12. The Pulsing Tension Of Jealousy #2
There’s a schedule, a destination, a facade to maintain, and beneath it all, the faint terror that if I let slip even an ounce of that need, it would devour me whole and leave nothing recognizable behind.
So I keep my hands to myself and pretend the world is all fences and sky, that the open road is enough to soothe the restless creature clawing at my insides.
I try not to think about the way Cole’s thumb is drawing figure-eights on my jeans, or how every nerve in my leg is screaming for more, or how if he told me to pull over and get in the back seat, I’d do it with zero hesitation and never look back.
I stare out the window, watching Montana roll by, and try to remember who I was before fire and Alphas and a baby who thinks I hung the moon.
Try to remember why independence mattered so much when surrender feels this sweet.
His thumb moves again at that moment, just barely, and I press my thighs together against the pulse of want between them.
Thank God for those expensive panties.
Thank goodness for Wendolyn's chatter.
Thank the Heavens for whatever self-control keeps me from doing something stupid like covering his hand with mine and guiding it higher.
The town limits come into view, salvation and disappointment in equal measure. Soon he'll have to remove his hand, shift gears, pretend this didn't happen.
Soon I'll have to pretend my body isn't screaming for more than careful touches and loaded looks.
Goodness, it would have been nice if we were home instead so I could take a cold shower to cool off this endless arousal…
But for now, I sit in the passenger seat of his truck, letting him hold me in place with nothing more than the weight of his palm, and pretend this is normal.
“Pretend”nI'm the kind of woman who deserves this careful attention.
Imagine that I'm not terrified of how much I want this…
Boss of Cactus Ranch.
The title sits strange on my tongue, but under his touch, I almost believe it could be true.
The loss of his hand feels like amputation.
Cole shifts into park outside the feed store, his fingers sliding away from my thigh with deliberate slowness that makes me want to whimper.
The absence of his touch leaves me bereft and aching, my body screaming protests I refuse to voice.
My cheeks burn with heat that has nothing to do with the October afternoon.
Everything between my legs throbs with insistent need, and I can feel the telltale slickness gathering despite my expensive underwear's best efforts.
My heart hammers against my ribs like a caged bird, and I know— I know —my arousal must be written across my face like neon signs.
"Well," Wendolyn announces brightly, already gathering her purse, "I need to use the ladies' room. This heat always makes my makeup run silly." She slides out of the truck with surprising grace, but not before shooting me a look over her shoulder— a knowing smirk that makes my stomach flip.
What does she see that I'm missing?
The truck door closes with a definitive click, leaving Cole and me alone in the suddenly suffocating cab.
I reach for my door handle, desperate for escape, for air , for distance from this Alpha who makes me forget every hard-learned lesson about self-preservation.
"Wait."
One word, soft but commanding, and my hand freezes on the handle.
Breathe Willa.
I don't turn to look at him.
Can't.
If I do, he'll see everything— the want, the fear, the pathetic eagerness of an Omega who should know better.
"Were you jealous?" His voice carries a note of curiosity, like he's working through a puzzle. "When Wendolyn talked about the horses?"
Heat floods my face, different from arousal but just as telling.
"No." The lie tastes copper-bitter on my tongue. "Why would I be jealous? She's nice. Helpful. Everything a good small town neighbor should be."
"Hmm." The sound rumbles from his chest, and then he's moving, leaning across the center console until I can feel the heat radiating from his body. "Look at me, Willa."
I could refuse.
Should refuse.
This is my truck—well, his truck, but I'm the boss, aren't I? I should maintain professional distance, keep boundaries clear, protect myself from wanting things I can't have.
Instead, I turn my head, meeting those storm-gray eyes with a defiance I don't quite feel.
He's closer than expected, close enough that I can see the flecks of blue hidden in the gray, close enough to count his eyelashes. His scent intensifies— pine and leather and pure Alpha musk that makes my inner Omega want to bare her throat in submission.
"You were jealous," he says, not a question this time. His breath ghosts across my cheek as he leans closer still, until his lips nearly brush my ear. "You know what I think?"
I remain perfectly still, caught between prey instinct and something hungrier.
My fingers dig into my thigh where his hand was moments ago, trying to hold onto control that's rapidly slipping away.
"I think," he whispers, his voice dropping to that register that liquifies my bones, "beneath this wallflower surface you're trying so hard to maintain, there's a fierce dominant Omega begging to come out and be seen in the world."
The words arrow straight through me, finding their target with unerring accuracy.
My breath catches, body trembling with the truth of it.
How does he see what I've tried so hard to hide?
The part of me that Blake tried to suppress, that my parents found embarrassing, that society insists doesn't exist?
His lips trail along the shell of my ear, not quite touching but close enough that I feel the heat of them.
"I hope you'll let that side come out and play more."
The wanting crashes over me like a wave, drowning rational thought.
My scent spikes despite the blocking underwear, arousal and need and something wild that's been caged too long.
I bite my lip hard enough to hurt, trying to ground myself, but the small pain only sharpens the edge of desire.
Cole pulls back just enough to see my face, and his eyes darken at whatever he finds there.
His gaze drops to my mouth, to where I'm still worrying my bottom lip between my teeth, and I watch him watch me with a hunger that matches my own.
The air between us crackles with possibility.
His hand rises, moving to cup my jaw, thumb hovering just over my abused lip.
I can see the moment he decides, the shift in his expression from careful to determined.
He leans in, closing the distance with inevitable slowness that makes my eyes flutter shut in anticipation ? —
His phone explodes with sound, shattering the moment like glass.
"Fuck." The curse is bitten off, sharp with frustration as he jerks back. I open my eyes to find him glaring at the screen with enough heat to melt circuits. "What?" he barks into the phone.
I can hear Austin's voice, tinny through the speaker, though not the words. Whatever he's saying makes Cole's expression darken further.
"Yes, we're getting the formula," Cole growls. "Yes, I have the list. No, I don't need you to—" He pauses, jaw clenching. "My voice sounds deep because it's my fucking voice, Austin. Christ."
I’m fighting hard not to smirk at that.
More tinny chatter from the other end. Cole's free hand clenches into a fist on his thigh.
"Tell Mavi he's a spying prick and to mind his own fucking business." He ends the call with perhaps more force than necessary, tossing the phone onto the dashboard like it personally offended him.
I can't help myself.
"What's wrong with Mavi?"
Cole's laugh is short and humorless.
"He's a psycho stalker of an over-analyst who loves to know what everyone is doing. Probably has this truck wired for sound." He glares at the roof like surveillance equipment might materialize.
The moment between us is thoroughly broken, but the want still simmers under my skin. Cole seems to feel it too, tension radiating from his frame as he collects himself. Finally, he opens his door with controlled movements.
"Come on," he says, circling around to my side. "Let's get this over with before Austin sends a search party."
He opens my door and offers his hand—palm up, patient, letting me choose.
I stare at it for a long moment, this simple gesture that feels weighted with meaning. His words echo in my mind: fierce dominant Omega begging to come out.
Maybe he's right. I've been hiding too long, letting fear and past failures dictate my choices. Maybe it's time to stop living in Blake's shadow, stop apologizing for existing, stop pretending I don't want things that scare me.
Moving forward…is scary…but it doesn’t take a way the crave to want something new? Someone new…
I place my hand in his, feeling the calluses from ranch work, the careful strength in how his fingers close around mine. It's just help getting out of a truck. It doesn't have to mean anything.
But as he steadies me onto the pavement, as his thumb brushes over my knuckles before letting go, I know I'm lying to myself. This means everything. This choice to reach out, to accept what's offered, to stop running from the possibility of something good.
"Ready?" he asks, and I know he's talking about more than shopping for baby formula.
"Yeah," I say, surprising myself by meaning it. "I'm ready."
The feed store awaits, normal life beckoning, but something fundamental has shifted.
I'm still scared, still uncertain, still carrying more baggage than any one person should.
But for the first time in years, I'm also curious about what comes next.
Cole's hand finds the small of my back, guiding me toward the store, and I let him.
Let myself lean into the touch just a little.
Dare allow myself to imagine what it might be like to stop fighting so hard against wanting this.
The fierce dominant Omega inside me stretches, testing her chains, and for once…I don't push her back down.