45. Elena
Chapter forty-five
Elena
The cramps aren't just cramps anymore; they're full-blown construction projects, rolling through me in waves that leave me gasping and clinging to the bed's expensive Egyptian cotton sheets.
Sweat beads on my forehead despite the cool breeze wafting through the open terrace doors. But underneath the pain and the desperate, thrumming arousal, an equally powerful and entirely unfamiliar urge is taking over.
"It's not right," I mutter, my hands twisting in the sheets, bunching them with a growing agitation I don't understand.
"It's all wrong. Too… flat. Too…" I push myself up, my movements clumsy, my body buzzing like an espresso machine.
My inner baker wants to laminate dough, my inner omega apparently wants to laminate bedding .
James, bless his concerned heart, hovers nearby, radiating alpha-level worry. His scent, that intoxicating bergamot and saffron, is driving me half-mad with need yet his presence feels… wrong right now.
"What's wrong, Elena? Talk to us," he asks, his voice carefully gentle, his blue eyes wide.
"Everything!" I snap, the word tearing from me, raw and hormonal. I immediately regret it, wincing as he flinches slightly.
"Sorry," I manage, my voice choked. "It’s just… I need…" My gaze sweeps the room, a frantic interior decorator on a deadline. What do I need? Softer. Warmer. Them , but… not them? "I need… I need…" My gaze sweeps the room, searching.
Cole steps forward though not too close. "What do you need, Elena? Tell us. We’ll get it for you."
"I need you to get out ," I blurt, the words surprising even me.
My cheeks flame. "Oh God, sorry! That sounded awful.
I just… I need to be alone for a moment.
But also—" I grab the expensive sheets, trying to simultaneously rub my cheek against them and wrestle them into something resembling a pile.
"I need— uh… could I… could I maybe borrow your shirts before you go?
" I peek at them through my lashes, feeling utterly ridiculous.
The three men exchange glances. It’s a complex look: a dash of confusion, a sprinkle of dawning comprehension, and a hefty dollop of pure alpha pride.
Then, without a word, they comply like a synchronized stripping team.
James pulls off his soft undershirt. Cole sheds his navy t-shirt.
Dorian unbuttons his crisp, probably-costs-more-than-my-rent Supima cotton shirt.
They offer these items like sacred tributes.
For a split second, my instincts waver between their delicious, athletic bodies and the precious fabric they're offering. But the latter wins, my hands darting out to snatch the bounty.
I immediately bury my face in all of it, inhaling deeply. Cedar, bergamot, sandalwood, mine . I rub my cheeks against the soft fabrics, a low, contented purr rumbling in my chest. This is weird. This is so weird. Why am I doing this? Why does it feel so good?
"Nesting instinct," Dorian murmurs as if on cue, his voice a low rumble of satisfaction.
"Normally, this would be a pre-heat symptom, but given how long you've been on medication, and the stress of the competition.
.." He trails off. "But it's starting. As I suspected.
" He glides toward a set of tall, lacquered doors on the far side of the room.
"Elena," he says, "maybe this will be of assistance? "
He opens the doors, revealing not just a closet, but an Aladdin's cave of textiles. Bolts of velvet, piles of faux fur throws, cashmere blankets, silks, and a mountain of plush pillows in every conceivable soft shade. It’s an omega’s fantasy.
My jaw drops. "Is that… is that cashmere ?"
Dorian’s lips curve. "And Belgian linen, Andean alpaca wool, and yes, hand-spun Panjore silk.
I ordered them the other night. Had a hunch…
wanted to be prepared." He looks genuinely pleased with his foresight.
"I contacted a rather exclusive importer.
He was very efficient, everything arrived on time. "
This must have cost an absolute fortune. Gratitude wars with the sharp, insistent urge to be alone with these treasures. I need to bury myself, arrange, create . I open my mouth to thank him, but all that comes out is a low, impatient whine.
The sound has an immediate effect on all three alphas.
They go rigid, alert, their bodies practically vibrating with the need to respond to my distress.
James takes a half-step forward before catching himself, while Cole's hands clench at his sides.
After a moment to compose himself, Dorian, reading me like an open book, nods.
"Gentlemen," he says, turning to the others, "I believe Elena requires privacy for her…
preparations ." He turns back to me, his gaze softening.
"Water and food are on the console. There's a call bell by the bed.
Ring it if you need anything . We'll bring it to you. "
A wave of relief and desire crashes over me as I realize they understand what I need.
"We'll be near," Cole promises, his voice steady.
"Take all the time you need," Dorian adds.
"No pressure," James chimes in, his smirk softened with understanding.
Their care penetrates my hormone-fogged brain. It’s… so sweet.
"Soon," I promise, clutching their shirts. Then, with an apologetic but firm look, I shoo them toward the door. The moment it clicks shut, I turn, my eyes gleaming, ready to face my mountain of fluff.
* * *
Time dissolves into a blur of folding, fluffing, and arranging. I work like a woman possessed, driven by an instinct older than words. The base needs to be sturdy, the sides secure, the center perfect .
I tear open pillowcases and scatter the plush cushions throughout.
Cashmere blankets are folded and refolded for the perfect foundation.
The velvet bolts become luxurious walls, while faux fur throws add texture and warmth to the outer edges.
Silk scarves and fabrics are woven through the structure like ribbons, and throughout it all, I incorporate their shirts; creating an intricate tapestry of soft materials and their combined scents. My alphas.
The nest grows, taking over the huge room's corner, a soft, inviting cocoon large enough for four but built for intimacy. It’s…
perfect. I sit back, admiring my handiwork, when another heat wave crashes through me, stronger, sharper.
It steals my breath, making me clench my thighs together.
The silk robe is suddenly unbearably hot. I tear it off, a whimper escaping me.
"Alpha," I pant, the word tasting new but right. " Need alpha."
My trembling fingers find the bell. I ring it, a frantic jingle. At the same time, an uncontrollable, high, keening whine escapes my lips. It's the omega's call, pure distress, pure need.
The reaction is instantaneous. Footsteps. Three distinct sets, pounding down the hallway like they’re running the Pamplona Bull Run, and I’m the finish line.
A loud knock. "Elena? Princess? Are you alright?" James's voice, breathless and urgent. Looks like he's the first one to arrive.
James.
"James?" My voice is a ragged whisper. "You can… come in."
The door bursts open. He’s there, filling the doorway, eyes wide, scanning until they land on me: naked, flushed, surrounded by my…
creation . Concern wars with a dawning, possessive heat in his gaze.
Dorian and Cole appear behind him moments later, their expressions equally intense, scents flaring as they take in the scene.
Together, they form a wall of protective, hungry alpha energy.
"What do you need, princess?" James asks, his voice rougher now.
The sight of him, ready to charge to my rescue, flashes with the memory of him at the festival, risking everything for me . Lust, sharp and sudden, jolts through me.
"James," I breathe. I push myself up, slick already pearling on my inner thighs. "I need you , James. I need your knot." The words tumble out, bold and desperate. "It's been… too long. Since the spa… the shower…"
His eyes darken to sapphire, a feral intensity flaring.
A low growl rumbles in his chest. Dorian and Cole exchange a quick, loaded glance.
It’s not disappointment, it’s… understanding.
A silent acknowledgement. Cole gives a subtle nod toward James, while Dorian steps back slightly, his expression unreadable but conveying a sense of…
guardianship . They won’t leave, not really.
They’ll wait outside. Guard the nest. Let James have this first answer to my call.
James doesn't hesitate. He crosses the room in two strides, his gaze locked on mine. He lifts me easily, my skin igniting. He carries me the few feet to the nest, laying me gently on the blankets in its center. The combined scents of my alphas in the nest are dizzying, pure bliss.
"Are you sure, Elena?" he whispers, cupping my flushed cheek. "Me? Now?"
I nod, pulling his head down. Our kiss is fire, desperation, and a deep, soul-shattering need. The world fades. His hands find my breasts, kneading, while my hips grind against his rock-solid cock through his pants.
Instinct takes over. I position myself on my hands and knees, presenting. He sheds his clothes, his scent intensifying, darker, muskier. His hands grip my hips as he presses against my wet folds.
"James…" I whimper, clawing at the blankets. My heat is starting, and only his knot can begin to soothe it.
He enters slowly, thick and heavy, stretching me with a delicious burn that’s half pain, half ecstasy. I cry out, pushing back, urging him deeper.
“Fuck, Elena,” he groans, each thrust deliberate, filling me completely.
The knot at the base of his cock swells, catching at my entrance, and I moan, the sensation overwhelming.
We find a rhythm, frantic and desperate, my hips meeting his, our bodies damp with sweat.
His hands roam, one cupping my breast, the other gripping my hip, anchoring me as he drives deeper.
The world narrows to the delicious stretch of his knot against my walls, the intoxicating scent of our combined arousal, the way his breathing grows ragged against my neck.
I can feel myself getting wetter, slicker, my body opening for him completely as the heat demands more.
He shifts slightly, hitting that perfect spot inside me that makes stars explode behind my eyelids.
I arch beneath him with a broken cry. "Right there," I gasp, my nails digging into his forearms. "Please, don't stop.
" His responding growl vibrates through his chest as he maintains that angle, that perfect rhythm that has me climbing higher and higher.
The pressure builds, my heat coiling tighter and tighter until it snaps, my orgasm crashing through me like a tidal wave. Slick gushes as my walls pulse around his knot, clenching him tighter inside me. The release is sharp, shattering, leaving me trembling. Sated but still hungry.
“James,” I pant, glancing back at him. His face is tight with need, and I feel his knot almost fully swollen. “Now.”
“You want me to finish, sweetheart?” he says, grinning.
"Do it James, I need—"
I don’t get the words out.
With a guttural groan, he thrusts deep one final time. His knot swells fully, sealing us together as he comes. The heat of his release floods me, and his body sinks over mine, heavy and solid, grounding me in the nest.
We stay like that, tangled and breathless. His cock pulses inside me, and I whimper, the aftershocks of my orgasm mingling with all his fullness.
As our breathing slows, he rolls me on the side, his arms coming around me, holding me close. His touch is gentle, caressing me with a tenderness that nearly undoes me all over again.