Chapter 19
19
LILY
T he bath water envelops me like a warm embrace, steam rising in lazy tendrils around the vast marble tub. My muscles unwind as I sink in to my neck, letting the heat soothe away the day’s intensity. The bathroom is ridiculously big—and honestly, who needs a bath this size in their home? It’s practically made for several people to enjoy with its curved edges and multiple seating ledges. The spa jets pulse rhythmically, sending bubbles dancing across the surface, obscuring my body beneath.
I exhale. Today has been... a lot.
“Who even are you, Lily?” I mutter to myself, watching ripples form from my words.
The old Lily—the one who color-coded her recipe books and triple-checked her alarm—wouldn’t recognize this version of herself. That Lily had plans. A five-year business strategy. A carefully cultivated collection of vintage aprons that had never seen the business end of a flour explosion. That Lily would have never found herself in this position, caught among three Alphas like some twisted fairy tale.
This Lily? This Lily who has only ever had sex with one other guy just experienced her first Omega heat and handled it about as gracefully as a cat on roller skates.
My cheeks burn at the memory. The laundry room. Hunter. The way my body had simply taken control, leaving my rational mind in the dust.
I’m blaming biology, I decide, emerging with a splash. It’s not my fault I have faulty wiring that turns me into some sort of... desperate romance novel heroine. “Oh, Alpha, please knot me!” I mimic in a high-pitched voice, then gag dramatically. “God, I actually said that, didn’t I?”
Outside, night has fallen, casting the bathroom in eerie shadows. Only the underwater lights illuminate the space, giving everything a surreal blue glow. It matches my mood—suspended between reality and something darker, more primal.
I’d slept most of the day away after—well, after. When I woke, I found my room stocked with enough snacks to feed a small army. I’d devoured most of them before making my way here, carefully avoiding any potential Alpha encounters. The mere thought of facing them makes my stomach flip in a way that has nothing to do with the eight protein bars I inhaled.
“It’s perfectly normal,” I tell myself firmly, reaching for the control panel to increase the jet pressure. “Adults have... adult situations. In laundry rooms. While begging to be—” I cut myself off with a groan and slam the jet button harder than necessary.
When the jets kick in with renewed vigor, something shifts inside me. A pressure builds, familiar and urgent. I freeze, eyes wide, feeling the heat spreading through my lower abdomen.
You’ve got to be kidding me. I glance around the empty bathroom, half-expecting to find someone controlling my biological responses with a remote. Already? Seriously? What am I, some kind of Omega stereotype come to life?
That side apparently doesn’t understand the concept of recovery time. Or dignity. Or the fact that I have a bakery to run, bills to pay, and a life that doesn’t revolve around which Alpha I’m going to beg for attention next. The sensation intensifies, a deep ache flaring through my insides like a slow-burning fire.
On instinct, I shift positions, finding a seat on the ledge where one of the stronger jets streams directly between my thighs. The relief is immediate and intense, a counterpoint to the chaos in my mind. I grip the edge of the tub, knuckles whitening, a soft moan escaping my lips before I can stop it.
Self-service. Independent. Very girl-boss of me, really. Taking matters into my own hands. Literally.
The humor feels hollow. Is this my life now? Hiding in bathrooms, pleasuring myself to take the edge off? A shudder runs through me, equal parts revulsion and desire.
The water pulses against me in waves, and despite my inner turmoil, I lose myself in the sensation. My head falls back, wet hair clinging to my shoulders and back. Tension builds wonderfully as I chase the high that will quiet the insistent need, even if just for a little while. Everything narrows to the point of pleasure between my thighs, the outside world falling away as I climb higher, thoughts fragmenting into incoherence. The jet feels like fingers teasing me, and I’m here for it.
That’s it. Just a little more...
Breathing deeper, knuckles tighter, I rock my hips, getting that direct pulse right over my clit. Fuck yes! Almost instantly, I crest with a gasp that echoes off the tiled walls, my body arching as waves of pleasure crash through me. The momentary bliss drowns out everything else—the confusion, the fear, the uncertainty of what I’m becoming.
I’m floating, enjoying the bliss.
As the aftershocks ripple through me, I slowly open my eyes…
…and lock gazes with James standing in the doorway.
I yelp and dive under the water’s surface, emerging only enough to keep my head above the waterline. The bubbles from the jets provide minimal coverage, but it’s better than nothing. My heart hammers against my ribs, panic and humiliation fighting for dominance.
“Oh my God! What the actual fuck?!” I sputter, my response embarrassingly high-pitched. “Don’t you knock?!”
James leans against the doorframe, a slow smile spreading across his face. There’s something sinful in his eyes.
“Payback, little baker. Only fair you watched me, and now I watched you, though I seriously think I got the better deal here.” His gaze hasn't left mine, trapping me in their stormy depths. “You have any idea how fucking hot you are pleasuring yourself? How the scent of you is driving me insane right now?”
I want to evaporate. Literally disappear into the steam filling this room. Instead, he strolls in and pulls the door shut behind him with a click that sounds like a prison cell locking. He’s dressed casually in worn jeans that hang low on his hips and a loose t-shirt that does nothing to hide the broad expanse of his chest. His feet are bare on the tiles, making his approach eerily silent. The spa room suddenly feels much smaller, the air heavy with something unspoken.
“You should leave,” I say, but there’s no conviction in my voice. We both know it’s a lie.
I stay submerged, grateful for the churning water concealing me. My face must be roughly the color of the red velvet cake batter I was perfecting last month. Even now, with my dignity in tatters, my baker’s brain makes these inane comparisons.
“What do you want, James?” I manage.
He sits on the edge of the tub, letting his fingers trail through the water mere inches from where I’m huddled. “Did you know after your first knot you should take it easy. Let your pretty little pussy there cool off...” His tone drops to a rumble that I feel in my bones. “It will hurt less if you give it time.”
“Shut up,” I turn away from him, but another wave of discomfort rolls through me unexpectedly, stronger than before. I grasp the side of the tub to steady myself, a small whimper escaping before I can trap it behind my teeth. “I hate having no control. And I’m so embarrassed, I’m going to hide for eternity. I just gave myself to Hunter, begged him... God.” I clench my eyes shut, memories flooding back. “I’m like a bad pornographic cliché. Next thing you know, I’ll be calling him daddy or something equally horrifying.”
A dark chuckle escapes him. “I wouldn’t complain.”
“You wouldn’t,” I mutter.
“Oh, I know,” James says casually, his fingers creating small whirlpools in the water. “Archer and I heard you both in there.”
My stomach drops to somewhere around my ankles. “Shit!”
“Every. Single. Word.” He enunciates each syllable, his expression unreadable. “Every moan. Every plea. Everything.”
“Kill me now.” I sink lower into the water, wishing it would close over my head permanently.
“I can’t even be upset, though.” He runs a hand through his copper hair, the movement highlighting the tension in his shoulders. “I did put a hole in the wall in my bedroom, but I’m over that now.” His grin suggests otherwise—it’s all teeth and barely contained aggression.
I should be annoyed—maybe even afraid—but instead, a strange mix of guilt and something far more dangerous coils inside me. Arousal. The idea that I could affect him like this, stir up that kind of raw emotion... it shouldn't excite me. But my skin tingles beneath the water, heat pooling low in my belly.
God, what’s wrong with me?
“Sure, you are,” I mutter. “That’s why you’re here, intimidating a naked woman in a bathtub. Very well-adjusted.”
“I know you needed him,” he admits with surprising sincerity, ignoring my barb. His expression softens momentarily, giving me a glimpse of vulnerability beneath the Alpha posturing. “And I’m here for you when you’re ready again.”
The ache pulses inside me, as if responding to his words, my treacherous body betraying me yet again.
“At this stage, I feel ready now, but I’m sensitive... you know... down there.” I want to die as the words leave my mouth. Apparently, Omega biology also steals your ability to be articulate.
“What you need is an Alpha’s touch,” he says lowly. “Our soothing presence. Our scent. Our hands.” His eyes darken. “Our mouths.”
A delicious shiver runs through me at his promise. “Is that what they taught you in pastry school? Alpha wellness techniques? Between éclair piping and soufflé timing?”
He smirks at my attempt at deflection. “You’re cute when you’re defensive. I never went to pastry school; I’m self-taught.”
“And you’re annoying when you’re... breathing,” I retort lamely.
“You can do better than that, little baker.”
“What are you offering, exactly?” I eye him skeptically, trying to regain some control over the situation. “Because if this is some kind of pity party, I’m not interested.”
“Pity?” His laugh holds no humor. “Trust me, pity is the last thing on my mind right now.”
Without answering further, James stands and reaches for the button of his jeans. My eyes go wide as saucers, a protest forming on my lips that never makes it out. He’s wearing boxers underneath as he slips the denim down his legs, but that’s hardly reassuring when even those leave little to the imagination. He pulls his t-shirt over his head in one fluid motion, and my mouth goes embarrassingly dry.
James is a walking advertisement for whatever workout regimen they offer in prison. His shoulders are broad and defined, muscles shifting under skin that bears the marks of his history—a few scars here and there only add to the dangerous appeal. His chest tapers down to a narrow waist, with abs that look like they were carved from marble, ridged and firm. A trail of copper hair disappears beneath the waistband of his boxers, drawing my eye to the obvious—and intimidating—bulge against the fabric.
The muscles of his thighs flex as he moves, powerful and predatory, and I can’t help but notice the V-cut of his hip muscles pointing like an arrow to what lies beneath those boxers. Despite my best efforts, my imagination fills in the blanks, remembering what I’d glimpsed that day I caught him in the shower.
A small scar traces his jawline, barely visible against his stubbled skin. Another scar, this one larger, cuts across his right side—a story he hasn’t shared. The burn mark on his left forearm—a badge from his first cooking job—stands out against his tanned skin. It’s oddly intimate, seeing these imperfections on his otherwise perfect form.
“Like what you see?” His words break through my admiration, amusement and heat mingling in his tone.
“I’ve seen better,” I lie, averting my eyes. “Much better.”
“Liar,” he says simply, legs dangling in the water, and spreads them slightly. “Come sit on the ledge in front of me,” he says softly. The command is softened, but still a command.
I hesitate, uncertainty warring with curiosity. My body wants to obey instantly, while my brain wants to tell him to go to hell.
“I’m not going to bite,” he adds, then smirks. “Unless you ask nicely.”
“Your charm knows no bounds,” I say dryly, but I wade through the water until I’m positioned in front of him, my back to his front. I’m still submerged to my shoulders while he sits above me on the edge. The position feels vulnerable, exposed, despite the water covering me. “So, what now? You want to braid my hair and talk about boys we like?”
James pushes my wet hair to one side, exposing my neck. His fingers brush my skin, and electricity zips down my back, settling inside me like a live wire. I suppress a shudder, but not well enough.
“Jumpy?” he asks.
“Like you wouldn’t be if you were naked in a tub with a strange man looming over you,” I retort.
“Strange?” He sounds offended. “We’ve known each other for too long to be that. I’d say we’re practically family at this point.”
“That’s disturbing on multiple levels,” I mutter.
His hands land on my shoulders, and I tense before realizing he’s beginning to massage me. His thumbs press into the knots at the base of my neck, working in slow circles that send waves of relief through my body. It’s not what I expected—it’s better and somehow worse because there’s an intimacy to it that seems more dangerous than straight lust.
“Oh,” I breathe, surprised by how good it feels. His hands are strong but gentle. He works methodically, finding each point of tension and dissolving it with practiced movements.
“Better?” he murmurs, his breath warm against my ear.
I nod, not trusting my voice. The constant ache that’s been my companion since my heat began is finally, blessedly receding under his touch, though a different kind of tension is building to replace it.
“You carry a lot of stress here,” he says, working a particularly stubborn knot between my shoulder blades. “Business troubles? Or just the weight of being an independent woman in a world that wants to put you in a box?”
The insight surprises me. “Bit of both,” I admit. “Plus, the existential terror of suddenly discovering I’m an Omega and having my entire identity thrown into question. You know, the usual Tuesday stuff.”
His laugh is unexpectedly warm, vibrating through both of us. “You’re handling it better than most would.”
“Am I?”
His hands pause their magical work, resting heavily on my shoulders. “There’s nothing wrong with needing someone, Lily. Even for someone as fiercely independent as you.”
Something in his tone makes me want to cry, a kindness I wasn’t prepared for. I blink rapidly, grateful he can’t see my face.
“So,” I say when I can form words again, desperate to change the subject. “Tell me more about what you’re planning on doing with your life now that you’re out of prison. You never really mentioned it before.”
His hands pause briefly before resuming their rhythm.
“I had plans to start my own business, working with Archer and running the fulfillment part of the operation.” His thumbs trace the line of my spine, sending shivers cascading outward. “I need something that will keep me out of trouble.”
“And will it?” I ask.
I sense rather than see his smile. “Probably not, but I’m making an effort. After eighteen months in a cell, you start to appreciate the little things. Freedom. Good coffee. The ability to take a shower without twenty other guys watching.”
“Must have been rough,” I say, surprised by my own sincerity. “Being framed by family, no less.”
His hands tighten imperceptibly. “Family’s complicated.”
“Tell me about it,” I sigh. “My sister Hannah thinks I’ve lost my mind, focusing on the bakery instead of finishing culinary school. Dad’s supportive but worried I’m working myself to death. And now this whole heat thing... it’s like the universe decided my life wasn’t complicated enough already.”
“The universe has a sick sense of humor,” James agrees. His hands move lower, working the tense muscles of my mid-back. “But sometimes, its curveballs turn out to be exactly what we needed, even if we don’t recognize it at first.”
“Very philosophical for a guy who probably has No Regrets tattooed somewhere unmentionable,” I quip.
“Nope,” he murmurs with a grin.
“So, who do you live with now?” I ask, trying to keep my tone steady as his hands work magic on my tense muscles, changing the subject before I say something I’ll regret.
“Alone,” he says. “A street away from Archer, really.” He laughs, a warm sound that vibrates through his chest into my back. “We’d planned one day to just get a mansion for all three of us to live together. Maybe an Omega, too.”
I turn slightly to look at him over my shoulder, eyebrow raised.
“No, you didn’t,” I say teasingly. “That sounds like the setup for a very questionable reality show. Three Alphas and an Omega. Tuesday nights on cable.”
“You don’t know that,” he counters, his eyes dancing with mischief. “I’m definitely thinking that now. Wouldn’t that be convenient? All of us under one roof.”
“Yeah, right,” I roll my eyes. “Well, I’m not yours, really. And you’re all three not mine. Just three guys who are helping me out... even if I’m super embarrassed about it.” I pause, chewing my lip. “I don’t know what I am anymore,” I admit, the confession slipping out before I can stop it. “I had everything figured out, you know? And now...”
James continues massaging my shoulders, his touch somehow both soothing and electrifying. Then, suddenly, he stops. “Hold on,” he says, standing up. He walks to the shower stall across the room, the muscles in his back shifting with each movement. He returns with a bottle of shampoo.
“What’re you doing?”
“You’ll see,” he says, resuming his position behind me. He cups water in his hands and pours it over my hair, wetting it thoroughly. Then he squeezes a generous amount of shampoo into his palm and begins working it into my scalp.
I should protest. I should tell him this is weird and unnecessary and crossing about seventeen boundaries. Instead, I let my eyes flutter closed as his fingers work through my curls, massaging my scalp with firm, circular motions.
“You’ve done this before,” I murmur, half-accusation, half-question.
“I’ve had practice,” he admits. “My mother was sick for a long time before she died.”
The admission is so unexpected, so intimate, I’m momentarily speechless. I wouldn’t have pegged James as a dutiful son tending to his ailing mother. It adds another layer to the enigma he presents.
“I’m sorry,” I say quietly. “About your mom.”
“It was a long time ago,” he says, but the gentle way his fingers move tells a different story. It feels... pure somehow. Beautiful. As though he’s caring for me in a way that goes beyond the primal dynamic that’s been driving our interactions.
“So, this means you forgive me?” he asks quietly, his fingers never stopping their gentle movements.
“Not sure yet,” I say honestly. “You were kind of an ass.”
“I was,” he acknowledges.
He guides me to dip my head back, rinsing the suds from my hair. When I emerge, blinking water from my eyes, I realize he’s turned off the jets. The water stills around us, suddenly crystal clear. I feel exposed in a way I hadn’t before, every curve and freckle visible beneath the surface.
“I want to see you,” he says softly. “You’re so beautiful, I can’t get enough. I don’t want anything hiding you.”
His words do something to me, awakening a confidence I didn’t know I possessed even as alarm bells ring in the back of my mind. This is dangerous territory. James is dangerous—all hard edges, dark past, and Alpha intensity. He’s not safe. None of this is.
The considerable bulge in his boxers strains against the fabric, and something switches inside me. My body responds instantly to the visual evidence of his desire, a slow heat building. I find myself preening at having caused such a reaction, even as the rational part of my brain screams caution.
“You know what will happen if you stay,” he says, not a question. “There’s no going back from this.”
“I know.” And I do. This isn’t just about physical relief anymore. It’s about crossing a line, making a choice that can’t be unmade.
I move closer to him, a smile playing at the corners of my lips as I kneel in the water before him. The position should feel submissive, but somehow, I’ve never felt more powerful. His eyes darken as he watches me, pupils dilating until only a thin ring of gray remains.
“You know what?” I say, resting my hands on his thighs, feeling the muscles tense. “I think I might be ready for that Alpha touch after all.”
Yet, a shadow of doubt crosses my mind. What am I doing? Who am I becoming? And when this is all over, will there be anything left of the Lily I used to be?