Chapter 13
Bea
Wednesday is my day off, and I'm spending it staring at my bedroom ceiling like it holds the secrets of the universe.
It doesn't. It just has a water stain shaped vaguely like a duck.
I've been awake since six, replaying yesterday's kiss with Seth on an endless loop. The way he looked at me. The way he tasted. That low, rumbly purr that vibrated through his chest and made something in me sing. The careful, almost reverent way he touched me, like I was something precious.
My phone buzzes on the nightstand.
Seth: Good morning. Hope you slept well. I definitely didn't because I couldn't stop thinking about you.
Heat floods my cheeks. A second text follows.
Seth: Too much? That was too much. Sorry. I'm bad at this.
Seth: I'm going to stop texting now before I make it worse.
I smile as I type back.
Me: It wasn't too much. And I didn't sleep well either. Same reason.
The three dots appear immediately, then disappear. Then appear again.
Seth: That's good. I mean, not that you didn't sleep. But that you were thinking about me. Us. The kiss. I'm going to stop typing now.
Me: Don't stop. I like it when you ramble.
Seth: I like everything about you.
My heart does something complicated in my chest. Before I can respond, another text comes through.
Seth: Okay NOW I'm stopping because I have to go on patrol and I just drove past the same mailbox three times because I'm texting you instead of watching the road.
Me: Please don't crash because of me. That would be a terrible start to a pack.
There's a longer pause this time.
Seth: A pack. You're thinking about it?
Me: I haven't stopped thinking about it.
Seth: Good. That's good. Okay. Gotta go. Stay safe. Text me later?
Me: Promise.
I set the phone down and flop back against my pillows with a groan. A pack. With Seth, River, and Grayson. The idea should terrify me—it does terrify me—but it also feels right in a way I can't quite explain.
Seth kissed me. River held my hand at the Tree Lighting and scented me at his truck. But Grayson...
Grayson and I haven't kissed yet.
And maybe that's what's making me antsy. The unevenness of it all. Like I'm giving pieces of myself to two of them but holding back from the third, even though I don't mean to. Even though every time I'm near Grayson, I want to close the distance between us.
I think about his studio. Those strong, tattooed hands. The way he looks at me like he's cataloging every detail for later. The rough edge to his voice when he talks to me, that mix of intensity and heat that makes my toes curl.
Before I can overthink it, I'm getting dressed.
The small door beside Ashpine Books is easy to miss if you don't know it's there. A simple brass plaque reads "Blackwood Ink" with a raven silhouette, and an arrow pointing upward.
I've walked past it several times this past week but never gone in.
The narrow staircase leads up to what I know is both Grayson's studio and his apartment. When I reach the top and push open the door, the scent hits me immediately—antiseptic and ink and something distinctly Grayson. Ink and leather and spice.
My body responds instantly, a flutter low in my belly. Heat pricks at my skin, and I feel the beginning of slickness between my thighs. Just from his scent. Just from being in his space.
Get it together, Bea.
The space is small but immaculate. Dark walls covered in framed flash art and photos of completed tattoos.
A sleek black tattoo chair sits in the center near a rolling tray of supplies.
In the corner, there's a vintage leather couch and a small desk covered in sketches.
Through an open doorway, I can glimpse what must be his living space—more books, a bed with dark sheets.
Everything smells like him. Something in me sighs with contentment just breathing it in.
"Be right there," Grayson's voice calls from a back room.
My stomach does a little flip, and another wave of slick makes my underwear damp.
When he emerges, he's wearing a black t-shirt that stretches across his shoulders and shows off the tattoos covering both arms. His dark hair is slightly mussed, reading glasses perched on his nose, and he's holding what looks like a design sketch.
He freezes when he sees me. His nostrils flare slightly, and I know—I know—he can smell my arousal. The way his scent darkens in response, going heavier with alpha interest, makes my knees weak.
"Bea." The way he says my name—like it's been punched out of him. "Hi."
"Hi." I suddenly feel very aware that I'm standing in his studio without a good reason. "I hope it's okay that I just... showed up?"
"It's more than okay." He sets the sketch down on the desk, removing his glasses and tucking them into his shirt collar. "I wasn't expecting anyone. Wednesdays are usually slow."
"Oh. I can leave if you're busy—"
"No." He crosses the space between us in three long strides. "Don't leave. Please."
We stand there for a moment, just looking at each other. His scent is stronger this close—ink and leather and that spice that makes something in me hum with contentment.
"I heard about Seth," he says finally, and my face goes hot.
"Of course you did."
"He sent a very enthusiastic text to the group chat. With a selfie." Grayson's lips twitch. "He looked very pleased with himself."
"He should be. He's an excellent kisser." The words are out before I can stop them.
Grayson's eyes darken. "Is that so?"
"Very." I'm being bold. Probably too bold. But something about being alone with him in this intimate space makes me brave. "Even though he said he didn't know what he was doing."
"Seth tends to undersell himself." Grayson's voice has dropped lower. "But I'm glad he finally made his move."
"Are you?" I take a step closer. "Not jealous?"
"Oh, I'm absolutely jealous." His honesty catches me off guard. "But not of Seth. I'm happy for him. For both of you. I'm just..." He runs a hand through his hair. "Impatient."
My heart pounds. "You don't have to be."
His jaw tightens. "Bea—"
"I came here for a reason," I say quickly, before I lose my nerve entirely. "A professional reason."
He raises an eyebrow. "Professional."
"Yes. Very professional. Completely business-related."
"Right." His mouth quirks. "That's why you're blushing."
"I'm not blushing."
"You're definitely blushing." He's closer now, close enough that I have to tilt my head back to meet his eyes. His scent wraps around me like a physical thing. "And you smell nervous."
Not just nervous. Aroused. There's no way he doesn't know—the spike of cinnamon-apple sweetness that means omega want.
"Your scent reading skills are very inconvenient."
"They really are." He looks entirely too pleased with himself. A low rumble starts in his chest—barely audible but I can feel it. That alpha purr that makes my omega instincts melt. "So what's this very professional, completely business-related reason?"
I take a breath, forcing myself to focus on why I actually came here. Business. Marketing. Not the way his shoulders look in that t-shirt.
"Your studio." I gesture around. "You just opened. How's it been so far?"
He blinks, clearly not expecting that. "Slow." He leans against the desk, crossing his arms. The movement makes his biceps flex and I have to force myself to focus. "Most locals who want tattoos go to Pine Valley. Winter's going to be rough."
"What if you didn't have to wait for people to come to you?" I step closer, pulled by an instinct I can't name. "I helped River with the hardware store's social media. Engagement is up forty percent. I could do the same for you."
His eyes track my movement, darkening. "That's... actually brilliant."
"I know." The confidence in my voice surprises us both. "It's kind of what I'm good at."
"Confident. I like it." His gaze drops to my mouth, then back up.
"You would." My pulse kicks up. "You like it when I'm assertive. When I know what I want and ask for it."
The air between us shifts, thickens. His scent intensifies—that leather and spice that makes my mouth water.
"I'm not denying anything." He pushes off from the desk, closing the distance between us. "So tell me, Bea. What do you want?"
My breath catches. We're standing so close now I can feel the heat radiating off him. "I came here for business reasons."
"Right. Business." His hand comes up, fingers ghosting along my jaw. "That's why you can't stop looking at my arms."
"I'm looking at your tattoos." My voice is barely a whisper. "For professional assessment."
"Professional assessment." He's staring at my mouth now, his thumb brushing my lower lip. "You know what else is prominent?"
"What?"
"The way you smell when you're turned on." He leans in, nose brushing against my neck. "Like cinnamon and apples. So sweet I could drown in it."
Heat floods through me. "Grayson—"
"Good thing you're not actually here for professional reasons." His lips brush my pulse point and I gasp. "Are you, Bea?"
I should lie. Should keep up the pretense. But I'm tired of pretending.
"No," I whisper. "I'm not."
"Why are you here?" His voice is low, rough with barely restrained want.
My heart hammers. This is it. The moment where I either run or leap.
"Because I couldn't stop thinking about you.
" The confession tumbles out, words I've been holding back for days.
"Because Seth kissed me and it was amazing, but all I could think was that I wanted you to kiss me too.
Because watching River and Seth get to touch me while you held back was driving me crazy. "
I take a breath, steadying myself.
"And because I'm tired of second-guessing what I want," I add more quietly.
"Terrance spent two years telling me my dreams didn't matter, that wanting a career made me selfish, that I'd change my mind about babies and staying home once I 'grew up.
' He made me feel like wanting things for myself was wrong. "
Grayson's jaw tightens. "That's bullshit."
"I know that now." I grip his shirt tighter. "But it still messed with my head. Made me doubt myself. Wonder if maybe he was right and I was just being stubborn."
"You weren't being stubborn. You were being honest about what you wanted."
"Yeah, well, he didn't see it that way. And being with him taught me to keep my wants small. To not ask for too much." I force myself to meet Grayson's eyes. "But I want this. I want you. All three of you. And I'm tired of apologizing for it."
His hand comes up to cup my face, thumb brushing my cheekbone. "You don't have to apologize. Not to us. Not ever."
"I'm still getting used to that."
"Then let me help you get used to it." His eyes search mine. "Let me show you what it's like when someone actually listens. When your wants matter just as much as ours."
Something in my chest loosens.
"Okay," I whisper. "Show me."
He kisses me.
It's different from Seth's kiss. Seth was gentle and questioning. Grayson is sure and claiming and absolutely devastating. He kisses like he tattoos—with complete focus and artistic precision. His tongue slides against mine and I make an embarrassing sound that's half-moan, half-whimper.
Heat floods through me, and I feel the telltale slickness building between my thighs. My body responding to his alpha scent, his dominance, his claim on my mouth.
"Been wanting to do that for weeks," he murmurs against my lips. "Do you know how hard it's been? Watching Seth and River get to touch you while I held back?"
"Then don't hold back." I grab his shirt, pulling him closer. My scent spikes with arousal—cinnamon and apples going sweeter, sharper. "Please don't hold back anymore."
He growls—actually growls—and lifts me onto his desk.
Sketches scatter to the floor but neither of us cares.
His hands are everywhere, sliding up my thighs, gripping my hips, tangling in my hair.
I can feel the rumble starting in his chest—that alpha purr that makes every instinct I have sing in response.
"Grayson—"
"Tell me to stop and I will." His voice is rough, strained. "But if you don't stop me now, I'm going to make you come apart right here in my studio."
Oh god. More slick pools between my legs at his words, and I know he can smell it. The way his pupils dilate, the way his purr deepens—he knows exactly what he's doing to me.
"Don't stop," I breathe. "Please don't stop."
"Thank fuck." He captures my mouth again, kissing me like he's been starving for it. Maybe he has been. Maybe we both have.
His hands slide under my shirt and I arch into his touch. His palms are rough from years of work, calloused and warm, and they feel incredible against my skin. The rumble in his chest intensifies, vibrating through me everywhere we're touching.
"Can I?" he asks, fingers hovering at the hem of my shirt.
"Yes. God, yes."
He pulls my shirt over my head in one smooth motion, then just... stops. Stares. His scent darkens with arousal—ink and leather and pure alpha want.
"Grayson?"
"Sorry." His voice is hoarse. "Just—give me a second. You're perfect."
"I'm really not—"
"You are." He traces the edge of my bra with one finger, and I shiver. "So fucking perfect. Can I take this off too?"
I nod, not trusting my voice.
He reaches around to unhook my bra with practiced ease and slides it off. Cool air hits my skin and my nipples tighten. Another wave of slick makes my thighs slippery.
"Beautiful," he murmurs. "Absolutely beautiful." The purr in his chest is constant now, an alpha's instinctive response to his omega's arousal. "And you smell incredible. Like cinnamon and apples and pure want."
Then his mouth is on me and coherent thought becomes impossible. He's thorough, almost methodical, like he's learning exactly what I like. When he does that thing with his tongue, I arch up with a gasp.
"There?" he asks, sounding smug.
"Yes—there—don't stop—"
He doesn't. He's relentless, building me higher and higher until I'm shaking.
"Grayson, I need—"
"I know what you need, baby." His hand slides down to cup me through my jeans. "Going to give you everything."