Chapter 39
Hudson
Iswear I’ve rolled over for the fiftieth time since lying down for bed. I’m not even sure if that can be considered an exaggeration.
I cannot get comfortable.
I’ve slept alone for a week now and it hasn’t gotten any easier.
I don’t understand. The only difference so far is not having my sheets drenched in alpha scents and pheromones. Not like I saw them when they got home or before they left for work.
Yet every cell in my body feels as though it’s trying to rebel against my brain. Or my heart.
Maybe both.
I’m sure a big part of why I feel so out of sorts is the pregnancy hormones. Perhaps I should have done more research before agreeing to all this…shit.
I huff out a sigh and roll onto my back, staring up at the ceiling as those stupid tears burn the backs of my eyes again. I have cried more in the past week than I have in months. Maybe longer.
It’s only been a week and I have months to go before this child is born and I can pretend this past year never happened. I can…
What? Return to meaningless sex? Go back to waiting for packs to pay me for a chance to fulfill their fantasies?
If I had my GED I could go back to school, start taking some college classes. Maybe even attend one of those trade schools and become a barber or even something cooler like an electrician.
Except I left school my sophomore year when I was thrown out of my family home.
Why does everything suddenly feel so hopeless after living on my own for the past six years? I’ve done fine. I have a beautiful apartment in a secure building. I have a great group of friends.
I snort at my own thoughts. I have a great friend. The others are merely people to bar hop with, to attend concerts, get drunk and dance at clubs until the sun rises. Not once has a single one of them invited me over for dinner or included me in their family holidays.
Only Ella.
So yeah…I have one real friend. But she’s family. She’s my sister. I should count myself as blessed.
And I do. I really do. I know my life could be so different, especially when I was a teenager on the streets alone. I could have been trafficked. I could have been bonded against my will and tied to some abusive assholes.
It’s just… now that I’ve seen how a home with a pack can be, I feel as though my life is lacking somehow. Even with the little bean growing in my belly, I feel hollow.
Probably because it’s not mine.
Okay, yeah, technically it is. Obviously. I mean, it has half my DNA.
But I’m not sure I can spend time with a son or daughter who looks like one of the men who now owns my heart. Not only that, but they could be there. I’ll have to smile and pretend as though they didn’t completely shatter me.
A frustrated groan leaves my mouth. I feel as though every thought in my head lately has either been selfish or needy as hell.
I’m not needy.
I mean, I am an omega. I have needs. I need touch. I need knots. I need pheromones.
But since the day I walked through the home of Pack Anders, my entire being feels as though it’s changed.
Is that a thing? Can my molecular makeup be altered simply by finding my soul mates?
Because, whether I ever admit it to another living person, those three men are meant to be mine. I’m meant to be their omega. I’m meant to wear their bites on my skin.
The house phone rings, and I swear I jump at least a foot off my mattress. I was so lost in my thoughts I was finally starting to inch into that weird in between state of sleep and awake.
Not anymore. Now I’m wide fucking awake.
Throwing off the duvet, I shuffle to the phone that connects to the front desk and put it to my ear. “Yeah?”
“There is a gentleman in the lobby asking to be let up, sir,” the doorman says.
My brows pinch together. A gentleman? Desmond coming to once again beg me to come home?
“Let him up,” I say, and hope I don’t regret it.
Grabbing a t-shirt from the top of the pile of clothes in the hamper, I pull it over my head and pad barefoot to the front door, lifting onto my toes a little so I can watch through the peephole.
I should have asked who it was. This could very well be an alpha I fucked in the past thinking he could simply show up for a booty call. Not that any of them have ever done that but there’s always a first for everything.
Now my nerves are on edge. I can always call downstairs if it’s someone I don’t want to see. They can send security up to escort the visitor out of the building.
A few moments later, the elevator dings and I wait, watching through the hole as I struggle to keep the nervous whine from leaving my lips.
The moment dark blond hair and hazel eyes come into view, I release that whine, twisting all the locks out of place and ripping the door open before my brain can catch up to the rest of my body.
Alex doesn’t say a word, simply charges forward. I throw my arms around his neck the moment he’s close enough as he bends and slams his mouth over mine.
His arms wrap around my back, and he walks me into my apartment, kicking the door shut without breaking from the kiss.
This is wrong. Right? There’s this teeny, tiny voice in the back of my head that warns I’m merely setting myself up for more heartache.
But he smells so good. A satisfied purr rumbles from his chest when he lifts me, and I instantly wrap my legs around him. His pheromones are pulsing from him and practically wrapping around me like a cocoon.
His tongue pushes past the seam of my lips, turning the kiss frantic, desperate, hungry. It feels as though he’s pushing every emotion into the kiss.
Not necessary. I can feel him in every beat of my heart, feel him in the pulsing mark on my lip. Each caress against that scar sends a fresh wave of desire coursing through me until my dick is rock hard and I’m sure my boxers are soaked with slick.
Unlike with Des, I don’t break from the kiss to tell him to take me to bed.
Also unlike Des, Alex didn’t wait for my permission to kiss me, didn’t wait for me to close the distance.
Then again, there had been no moment of hesitation. We’d crashed together like magnets pulled apart for too long, like we’re tethered, and that rubber had been stretched to its limits.
My hair fans around me as he drops to his knees, the sound barely making it to my hormone addled brain, then he’s lowering me onto the area rug of my living room.
His hands are frantic when he finally breaks the kiss and begins pulling at my clothes until I’m naked.
Yet he’s still dressed. I want to see him. Touch him. Taste him.
“Naked. Now. Please,” I say when he moves to lower on top of me.
The sexiest smirk pulls up one side of his mouth as he grabs his hoodie and yanks it over his head. He’s not wearing a shirt underneath. His pants are next.
I finally take a second to note his hair is damp and looks finger combed, and he looks as though he dressed in a rush, all the way to the suede house shoes on his feet. If I weren’t seconds from combusting, I might actually laugh at all that.
And I still might later.
Right now, all it means is there is way too much of a barrier between us.
Finally naked, he lunges for me again, his hand going to my cock and holding it so he can wrap his lips around it.
I drop my head back as a moan tears from my lips. The man is beyond talented with his mouth. The way he sucks the tip and runs his tongue along the underside has my toes curling.
“I want to touch you,” I say, lifting my head to watch as his bobs and his mouth devours me.
A sound I’m pretty sure I’ve never made echoes in the space when he moves so quickly I barely have time to register that he’s rolled us so he’s on his back and I’m now straddling his face in a sixty-nine.
His thick cock is right there, weeping from the tip. His knot is swollen and a deep, angry red.
Honestly, I’m not sure what I want to focus on first.
Bullshit. I want to taste the precum rolling down the flared head of his cock.
I lap at it before it can drip onto his abs and hum as the taste of sweet smoke explodes on my tongue.
Lowering my head, I open my mouth wide and slowly take him deep until he hits the back of my throat and I gag. Doesn’t stop me. Nothing can stop me from soaking up his pheromones and swallowing down every drop of his cum.
I need it. I need it like I need my next breath.
I don’t understand it, and maybe I should have done more research on pregnancy, but it literally feels as though my body is craving everything about this alpha, as though him merely being here has made me feel…better. Healthier.
More stable.
“Fuck. Hudson,” he moans as I start a fast rhythm, taking him as deeply as I physically can while I lower my hand to fondle his balls and squeeze his knot.
Then his mouth is closing over my cock again.
I’m sure my slick is drenching him, but he doesn’t seem to mind, and I can’t find it in me to care.
A finger probes at my ass as he continues sucking me, blowing me, lapping at the slit of my cock before taking me deep into his throat again.
A second finger is added to the first and he begins to thrust into me. It almost feels as though I’m being fucked by two of my alphas and fuck do I want that again.
Every day for the rest of my life.
A whine swells in my chest. I have to stop. I cannot think about that shit, not now.
Not ever.
Mason made it plain as day he doesn’t want another member of the pack, and he doesn’t want me as their omega.
For now, though, I have Alex. Every moment, every touch feels so natural.
It also makes me crave more.
Alex’s finger bends inside me and he rubs something deep in my inner channel that sends an orgasm crashing over me and sweeping me under like a tidal wave.
I pull my mouth from Alex as I cry out and my dick jerks over and over as my alpha continues to bob his head, drinking down every drop I feed him.
My release seems to stretch on and on as he continues working me with his fingers and his mouth until I’m trembling and can barely hold myself up.
But I’m not done. I’m not done with Alex. I’m not done tasting him and need to soak up as much of his pheromones as possible before I go days or even weeks without seeing one of them again.