Chapter 25
Hudson
My phone is still clutched in my hand, but no other texts have come through.
They’re coming home. They’re coming home early. For me.
My omega instincts preen, and I sprint through the house, stripping out of my clothes as soon as I hit my room.
I need to shower. I need to wash the smell of chlorine from my hair.
And I need to make sure they can scent me without any interference, whether scented body wash, cleaning products, or even the hints from the staff who work in and outside of the house.
Not sure what I’m expecting, but even a puppy pile would do at this point. If I was at home, I would have called someone over by now. I’d have begged Ella to spend the night so I could spoon her, give my impulses what they need to keep my instincts from unraveling.
Pretty sure I’ve been unsettled for a while. First with waking from my heat to discover one of the alphas marked and bonded me to being alone for nearly two weeks while wondering whether or not we were successful in creating a child.
I want that so badly for them, to see them holding a tiny bundle that’s half them, half me.
But I’ve realized I want that for myself just as badly.
And it’s not only the child I want.
Maybe it’s the bond. Maybe it’s instinct. Maybe I simply recognize that they’re good men. Either way... I’m dreading the day I walk out of this house and return to my old life.
I’ve been single for years. Have rejected any and every offer from alphas and packs to become their omega.
And isn’t it funny the first time I’m interested, the alphas aren’t?
They even checked whether they could dissolve the bond before discovering if I was pregnant.
They’re planning for exits, not futures.
They want to break the bond.
Tears prick my eyes as I scrub at my skin, forgoing the scent dampeners, but I fight them. I knew this was temporary.
No matter how badly my heart hurts, I have to remind myself over and over I knew exactly what I was getting into, I read their words, memorized them, knew stepping through the door of this house that I would someday be walking right back out.
I have at least a year before that day comes.
Even if I’m pregnant right now, it’ll be nine to ten months before the child is born.
And I can’t foresee these incredible alphas demanding I leave immediately after giving birth.
Especially when they promised to take care of me even after giving them a child.
Clean and fresh, I drag the towel over my skin, then brush out my hair. I’m not going to bother drying it. I’m not sure how long it’ll be before the alphas walk through the door and I want this to appear natural, not like I’m trying.
Which, of course, I am. I’m desperately trying.
And really, really trying to get laid.
We haven’t even fucked since my heat. Two damn weeks without sex. I’ve jerked off so many times my hand and I have become intimately acquainted.
If nothing else, I’m going to ask if they’ll at least start sleeping with me in the pack bed. Sleeping surrounded by alpha pheromones will keep me settled and prevent my emotions from spiraling out of control.
As I rummage through a drawer in search of a silky pair of boxers that scream effortlessly hot, I hear the garage door rumbling up.
Shit. I don’t want to appear desperate.
Grabbing a pair of black silk boxers, I yank them up my legs as I hop one legged across the room, through the door, and plop down on the couch in the living area.
I don’t fully choose something to watch, simply aim the remote and hit play, stretching out on the couch and posing while trying my best to look like I’m not posing.
I’m a fucking mess.
But hey…it’s not completely my fault. Or really my fault at all. Biology and all that bullshit.
Damn. I need to start working on cleaning up my language if I’m going to be bringing a tiny life into the world. Pretty sure the alphas wouldn’t appreciate their son or daughter walking around cursing.
The alphas might want to get their bedroom soundproofed, then. Because from what I can remember, Mason has a filthy mouth when it comes to fucking.
Eyes glued to the TV without actually seeing it, I listen as the alarm is disarmed then rearmed, listen as their deep voices rumble as they move through the house.
Then listen as they pass my room and head to their own.
A whine swells in my chest and I nearly choke as I swallow it down.
They could be heading to their rooms to shower or even simply change out of their suits.
I need to see that as considerate since they’ll be carrying the scents of their employees and clients.
If any of the individuals they came into contact with today were omegas, it could really set my instincts off.
Throwing an arm over my head, I prop up one knee, showcasing my thighs and chest while my damp hair soaks the pillow below me. Still going for the whole non-posing pose thing.
Doors close. The distant hum of showers makes it through my open door.
Then finally, steps move closer to my room.
Alex is the first one through, a smile stretching into a warm grin when he spots me.
I try so hard to remain cool and unaffected, but the man is wearing nothing but a pair of grey sweatpants and the outline of his cock draws my attention straight to his crotch the same time slick coats my boxers.
Well, shit. Probably should have chosen a different pair. Because now, I’m going to have a wet butt and end up soaking the couch, as well.
Pretty sure the alphas considered everything when furnishing this room, so I’m sure the fabric is waterproof for scenarios such as this.
“Hey,” he says as he crosses the room.
I sit up to make room for him and smile back. “Hey.” I’m so glad you’re here. I missed you. I need snuggles. I need to be touched.
Why the hell don’t I simply say all that to him?
Because I don’t want to come off as needy or to make them think I believe the mark on my shoulder was anything other than a rut induced mistake.
And I wish they didn’t think of it as a mistake.
The moment Alex lowers onto the cushion beside me, he grabs my legs and stretches them across his lap, his hands working the muscles in my calves, down to my feet, then back up again.
A contented sigh leaves my lips before I can even consider holding it back.
Why would I? This feels amazing. Not just the way his hands expertly work the tightness of my muscles, but his touch, his scent, his pheromones lifting on the air and seeping into my pores and being sucked into my lungs with each inhale.
“What are you watching?” he asks, darting a glance at the TV before looking back at me with a wry smile.
It’s then I realize the TV is playing a documentary on poly sex clubs. Whoops.
I really hadn’t paid attention. I just lifted the remote, pointed, and clicked.
“I wasn’t really paying attention. I, uh, was playing on my phone.”
“Mmhm,” he says, his hands slowly moving further up my leg, still squeezing and kneading the muscles even as he moved to my thigh. “And while you were playing with your phone, you just happened to land on a sex show?”
His voice is way too deep and sultry. I mean, not in a bad way. It’s seriously affecting my ability to focus on his words instead of the way his hands feel on me or the way my cock is growing harder by the second.
With a sexy as sin quirk to his lips, he turns his attention back to the show and goes from massaging my legs to running his fingertips along my shins, over my knee, up my inner thigh then back, causing goosebumps to rise along the path.
A shiver runs up my spine and my nipples instantly harden.
Listen, I am far from a prude. Even further from a virgin.
But something about this alpha – all three of them, really – makes my body react to the simplest touch. I’m seconds away from shoving my boxers to my ankles, rolling onto all fours right here on the couch, and presenting while begging him to leave a mark right beside Mason’s.
Shame and sorrow threaten to swallow me whole. I need to push those fantasies and urges away. It’ll do nothing but make them think they made a mistake by approaching me.
I might only have a year with them, but isn’t that better than walking away now? There’s a whole saying about this exact situation:
It’s better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all.
Though, as time passes and my feelings for these men grow from merely physical to something deeper, I’m starting to think that poet was either full of shit or never truly had his heart broken.