4. Chapter Four
Chapter Four
T ap. Tap. Tap.
Noah is standing at the breakfast bar when I wake and wander into the kitchen, tapping his foot impatiently while taking a sip of his coffee.
I can’t help but grin at the restraint he’s showing. It’s taking every ounce of control for him not to barge into the room we set Pumpkin up in last night and announce she’s our scent match before demanding she pack with us. I can feel his patience waning through our bond.
My pack mate, and first love, is far from the patient type.
“I’m going to wake her,” he declares as I embrace him from behind, placing a quick kiss on his shoulder. I’m not small by any measure, but Noah dwarves me. He’s a massive unit, in more ways than one.
“You absolutely will not. She’ll be out when she’s good and ready,” I mumble through a yawn, making a beeline for my second love—coffee. “Don’t you dare scare her off before we even know her name.”
“Who knows if she’s even still in there? Probably snuck out after you forced me to close the door.”
“You were acting like a creep, and you know it.” I say, filling my mug with coffee and creamer before moving to stand across from him at the bench. “You can’t just watch her sleep. One report of that and we’ll lose our safe haven registration.”
“Yeah, yeah. I know,” he grumbles. “I’m going to take a shower. If she wakes—”
“I’ll come get you right away, I swear. How about I make some waffles? Tempt her out.”
Noah snorts a laugh, the tension in his shoulders easing somewhat as he exits the room. This isn’t easy for him, not being in control of the situation. His alpha is dominant, wanting to take charge and plough ahead. But he also doesn’t want to scare away the omega.
It’s been a while since we discussed adding anyone to our pack, happy to wait for the right person to come along and just enjoy each other in the meantime. We weren’t actively searching for an omega, but the way this one smells… Even I’m having a hard time not breaking the door down to check on her.
Boundaries, Corey.
Pulling out everything I’ll need to make my signature waffles, I mix the batter, my thoughts never drifting far from the spicy omega in the other room.
Noah and I have been together since we met just over four years ago. I walked into his gym, new to town and not knowing a soul, unsure of what my next moves were, only that I wanted to make a difference—help those who are often overpowered and unable to help themselves.
It has always bothered me how omegas can be treated by other alphas. Their designations go to their heads, and somehow, they lose sight of the fact that omegas are people too. That they deserve to have their own lives and to make their own decisions about what they do and who they share their bodies with.
We’re moving in the right direction as a society, but there are still many who believe omegas should be treated like a possession and skirt around the protection and mistreatment laws put in place.
It’s why I do what I do. Noah and I hit it off and while he helped me build the strength and confidence I needed to pursue a role in security and omega protection, we also built the foundations of our pack. Something I’ll be forever grateful for.
With the batter ready, I move to our appliance cupboard and pull out the waffle maker, quickly plugging it in and letting it warm up. Greasing the plates, I add the batter and close the lid, clamping it shut and letting the first pair of waffles cook while I lean back against the counter, lost in thought.
A small thud sounds from down the hall, like the closing of a wardrobe door, and my heart beats faster in my chest. Is our little pumpkin waking? She must be grabbing some clean clothes. If that’s the case, she’ll be out any minute.
I push off the bench, turning towards the master bedroom in the opposite direction and taking long, forceful strides. I promised Noah I’d let him know the moment she woke, and it sounds like she’s up to me.
Knocking quickly on the bathroom door, I enter anyway, knowing he won’t hear me over the running water—he never does. I stop short at the sight before me, my cock instantly hardening and straining against the sweats I’d thrown on.
Noah’s eyes are closed, his head leaning back against the cool grey tiles of the shower stall, short dark hair wet and mussed. The steaming water cascades down his perfectly groomed chest, flowing in rivulets through the hard lines and ridges of his pecks and abs. The veins in his right arm are thick, engorged with exertion as he pumps the swollen length of his cock.
I watch as his mouth falls open with a groan, thick jets of cum shooting from the swollen purple tip, his smooth coffee scent engulfing the space.
Fuck, why is watching him so hot? I should be on my knees, licking up every damn drop of him, but watching this show is almost as satisfying as being a part of it.
He opens his deep brown eyes, and they land on me instantly. He grins sheepishly before shutting off the water and stepping toward me, wrapping a towel around his waist.
“Enjoy the show?”
“Would have preferred an invite.” It would have been nice to spend the morning rolling around in bed together, but we have bigger things to be concerned with. Noah can make it up to me later. A shiver of pleasure runs down my spine at the thought. “I heard Pumpkin moving around. I suspect she’ll be up any min—”
The shrill screech of the fire alarm interrupts me, my blood running ice cold as I realise I forgot the fucking waffles.
“Fuck,” I shout as I turn and sprint from the room. I can hear Noah behind me, cursing up a storm. How the fuck did I forget I put the waffles on? Too fucking distracted by the idea of properly meeting the pumpkin spice scented omega in the spare room and hot AF alpha beating himself off in the bathroom.
If there isn’t a chance our house is on fire, it might even be funny.
“Check on Pumpkin,” I shout over my shoulder to Noah as I slide into the kitchen. There’s enough smoke in the room to set the alarm off, but nothing is on fire. I quickly pull the plug from the socket before searching for an oven mitt. Clumsily, I unclasp the waffle iron and flip out the almost charcoal waffles.
“Corey,” Noah shouts from the down the hall, his growl all alpha. “You better have that shit under control because we’ve got another problem.”
Fuck, is Pumpkin okay?
Tossing the waffles in the sink, I turn the water on, hoping to douse the smoke. I leave it running as I race to join Noah, not even caring if the house floods in my haste to find out if our little omega is alright.
When I reach the room, Noah is by the open window, a fresh fall breeze quickly scattering the last of the omega’s pumpkin spice scent. Her costume is in a heap on the floor by the closet, but her boots are nowhere to be seen.
“She’s gone,” I breathe, my chest constricting. We know nothing about her, except for her scent and how bone deep it calls to us. How will we ever find her?
“Yeah, she’s gone,” Noah says, tossing something from one hand to the other before waving it in the air. It’s a mobile phone. “But maybe this is how we find her.”