14. Willow #2
As the pile grows, I wonder if I slightly overdid it.
Sure, opening up the nest to find it so barren was a little disappointing, but retail therapy isn’t really a long-term solution.
But now I’m starting to get excited about unwrapping my goodies, so that’s close enough to anticipating the heat itself.
Four hours of clicking, $3000, and a delivery truck later, and here we are.
After seeing the driver off and locking the front gates from my control panel, I pop my hands on my hips and survey the leaning tower of deliveries.
Mr Shares sniffs the boxes, bumping one with his nose. He scrambles backward as it tumbles to the floor.
I chuckle and lug over one of the dining chairs and scissors so I can start the work. Each box is a mystery, turning this into an unexpected hour of Christmas.
From Willow, to Willow, with love.
“This won’t be like the old heats,” I promise myself. I never want to go through that again, being a fuck-bag for a group of rough, careless men who wanted the high of my feverish haze.
Around my chair scent diffusers, soft fluffy cushions, and curtains with lights threaded through them mound on the floor.
I probably can’t put those up by myself, but a little whimsy never hurt.
I open the pack of scented bath salts and moan.
The scent is called Spring Forest and it’s a calming mix of ferns, jonquils, and damp rain notes. My body pulses with just one whiff.
“Supposed to be calming, not erotic,” I mutter, setting the bottle to one side. Somewhere, buried under this mountain of packing tape and cardboard, hides the one item I’m dying to see most.
I tear through the next parcel.
“Oh, here it is!” I pull out a big rug, eyes widening as the pretty sequins sparkle in the light.
The colors on the top side form a soft pastel rainbow hue, as if a unicorn’s shed all over the fabric. Totally unnecessary and unpractical, but I don’t give a damn.
“Hello, beautiful,” I croon, running my hands across the tiny discs. They change color as they turn over, revealing a sparkly silver. The back of the rug feels as soft as rabbit fur. It’s the prettiest, most luxurious thing I’ve ever run my hands over.
“We’re going to be best friends,” I promise, bringing the wool to my cheek.
Mr Shares pokes his nose into it and sneezes.
I chuckle and dig through the boxes until I find the treats I bought for him. I can’t be the only one getting presents. Plus, it will be tough for him when our routine changes, especially since I don’t think it’s a good idea to have him in the nest with me and an unknown alpha.
The biggest pair of boxes gives me the most grief. Unwrapping them requires a degree in engineering, but when I finally get the tight plastic off, the suctioned mattress within unfurls with a gasp to form a massive ring.
Mr Shares bows, tail wagging as if he expects a game.
“No, you cannot chew on this one,” I tell him.
I drag the big ring and it’s matching circular base into my nest room and set up the ensemble in the center.
Now that the room is clean and has natural sunlight coming through the window, it doesn’t look so forlorn.
The carpet’s a lovely pale peach tone that makes a nice change from the cream in the other bedrooms.
Huffing with effort, I assemble the round daybed.
I might get something more permanent later, but this suffices on short notice.
The two pieces press together with studs on the outside of the ring, and the special-order 800 thread count Egyptian cotton sheets go over the entire lot.
Soft pillows and blankets go next, with the sequin rug taking pride of place over everything.
My word, that’s a gorgeous set up.
Next, I move on to creating a canopy over the floor bed. I work up a sweat and my hip throbs as I set up the shade tent indoors, using the height adjustment legs to get my curtains hung up around the rim before extending it to full height. When one side sticks, I curse under my breath.
A man around the place wouldn’t go astray in moments like these—but I’ll never give up my freedom again.
Finally, the tent goes up, surrounding my nest with a gauzy curtain that closes in the big space and makes it more intimate. This is indoor glamping at its finest, all delicate twinkling lights and breezy curtains closing in the space where I’ll descend into animalistic frenzy.
Maybe that’s why we omegas are so drawn to pretty things; they keep us grounded in our humanity when our bodies try to forget.
I take a break for lunch, but make it quick, more excited than expected.
Around the nest I place wooden crates with rope handles, each one lined with a soft towel and filled with all my favorite goodies.
One has food, with a dozen different types of chocolate and snack bars, and another holds the sex items.
My cheeks heat up as I unpack ribbed condoms, lube, wipes, a couple of toys, and body cream. Stacks of white towels go next to the biggest baskets, and I make space for a mini powered cooler box to put drinks in.
But when I step back, it looks a bit too curated. Needs something natural.
Mr Shares whines and spins in a circle, letting me know he wants to go out. The back fence hasn’t been raised yet, so I let him go out the front, but the hedges in the driveway tell me just what I’m missing.
Something living.
I limp to the back patio and collect two ferns.
One of the orchids is flowering with a massive magenta stem, so I bring that in too.
For the final touch, I tie the curtains back from the front side, leaving pretty arches of fabric that invite a person to explore.
The nest transforms from a little girl’s pink cloud into an elegant, relaxing space.
Pressing one hand to my chest, I breathe deeply.
My exes never cared for pretty things. They said they got in the way of the real business. To be fair, one year we did start a fire, but I’m never in the mood to be fair to those scumbags.
I did avoid all live flames in my purchases this time, though.
Next stop, the bathroom.
Honestly, the amenities here are nicer than my bedroom ensuite. The spa tub fits four easily, and it’s divided from the room only by a half, semi-circle wall. I set out another basket with bath salts and rose petals, plus a kit of cleansing products for whomever my guest alpha will be.
The thought of sharing this tub with a naked man has me equal parts anxious and horny.
I wish I’d thought to ask for the man’s name, but Heat Wave did say they’d send me an information packet.
Which is probably burning a hole in my inbox right now, but I’m so exhausted I can’t bear the thought of reading text-heavy details.
Leaving the nest, I heat up a frozen dinner of chicken Kieve and vegetables, paired with a piece of left over toasted baguette.
With a tired sigh, I settle onto the couch and put my feet up.
Tomorrow I’ll need to film several clips for my social media and run through all of my business happenings so things tick away while I’m locked in my nest.
I lean my head back on the couch, closing my eyes for just a minute while the heated food cools enough to not burn my tongue.
The house is quiet, like it’s holding its breath. Even the breeze outside died down. I had fun preparing my nest, but the reality is, an omega never uses her nest alone. So, the solo preparation also makes for a lonely day.
That’s my life now. Everything else got torn away, until all that’s left is wealthy loneliness, and contracted help from strangers.
I can’t see that ever changing.
Because no matter how much my heart aches for it, I’m not the kind of girl who gets to be happy.