Chapter 55
Chapter fifty-five
PIERCE
“Fuck.”
I drop the piece of chicken back into the pan and turn to run my finger under cold water.
“Use tongs, you dummy.” I feel it’s only right to insult my own intelligence and kitchen skills since Liam and Beckett aren’t here to do it for me. I yank a drawer open and dig around for the stupid tongs.
“I suck at cooking, and even I know not to touch a hot pan.”
My heart kicks into double time as Ash enters the kitchen.
She’s wearing one of Beckett’s shirts, the neckline cut out so it falls off one shoulder.
That’s such a Florida thing. Butchering T-shirts, cutting the sleeves off to make muscle shirts, crop-topping them.
They could get super intricate with slits and beads.
One of the betas in my birth pack had a side hustle of selling them to tourists.
An unsuccessful side hustle, but A for effort.
Ash’s collarbones look impossibly delicate, highlighted by the strap of her black bra peeking out. The shirt goes past her butt. I’m not sure she has anything under the T-shirt. I turn back to the chicken. I don’t need to be thinking about that right now.
I check my phone. No messages from Beckett, but Alexei sent a group text with the details for tonight’s viewing party. I’m supposed to bring buffalo chicken dip, and I’m doubling down on the spice because watching Alexei’s face turn red is one of life’s simple pleasures.
“What are you making?” She yawns, and I hear her pad across the kitchen.
“Buffalo chicken dip for Alexei’s thing tonight.” My voice sounds rough, even to my own ears. I gotta get a grip.
She doesn’t respond, just wanders around the edge of the island counter. Her fingers tap against the counter, nails bitten to the quick. I want to take her hands in mine, bring them to my lips. I want to trace each knuckle with my tongue.
Christ, I need to get a grip.
I flip the chicken over. Did she eat breakfast? She doesn’t seem to eat actual food until we sit down to dinner. As a matter of fact, I’m not sure I’ve seen her open the fridge on her own. Maybe she doesn’t feel at home yet or comfortable enough to poke around the fridge by herself.
A memory gut punches me. Randal never had food in the house.
We had splurged one night. Got fried chicken to watch Game of Thrones.
He sauntered through on his way out the door for work.
Lynn’s mouth was stuffed with a chicken leg.
“You got to stop eating that shit, you’ll get fat. ” She was like ten and skin and bones.
These micro-memories keep dropping on me, and it’s fucking me up. I pull the chicken out of the pan. It needs to cool before I can shred it.
She still hasn’t said anything. She’s standing right next to the cutting board now. I have a pile of celery on there that I need to dice.
She’s so close I can feel the heat off her body. I’m still not used to her scent everywhere.
Beckett touches her all the time. Literally picking her up whenever he wants to. Liam is casually affectionate too. He’ll kiss her cheek, rub her back.
I can’t.
I want to. But I can’t.
I’m not afraid of losing control. It’s not like I’m going to be overcome with lust and rip her clothes off.
I’m scared.
I’m afraid she doesn’t want me, that I’ll touch her and she’ll shrink away, scream, run.
Fuck the scent match, she’s hated me for years.
Blamed me for Reed. Had her dirtbag of a father pump her head full of bad shit about me since before Reed died.
His little confession before he blew his brains out doesn’t deprogram that instantly.
If I was her, I wouldn’t want me either. I have no idea why Beckett and Liam want me half the time.
My mouth is dry, and I clear my throat. “We don’t have to go, if you don’t want to. We can watch the game here. I’m not going to, you know, be a prick like last time.”
That’s not technically a lie. Even if I’m on my best behavior, with her smelling like heaven, I wouldn’t put money on me not starting a brawl if someone looks at her wrong.
“I don’t think his omega likes me.” She says it softly, like a confession.
I snort. “Sandra is… Well, she’s a good person, but she likes to be the center of attention.”
“Sure.”
“Ask Beckett. She does a lot for the team. She’s just, maybe a little bitchy sometimes.”
“I feel like I annoy him.”
“Who?”
“Beckett.”
“Impossible.”
“Every time he texts, he says something like “in the locker room” or “on the bus” or “practice starting”. It feels like I’m interrupting.”
“Oh, no.” I laugh. “He just wants you to feel included, like you know what he’s doing.”
She shrugs. “He’s like this big important person, and I’m just a stupid little omega.”
Hot fury pours through me. I’m gripping the knife so hard I feel the wood handle groan against metal.
“Don’t.” The word is rough in my throat. “Don’t ever talk about yourself like that.”
She snorts. “I am a stupid omega.”
Something breaks in me. I put the knife down before it shatters in my hand and place both palms flat on the counter.
“Don’t you fucking ever call yourself stupid.”
“I’m a stupid little omega.” Her voice has a silly sing-song quality to it. But this is not a fucking joke.
“I’m serious, Ash.”
“Well, it’s true. I am stupid.”
I grab her arm and haul her against the wall, pinning her with my body. The tension between us sizzles and electrifies.
“Don’t,” I pant out, “say it.”
She lifts her chin, defiant. “Stupid.”
I wrap my fingers around her throat, not squeezing, just to hold her there, so she can’t wiggle away and deflect.
“Take it back,” I say, my face inches from hers. Her peach scent is overwhelming, making me dizzy. “Take it back right fucking now.”
“Or what?”
“I’m going to tell you what you are,” I say, my thumb tracing the line of her neck. “You’re smart. You’re strong. You survived.”
“Stop it,” she whispers, but there’s no force behind it.
“You’re beautiful,” I continue, unable to stop the words now that they’ve started. “Your mouth. Your eyes. Your fucking scent that’s driving me out of my mind every second you’re in this house.”
“Pierce…”
“You’re gorgeous. You’re funny. You’re perfection.”
She wiggles and tries to look away. I force her back to me with my thumb on her chin.
“Say it,” I demand, pressing closer, squeezing her neck a little. I can feel the heat of her body through the thin fabric of her shirt. “Say you’re beautiful.”
“I can’t,” she says, voice breaking.
“Yes, you can.” My lips are an inch from hers. “Say it, Ash.”
She shakes her head.
I bump her head gently into the wall.
“I need to hear you say it. I need you to see yourself like I do.”
Her breath hitches, eyes locked on mine.
“Say it, Ash. I’m beautiful. Say it.”
For a moment, everything hangs suspended between us, so tight we are both going to break.
“I’m beautiful,” she finally whispers, so soft I barely hear it.
I crush my mouth to hers, swallowing her gasp.
Her lips part instantly, and I can taste her, sweet and warm and so fucking perfect.
And she kisses me back, hungrier. Her hands are in my hair, and she wraps a leg around my hip, like she’s afraid I’m going to let her go. I am never going to let her go.
“Pierce,” she breathes against my mouth.
I groan, pressing her harder against the wall, my hips pinning hers in place.
“Fuck me,” she moans, letting go just long enough to gather up the edges of Beckett’s T-shirt. She is, in fact, wearing nothing under it except her panties. My dick was already hard, but now my knot is throbbing.
I hook my thumbs into the waistband, drag the panties down her hips. My fingers trace up her inner thigh. She’s drenched, dripping with slick.
“You’re so wet.”
“I know, I’m sorry.”
Sorry? I don’t know what to do with that. I plunge two fingers into her and my thumb finds her clit. She throws her head back and moans.
“Fuck me, please.”
Thank god for basketball shorts and always going commando. My cock is freed in a second, and I wrap her legs around me, scooping her up. I’m in her in one fast stroke.
She screams like that’s all she needed to come. I have to pause and breathe or I might come too.
She’s tight and hot around me, perfect in a way that makes my vision blur at the edges. I press my forehead against hers, trying to breathe through the intensity of it.
“Fuck,” I groan, my voice barely recognizable to my own ears. “Ash.”
She rolls her hips against mine, impatient, and rational thought dissolves. I brace one hand against the wall, the other gripping her hip hard enough to bruise, and begin to move. Each thrust pulls a sound from her throat that I want to capture and keep forever. Little gasps and moans.
I’ve had a lot of sex. A lot. Nothing has ever felt like this. The sounds coming out of her, her fingers digging into my back, her legs squeezing me. Every place she touches lights up and explodes.
She screams my name and I feel her shudder around me, pulsating on my cock. I fuck her through her orgasm, never wanting her to stop, awed that I can make her body do this.
“Knot. Pierce. Knot. Oh god, fucking knot me. Please. Pierce.”
“Are you sure?” I can barely breathe enough to ask.
She slips her tongue into my mouth and wraps her arms around my neck, close to choking me.
I’m deep in her. It feels almost impossible that I could go deeper, that her body could stretch to take me.
I pull one knee up higher, spreading her wider for me.
My knot against her, I feel the resistance as I push past the ring of muscles.
Slowly, I feel her take me deeper, millimeter by millimeter.
The pressure is intense, and I can’t breathe.
With a little pop, her body gives, and my knot swells even bigger. Now I’m the one screaming her name.
Waves of sensation break through me. I come, spilling into her again and again. I whimper and shake, holding on to her and never letting go.