Episode 21 Huffs, Puffs and Heavy Petting
Florence
By the time I’ve showered and changed, the air in the apartment smells like tomato-y, cheesy goodness, and my stomach is all but devouring itself.
I wander into the main room to find Piers humming in the kitchen as he pulls a beautifully golden brown lasagna out of the oven. He grins when he sees me. “Perfect timing, little bird. This just needs to cool for a minute or two and then we can eat.”
I return his smile. “Good, I’m starving.”
There’s a low growl from the living room area where Grieves is busy spreading pillows and blankets around, making the couch as cozy as he can. “Forsythe should have let us feed you earlier.” He pauses to consider. “I should have just stopped. I’m sorry, bubbles.”
I wave a hand. “Don’t worry about it.”
His scowl deepens. “Don’t do that, Ren. Your needs are important. The most important thing, in fact. We, as your alphas, should have fed you the moment you said you were hungry.”
The corner of my mouth tips into a smile. Small but there, and Grieves stares at it for the longest moment, his cheeks going slightly flushed, like the sight of it is… arousing maybe? I don’t know. Whatever it is there’s an answering flush in my body.
The alpha’s nostrils flare, and I know he’s picking up on the absolutely wild response from my exhausted body. Piers moves into my side, his hand pressing into my lower back, not to get me to move, but in support.
For just a moment, I let myself be weak, leaning into him, letting him take some of my weight. He accepts it, supporting me in that unfailing way he has.
“Go sit down,” Piers murmurs against my temple. “I’ll get the food served up. We’ll put on something mindless that you won’t mind falling asleep during, and you can just relax, yeah?”
This is exactly what I want, what I need. This is what I was thinking of to help ease me into the new reality that is my life.
Grieves gives me a look that’s almost shy as I move toward him before he looks back at the exorbitant amount of blankets and pillows he’s strewn around the living room. “I did what I could, brought out every soft thing I could find, but if there's something missing, let me know, yeah?”
I take in what he’s done already, the sweet nest he’s made for me on the couch, pillows creating a border, blankets plumped up in the middle, and articles of clothing tucked here and there.
It's not perfect, my omega is telling me, but it’s pretty damn close, because he made it for me, tried to give me a space that would feel safe and comfortable for my omega, for me.
And doesn’t that just make me melt a little?
“It’s perfect, bruiser,” I say even as I reach out and twitch a pillow a little to the left, before climbing into the mound of blankets and pillows and clothes that smell like my pack and burrowing under, until only my head peeks out.
Grieves settles outside the ring of pillows and I just barely manage to swallow a whine. He made it big enough for the three of us, why doesn’t he want to join me? My omega wails. Even as I force myself to be logical about it.
He’s trying to give us time to adjust. He doesn’t want to push for more than I’m willing to give, and he thinks that means I need physical space.
I do need physical space. If I don’t maintain that, then I’ll fold like a wet blanket, and later my heart will absolutely shatter. But at the same time, I’m a damn omega, and I’m in a new place—a new freaking country—and my fated mates are right here, and I need them.
He doesn’t want to be in your nest, Ren, get over it.
But it’s impossible.
I glare at the TV as he turns it on. Continue to glare at it when he asks me what I want to watch. Glare when Piers approaches me with a plate piled with food. Glare as I stab at the perfectly browned cheese on top of the lasagna. Glare as I chew angrily.
Piers and Grieves exchange a look that I catch with my glaring eyes and then Grieves carefully sets his plate down on the coffee table and turns the full weight of his gray eyes on me. “Omega.” The word rumbles out of him. “Is there something you need?”
“No.” I snap out defensive because I can’t just admit that I want him—them—in this nest with me. That I almost need it. And that the fact that he’s not already here has wounded my omega something fierce.
“Little bird,” Piers coos, leaning closer to me. “If you need something just say it, and we’ll move heaven and earth to get it for you.”
I shake my head and stuff another bite of lasagna into my mouth, while they exchange that same look again.
I’m being ridiculous. I recognize that on some level. But I’m also… so overwrought. I probably shouldn’t have agreed to come here. It’s going to be so damn hard on me, on my omega, and my body when I have to leave without my mates.
And the way that Forsythe couldn’t wait to get away from me earlier was foreshadowing if ever I saw it.
Is that how he’s going to be the entire time I’m here? Distant, absent, ensuring I have everything I need—well, everything I need but him?
Is he with Isadora right now, reassuring her with his words and his body that he might have left to see me, because of optics, because the world knows we’re scent matches, but that he’s still going to bond her? Are Court and Thayer doing the same?
The lasagna I’ve eaten turns to a globby stone in my stomach and I drop the fork, staring at the television where Grieves has put on Clueless with tear filled eyes.
Fuck.
This really does not bode well for the state of my heart after all is said and done.
“Bubbles, love, look at me.” There's no bark in the command, but I follow it all the same, turning toward him, letting him see my hurt. “What do you need? Tell me so I can fix it.”
“Tell us,” Piers corrects, gently though. “Whatever you need.”
What I need is for Forsythe to not have backed away from me like I was some diseased rat in the kitchen earlier. What I need is for him and Court and Thay to all be here with me now. Couldn’t they have waited a single day, made sure I got settled, before they went off to do their princely duties?
You sent Thayer and Courtland with him, I remind myself. You didn’t want him to be alone.
“Why couldn’t he stay?” I whisper. “And why are you so far away? And why did Court and Thayer leave?”
“Oh, love,” Grieves sighs. “Can we come into your nest? Is that what you need?”
I give a jerky nod and neither of them waste any time scrambling into the mound of blankets and pillows, burrowing under them until they're pressed against my sides. Some of the tension eases out of me, and I slump back.
“Better, sunshine?” Piers asks, looping an arm over the back of the couch and around my shoulders, not holding me necessarily, but letting the weight of it fall on my shoulders, a reminder that he’s there. That they’re with me.
I nod. “Yes. Thank you.”
“Don’t thank us, bubbles. Anything you want or need just ask for, we’ll give it to you, yeah?”
It's on the tip of my tongue to argue that history has proven they don’t necessarily mean it. But I’m too tired. Too worn down, emotionally and physically.
So I focus on filling my belly—easier to do now that they’re so close to me—and when I’ve stuffed as much lasagna into me as I can, Piers whisks away my plate and I snuggle down, feeling drowsy.
They stay right there with me, pressed against my sides and I feel safe and cared for as I drift off to sleep.
I doze on and off throughout the day, tangling myself around Grieves or Piers as I sleep, only to wake up feeling slightly abashed at how I apparently treat them like my own personal stuffies while I’m out of it.
Neither of them seem to mind though, holding me just as tight, stroking hands over my arms, my back, my thighs, to urge me back to sleep.
I wake one time to find myself cuddled into Grieves’ side, tucked under his arm, my head on his chest. His impressive erection pressing into my inner thigh since I have my leg thrown over his hips. My pussy is pressed against him, warm and achy and embarrassingly wet.
I’m half asleep and horny and jetlagged. My brain isn’t working fully, and so my hips roll, just the slightest bit, grinding against his hip, hoping like hell he doesn’t notice.
But he does notice, of course he does.
He sucks in a sharp breath and tenses, like he’s worried I’ll flee if he doesn’t hold himself just so. Or maybe he’s worried I’ll stop.
I really don’t want to stop. But I’m not sure it’s a good idea to keep going.
Who are you fooling, Ren? It's a terrible idea to keep going. And you know it.
But it feels really good, and so I do it again. His cock jerks against my leg and that only makes me want this more. His big hand slides down my spine until it’s pressing against my tailbone, holding me still.
Fuck.
He doesn’t want this, despite his body’s reaction.
Face flaming with embarrassment and shame, I try to pull back, to pull away from him, but he doesn’t let me go anywhere, holding me against him as a low growl bleeds out of his chest and rumbles through my body.
“Feeling needy, omega?” Piers asks as he shifts behind me, pressing into my back. “Do you need us to help with that?”
“No,” I say quickly. But the denial is breathy and doesn’t sound very convincing.
Grieves tsks. Encouraging my hips to roll into him again, sending a spark of arousal through me when my clit grinds against his hip bone. “You sure about that, bubbles? Because you smell like a needy little omega who needs her pack to take care of her.”
“Let us take care of you,” Piers murmurs against my throat. There’s a hint of pleading in his voice like he needs this as badly as I do. This moment of pleasure—of connection—between me and my scent matched mates.
We’ve been together, but not really together.
I might regret it later. But right now? I want this. With them.
“Okay,” I say softly. They exchange a look over my shoulder, one that I can’t fully understand in my horny sleepy state, but one that I trust means they’ll give me what I need.