems to suspend as he processes my words, his breathing harsh and uneven. I sense the war inside him. Hope battling against years of rejection and self-loathing. I wait, letting him decide, giving him the space to accept or refuse what I'm offering.
Then, almost imperceptibly, he nods.
It's a tiny gesture, but it feels monumental. A door creaking open after being locked for years.
I smile against his skin, gratitude and tenderness flooding through me. Slowly, reverently, I continue my exploration, pressing kisses along his throat where the marks pattern his skin like abstract art. I follow the path of water droplets down to his collarbone, over the broad expanse of his chest.
His hands move restlessly at my waist, as if unsure whether to pull me closer or push me away. I sense his struggle—to accept pleasure without giving me something in return, to believe he deserves it.
"Let me," I whisper, glancing up to meet his gaze, which burns despite the uncertainty clouding it. "Let me show you how I feel about you."
His throat works as he swallows, a muscle jumping in his jaw. Then, gradually, the tension in his hands eases. He's not quite surrendering—I'm not sure Cole Beaumont knows how to fully surrender—but he's allowing. Permitting. Accepting what I'm offering rather than automatically rejecting it.
It's enough.
I continue my journey downward, tracing the ridges of his abdomen with my lips, my tongue, my fingertips. He's all hard muscle under my hands, yet when I touch him, he trembles as if I'm wielding immense power. And perhaps I am—the power to hurt, to heal, to change how he sees himself.
Reaching the cut line of his hips, I glance up again, seeking permission. His chest rises and falls rapidly, his hands now braced against the shower wall as if he needs the support. He can't quite believe that I'm here, touching him, wanting him.
Slowly, I sink to my knees on the shower floor, the warm water still flowing over us both. His eye widens slightly, full realization dawning about what I intend to do.
"Bella." His voice cracks on my name. "You don't?—"
"Need to?" I finish for him, a small smile curving my lips. "I know. But what if I want to? What if I've been thinking about this since last night?"
The shower continues as I maintain eye contact, my hands resting lightly on his thighs. I'm giving him time to process, to object if that's what he truly wants. But I can see in his eyes—in the way his pupil has grown so large—that objection is the furthest thing from his mind.
"Yes?" I ask quietly, needing his explicit permission despite his obvious arousal.
For a moment, he seems unable to form words. Then, with visible effort, he nods.
That's all I need. Holding his gaze, I wrap my hand around his shaft, feeling him throb against my palm. His reaction is immediate—a harsh exhale, his head falling back against the shower wall, one hand braced for support, the other clenching into a fist at his side.
I take my time, exploring the length and girth of him, learning what makes his breath catch, what draws those deep rumbling groans from his chest. The marks that extend here, too, coiling around his shaft like the pattern on his arm. But the contrast of textures only makes my exploration more interesting.
When I finally lower my mouth to his crown, his reaction is visceral. A strangled sound tears from his throat, somewhere between a growl and a plea. His free hand moves instinctively to my hair, not guiding or pushing, just resting there, fingers curling as if he needs the connection to anchor himself.
Drawing him deeper between my lips, I find a rhythm that has his breathing turning ragged, his thighs tensing beneath my palms. The embers of my heat burn hotter within me as I focus entirely on his pleasure, on proving to him that I want this—want him—wholeheartedly.
Each swipe of my tongue earns a new response, each movement bringing him closer to the edge. The shower surrounds us in a warm, steamy haze, but my focus is entirely on Cole. On the way his massive frame trembles under my touch, on the barely restrained power I can feel in his tensed muscles, on the musky taste of him on my tongue.
His hand in my hair tightens reflexively when I swirl my tongue around his crown, then immediately loosens as if he's afraid of hurting me.
"Bella," he groans, my name sounding both sacred and profane in his rough voice. "Fuck, that feels—you don't have to?—"
I pull back, licking my lips as I look up at him through the cascade of water. "Cole Beaumont, if you tell me I don't have to one more time, I'm going to bite you."
His eyes widen, and for a heartbeat, I wonder if I've gone too far. Then his lips twitch—just barely, but it's there—the ghost of a smile forming at the unscarred corner of his mouth.
"Understood," he says, voice strained.
I grin up at him before returning my attention to his impressive length. He's so big that my hand can barely wrap around him, and taking him into my mouth fully is impossible. But the challenge only excites me more. There's something incredibly powerful about bringing this intimidating alpha to the edge with just my mouth and hands.
"Bella," he warns, his voice constricted. "I'm close..."
I hum acknowledgment, picking up the pace. I want this. Want to taste him, to feel him come apart because of me. His hand tightens in my hair, not pulling but holding on like I'm his lifeline in a storm. His breathing grows more ragged, his thighs tensing beneath my hands.
When he finally comes, it's with a growl that vibrates through his entire body. I take everything he gives me, hands steady on his thighs as he shudders through his release. Only when he's completely spent do I pull away, pressing a final kiss to his hip before rising to my feet.
Cole's expression is dazed, his guard completely lowered for perhaps the first time since I've met him. "That was..." he starts, then stops, apparently at a loss for words.
I smile, reaching up to brush wet white hair from his forehead. "Good?"
He huffs a laugh, the sound rusty like he's forgotten how to make it. "Understatement."
Before I can respond, he's pulling me against his chest, his mouth claiming mine in a kiss that makes it hard to breathe. I melt into him, my body humming with unresolved desire. One of his large hands slides down my back to cup my ass, the other tangling in my wet hair as he deepens the kiss.
When we finally break apart, we're both breathing hard. Hunger has replaced the momentary satiation in Cole's gaze.
"Can I…?" he murmurs, his hand already sliding around my waist, fingertips teasing the sensitive skin of my lower abdomen. His grin sharpens wolfishly. "Although you do have four other Pack Vanguard alphas waiting out there—and I'm sure they're all borderline feral if they can smell and hear what we've been doing."
My cheeks heat at the thought. "True. We should probably finish showering," I say with a nervous laugh. "Before they send in a search party."
Cole snorts, but he reaches for the shampoo. "Turn around," he says. "Let me wash your hair."
I happily comply, surprised and touched by the offer. His massive hands are impossibly gentle as they work the shampoo into my scalp, strong fingers massaging away tension I didn't even realize I was carrying. Leaning back into his touch, a contented sigh escapes me.
"This is so nice," I murmur, eyes closed as the warm water and his attentive hands relax me further.
"Mmm," he agrees, his voice a low rumble.
We finish our shower together, taking turns helping each other rinse off. There's an easy rhythm to our movements now, as if we've been doing this dance for years instead of hours. It's both strange and wonderful, this newfound comfort with someone I barely knew days ago.
When we finally shut off the water, Cole reaches for a towel, wrapping it around my shoulders before grabbing one for himself. "Your clothes are probably still in the bedroom," he says as he secures his towel around his waist. "But..."
Looking up at him, I raise an eyebrow when he hesitates. "But what?"
"You could wear something of mine," he offers.
The thought of wearing Cole's clothes makes my heart do a little flip in my chest. It's such an alpha thing, wanting to see their omega in their clothes, surrounded by their scent. And apparently, it's something I want too.
"I'd like that," I say, smiling up at him.
A pleased rumble escapes him. He disappears into the bedroom, returning moments later with a black t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants. Both are clearly going to be comically large on me, but I take them gratefully.
"Thanks," I say, holding the bundle of fabric to my chest. "Um, do you mind...?"
Cole's eyes widen slightly before he turns abruptly, giving me privacy. It's almost amusing, this sudden attack of modesty after everything we've shared.
I drop my towel and pull on Cole's t-shirt, the soft fabric sliding over my skin like a caress. It smells like him, stone and pine. The shirt falls to mid-thigh, more like a dress than a shirt on my petite frame. The sweatpants are even more problematic, about ten sizes too big and threatening to fall off the second I let go of the waistband even though I tie the drawstring as tight as I can. The folded and pinched material fluffs the legs to a silly extent.
I laugh, the sound bouncing off the bathroom tiles. "Um, Cole, these pants are going to be a problem unless you have some suspenders handy."
He turns, his eyes widening as he takes in the sight of me drowning in his clothes. For a moment, he just stares, something possessive flashing in his gaze.
"Maybe just the shirt?" I suggest, already stepping out of the sweatpants.
Cole swallows hard, watching as the pants puddle around my feet, leaving me in just his t-shirt. It falls to mid-thigh, decent enough to preserve my modesty but short enough to reveal a fair amount of leg.
"Is this okay?" I ask, suddenly self-conscious under his intense stare. I do a little spin that makes the shirt flare slightly. "I mean, I look ridiculous, right?"
Cole doesn't answer immediately. His jaw works, a muscle ticking in his cheek as he visibly struggles for words. "No," he says in a low growl that makes every hair on my body prickle. "You look like mine."
The word hangs between us, raw and unfiltered. Cole looks almost surprised he said it, like it slipped out without his permission. And maybe it did. It's an ancient claim, spoken from the alpha rather than the man.
And god help me, I love it.
"Yes," I agree softly, stepping closer to him. "Yours."
His expression intensifies at my confirmation, his hand twitching at his side like he's resisting the urge to reach for me. I close the distance between us, placing my palm against his still-bare chest, feeling his heart thunder beneath my touch. I lean up and kiss him again.
When we part again, he leans down and nuzzles his nose against my cheek, an unexpectedly sweet gesture that leaves my skin tingling. Almost a scent mark. "You're making it very fucking hard to leave this room," he says hoarsely, his breath whispering against my throat.
"Oh, really?" I tease.
Cole huffs a laugh, but the sound is strained. "Really." He presses a kiss to my forehead. "I'll get my clothes."
He disappears into the bedroom again, leaving me to contemplate my reflection in the mirror. My hair is still damp, hanging in loose waves around my shoulders. My cheeks are flushed, my eyes bright, my lips slightly swollen from Cole's kisses. I look... different. More alive somehow. More me than I've been in longer than I can remember.
And yes, I'm wearing an alpha's shirt that falls to mid-thigh, the neckline so wide it threatens to slip off one shoulder. My bare legs extend below the hem, and I'm wearing absolutely nothing underneath.
When I emerge from the bathroom, Cole is already dressed in black cargo pants and a tight charcoal t-shirt that stretches across his broad chest. He's sitting on the edge of the bed, strapping something to his ankle. A gun holster.
"Is that...?" I trail off, eyeing the weapon now secured to his leg.
"Protection," he says simply, offering me his hand. "Shall we?"
I take it happily. "Lead the way."