Chapter 32
Chapter Thirty-Two
O wen
I grip the steering wheel so tightly I’m surprised the thing doesn’t snap in my hands and glare out of the windscreen, attempting to block out the smell of Harper in the back seat, attempting to block out all the pleading, mewling sounds she’s making, and focus in on the road and the traffic. I’m already driving way above the speed limit, praying with everything I have that I’ve earned enough good karma – saving sick kids after all – that we won’t be stopped by any cops for speeding.
Maybe they’d understand if we were. Harper is begging to be fucked and it takes a hell of a lot of willpower not to swing the truck into the nearest rest area and start the rutting right there on the back seat.
But it wouldn’t be right. Harper needs a nest, or at least some resemblance of a nest.
“How exactly is this going to work?” I say, glancing towards the rear-view mirror and wishing I hadn’t.
Harper is laid out on the back seats and Wyatt is getting her off with his fingers, giving her the relief she so desperately craves. Not that it’s enough relief – she’ll need a knot for that.
“Has it really been that long since we slept with an omega?” Daxton snarks. “Do you need a reminder about the birds and the bees?”
I swear at him, calling him a few choice words. “No, dumbass, I mean about the nest?” We don’t actually have one back at our house, which, in hindsight, seems pretty stupid. We’d told ourselves we needed to wait and let our pack omega design a nest of her own, choose exactly what she wanted. That stupid decision has left us without a nest and an omega in heat. Not just any omega – Harper.
“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” Wyatt says, his fingers deep inside Harper’s pussy, his tongue caught between his teeth and his glasses all steamed up.
“We’re going to be crossing that bridge very damn soon,” I point out, swinging the truck into our driveway.
I bring the truck to a standstill, yank on the hand brake and snap off my belt, spinning around to watch Harper come again – this time on the end of Wyatt’s fingers.
Shit, I don’t think that sight could ever get old.
As she rides the last waves of pleasure, her body stills and she peers round at us, an almost shy smile forming on her lips.
“What?” she says.
“What?” I reply.
“Why are you all staring at me?”
“Because you look amazing when you come,” I say.
“Wanna make me come again in the nest?” she purrs and, hell yes, this was the bit I loved most about Harper. How much of a brat she could be.
Wyatt removes his glasses and starts to buff them. Daxton scratches the back of his head. Harper’s brow crinkles.
“What?”
“Harper, I’m sorry but–”
Her brow crinkles even more and the corners of her mouth turn downward, tears form in the edges of her eyes. “You don’t want to–”
“No, Harper! Fuck, no, we do – we really really do. It’s just …” I trail off feeling ashamed and foolish.
“We don’t have a nest,” Wyatt says, cutting through the crap.
Harper shuffles up on her elbows, her dress all ruffled up. “You don’t?”
All three of us shake our heads, probably looking like a bunch of school kids who just got caught playing truant.
“That’s okay, I can build one.” She scuttles up, flings the truck door open and then attempts to trot towards the house, although she’s swaying and stumbling all over the place. In a flash, all three of us are by her side, supporting her, guiding her.
“I need clothes,” she says. “Lots of clothes.”
“Huh?” I say.
“Your clothes, I need your clothes. Worn clothes,” she crinkles her nose, “nothing freshly laundered.”
“Yes, Ma’am.” I unlock the front door and we all usher her inside and up the staircase.
“And blankets and cushions and … soft toys.”
“Soft toys?” Daxton says, eyebrows raised.
“No judgment.” She waggles her finger at him. “I know about Mr. T-bear in your bedroom.”
“Have you been snooping in my bedroom?” Daxton asks.
“Old bedroom, yes,” she says simply, letting out a gasp as we open the room to the master bedroom.
Okay, it’s not a nest, but it was designed for pack life. In the center of the room is a giant bed – big enough for four or more. There’s a giant sofa at the other end of the room and a large TV hanging on the wall. On the opposite wall is a long closet – so big you can walk inside it.
Harper snatches her arms from our grasps and runs for the bed, diving head first into the covers. The three of us stalk towards her.
An omega in our bed. Harper in our bed. All my alpha instincts are blaring and my vision begins to blur around the edges. I’m close to rut.
Harper holds up her hand. “Clothes, blankets, cushions, soft toys. Go!”
“We’re going to fuck you, little omega,” I purr, my vision even hazier, my heart pounding.
She whimpers at the back of her throat, then schools her features. “No, nest building first. Then fucking.”
I groan like a dying man, the other two doing the same. But our omega wants her nest. There’s nothing to be done about it.
“Daxton – you raid the laundry basket,” Wyatt says, issuing instructions like we’re in theater and he’s commanding the operating team. “I’ll fetch the blankets from the linen closet. Owen, go track down a soft toy.”
In the next breath, we’re all sprinting in opposite directions.
When I return with a giant stuffed rabbit tucked under my arm (a gift from one of my patients), I find Harper kneeling in the middle of the bed, a pile of clothes, cushions and blankets scattered around her and the other two watching.
“What’s going on?” I say.
“Shush,” Wyatt tells me, finger pressed to his lips. “Harper’s building a nest.” He swallows and his next words are said with awe: “In our bed.”
I watch with an equal amount of awe. I’ve never seen an omega build a nest – not in real life anyway. Sure I’ve seen porn of it – don’t judge me – but that was nothing, nothing compared to the real thing. For starters, there’s the smell. Harper always smells like a peach ripe enough to eat. Today she smells so ripe it’s making my mouth water. Then there’s slick – real slick – not the fake stuff they use in porn movies – running down her thighs and into the sheets. Her cheeks are pink and flushed and her hair is all messy around her head.
“I think I died and went to heaven,” I mutter as I watch her, bottom lip caught between her teeth, arranging the cushions in a pattern that makes no sense to me but is obviously really important to her. Who the fuck knows why this is so damn erotic but it is, calling to something innately alpha deep inside me.
“You ready yet, sweetheart?” Daxton growls. She whimpers, throwing the last few cushions around and then sinking deep into the mattress.
“Can we come into your nest now, Harper?”
She peers at us through the piles of cushions and blankets.
“Not with your clothes on you can’t!”
And I don’t think the earth has ever seen three men undress as quickly as we do, belts whipping, zippers zapping, socks flying into the air, boxers pinging across the room.
When we’re as naked as the days we were born, I glance at my packmates, a big grin stretched across my face.
“Ready?” I ask.
Wyatt gives a serious nod in response.
“Hell, yeah,” Daxton growls.
And then all three of us are diving straight into Harper Hall’s newly made nest.