Chapter 39 Stefan
Chapter thirty-nine
Stefan
I step back into the bedroom and Ashton's scent washes over me like a physical force, making me immediately hard.
The sweetness has intensified to almost unbearable levels, faded lavender and rain-soaked stone now mixed with something that screams pre-heat.
My cock strains against my jeans, the pressure bordering on painful.
The fabric pulls tight across my erection, making every movement uncomfortable.
A growl tears from my throat before I can stop it, the sound primal and possessive.
It's not something I've ever done before, never had an Omega affect me enough to trigger that kind of response.
Working for Charles meant maintaining rigid control, never allowing biological impulses to override professional judgment.
But Ashton destroys that control without even trying.
I look up and freeze at the sight before me, my brain struggling to process what I'm seeing even as my body responds with devastating intensity.
Ashton is face down on the bed, completely naked, his ass up in the air in a position of pure offering.
His face is buried in the pillow that I've been using, the one that probably reeks of my scent after I slept on it last night.
His hips rock in desperate rhythm as he roughly pumps two fingers inside himself, the movements uncoordinated and clearly not providing the relief he needs.
Slick pours down the inside of his thighs, coating his pale skin and soaking into the sheets beneath him.
The evidence of his arousal is everywhere—on the bed, on his legs, probably on his hands from where he's been trying to bring himself relief.
The sight is obscene, beautiful, absolutely devastating to whatever control I thought I had left.
Muffled whines escape from where his face is pressed into the pillow, desperate sounds that make every Alpha instinct I have roar to life.
They're not the controlled sounds of pleasure but the unrestrained vocalizations of someone past the point of caring about dignity or restraint.
Someone who needs relief so badly that nothing else matters.
My hands clench into fists at my sides, my whole body going rigid as I fight the urge to cross the room and take what's being offered.
Years of training scream at me to maintain distance, to not take advantage of an Omega in distress.
But stronger instincts, older ones, demand I provide what he needs.
I let out another growl, deeper this time, vibrating through my chest. Ashton's head snaps up at the sound, his eyes glazed and desperate as they find mine.
His pupils are blown wide, nearly swallowing the pale color of his irises.
Sweat plasters his hair to his forehead, his cheeks flushed with fever.
"Fuck, please," he gasps, his voice wrecked and barely recognizable. "I wouldn't ask this of you but I can't—"
"Are you in heat?" I interrupt, needing to know what I'm dealing with.
If his heat has fully triggered, this becomes infinitely more complicated.
A full heat means days of constant attention, of knotting him repeatedly until his body is satisfied.
It means a level of commitment I'm not sure either of us is ready for.
Ashton shakes his head frantically, his fingers never stopping their movement. "No, fuck, this is embarrassing but I can't stop it..."
"What are you talking about?" I take a step closer despite my better judgment, my injured leg protesting the movement but I ignore it. The pain is background noise compared to the need pulling me forward.
"Both of your scents are here," Ashton explains, his words tumbling over each other in a rush.
"Yours and Solana's. And I need it, more of it.
I've taken three showers today trying to wash it off but it's just getting worse and I know I can't have her, okay?
I know that. She's yours and Dustin's and Kade's.
And I know we aren't staying here permanently.
And I know at some point I'm going back to my father because where else would I go—"
"You're never going back to him," I cut him off sharply, the words coming from somewhere deep and primal. I cross the room in three strides despite my injured leg, reaching the bed and gripping his chin roughly, forcing him to look at me. "You're mine, do you hear that? Mine."
The realization is startling even as the words leave my mouth, but they feel right in a way nothing else has in years.
I've been denying myself this, denying what I want, what I need, and it's been fucking with my head for months.
All the justifications about professionalism and duty and protecting him from myself.
.. they're all just excuses. Fear dressed up as responsibility.
I've been telling myself that keeping distance was the right thing to do, that maintaining professional boundaries was protecting Ashton from getting hurt.
But the truth is I was protecting myself.
From wanting something I didn't think I could have, from hoping for a future that seemed impossible given our circumstances.
Ashton just sags at the declaration, his whole body going limp with relief like I've removed some massive weight he's been carrying. "Fuck me, please. Please, I won't ask you for anything else again. Just this once, I need—"
I crash my lips against his, cutting off his desperate pleading.
The kiss is fierce, a claiming of sorts, my tongue pushing into his mouth and tasting him properly for the first time.
He tastes like salt and desperation and something uniquely him, something I want to drown in.
His lips are soft despite being chapped from fever, yielding immediately to the pressure of mine.
Ashton fumbles with my clothes, his hands shaking as he tries to work my shirt open.
His coordination is shot, fingers slipping on buttons and fabric.
I help him, popping buttons with more force than necessary and shoving fabric aside.
My pants get pushed down just enough to free my cock, no time or patience for getting fully undressed.
I'm still partially clothed, my shirt hanging open and exposing my chest, pants undone and pushed down to mid-thigh, cock jutting out hard and leaking.
The urgency of the moment doesn't allow for the niceties of fully undressing, of taking our time.
This is raw need, biological imperative that won't be denied any longer.
I climb onto the bed and position myself behind him, gripping his hips and pulling him back into position. His ass is still raised, presenting perfectly, and I can see how wet he is. Slick coats his entrance and inner thighs, his body preparing itself for exactly this.
Then I plunge right in, burying myself to the hilt in one brutal thrust that makes both of us cry out.
Ashton's whole body shudders as I fill him, his back arching and his fingers fisting in the sheets. "Yes, fuck, yes—"
He's so wet, so ready, his body opening for me like it was made for this.
The feeling is incredible, overwhelming, everything I've been denying myself for months condensed into this single moment.
The tight heat of him surrounds my cock, clenching and fluttering as his body adjusts to the intrusion.
I don't start slow, don't give him time to adjust beyond that first moment. I set a brutal pace immediately, taking what's mine and giving him what he needs. My fingers dig into his hips hard enough to bruise, holding him in place as I pound into him with abandon.
The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, mixing with our harsh breathing and the wet sounds of slick. Ashton's moans are constant now, no longer muffled by the pillow, just raw vocalizations of pleasure and relief.
Ashton reaches back blindly and drags me into another kiss, the angle awkward but he makes it work. Our mouths crash together, teeth clashing and tongues tangling in something that's more battle than kiss. It's messy and desperate and perfect.
The kiss breaks and I start working my way down his jaw, kissing and biting along the sensitive skin. He tastes like salt and heat, his pulse hammering beneath my lips. I move to his neck, that vulnerable stretch of skin that's calling to me like a siren song.
The urge to bite down and claim him permanently is overwhelming but I resist, just barely. It's too soon, too much, even in the midst of this claiming. A bite mark is permanent, irrevocable, and neither of us is thinking clearly enough to make that decision right now.
Instead I lick across his throat, tasting salt and Omega and something else underneath that makes my brain short-circuit.
Solana's scent. Faint but present, clinging to Ashton's skin from where they must have been in proximity earlier.
The vanilla and orchid mixing with his lavender creates something that makes my head spin and my cock pulse inside him.
This is so fucking wrong. Both of them, this attraction to two Omegas when only one should be mine to want. Solana belongs to Kade and Dustin, not me. I have no claim to her, no right to respond to her scent mixing with Ashton's like it's the most perfect combination I've ever encountered.
But then it hits me, what Kade said earlier... that Ashton's scent was fucking with his head. That this goes both ways. That whatever is happening here isn't one-sided, isn't just me losing control and wanting things I shouldn't.
The realization crashes over me with the force of a tsunami.
This new fucked up little pack forming isn't just Stefan and Ashton wanting things we shouldn't want.
It's also Kade, responding to Ashton's scent even while locked in the nest with his own Omega.
And no doubt Dustin, who's always been more open to unconventional pack structures than most Alphas.