Three
Jess
I shouldn’t have done it. I’ve made it nearly three years without fucking this up and then I have to go send MourningStar a fucking picture of myself. I’m not even sure if I’m mad that I sent it or if I’m mad he didn’t send one back.
Burying my head in the pillow I let out the long, frustrated groan I’ve been holding in for hours. I’d barely slept all weekend and now I had to go and have Sunday lunch at Jack’s mother’s house. The bed was too cosy, my electric blanket still burning beneath me, and my weighted duvet holding me hostage. It’s too easy to imagine the weight above me isn’t a blanket at all, but MourningStar, or Minxy, or Quietek. I’ve spent my entire weekend thinking nonstop about the three of them. Even now as I imagine their voices, my stomach clenches and twists.
“Ow,” I mutter to myself, pressing a hand to my stomach and waiting for the pain to disperse. Maybe I’m ill. Maybe if I call Jack right now I’ll catch him before he leaves his place to come and pick me up. Reluctantly I thrust one arm out from beneath my duvet and grab my phone. It’s almost one in the afternoon and I still have to shower and get dressed, but every fibre of my being is telling me to stay right here. Buried in the warmth and comfort of all these lovely soft things I’ve gathered.
Still, it’s getting too bright with the afternoon sun shining in through my thin curtains and my skin is horrifically clammy. The more I think about it, the better a hot shower sounds.
Throwing the covers back I curl into myself as I make a run for the bathroom. Once I’ve turned the dial it doesn’t take long for the room to start filling with steam and the scent of fresh eucalyptus. I want nothing more than to take my time beneath the spray but I’m all too aware of the time. So I settle for scrubbing my entire body with scent blocker, grateful that the shampoo and conditioner smell far better with its coconutty undertones.
I can’t help it when my mind wanders back to Friday night. Watching Mourning on stream has become one of my favourite pastimes. Whenever we aren’t playing together, I log on and watch his past videos. It’s obvious even through the camera lens that he’s a huge guy. His entire body covers his gaming chair which I know from past conversations is the same make as my own. And that mask, uhhhh . Maybe I’ve been watching too much TikTok or reading too many smutty books because all I want him to do is put that mask on and chase me through the woods. But it’s what he would do when he caught me that has my hand running down over my stomach and between my legs. Even in the shower spray, I’m slippery with need. I let the tips of my fingers linger on my folds, delving in and out without ever giving myself what I really need.
The teasing sets me on edge so quickly that I have to shut my eyes and bite down on my bottom lip. They’re all right there behind my eyes. The genteel tone of Quietek, the hyper, uncontrollable laughter of Minxy and MourningStar’s cold eyes behind that silver mask.
I come in seconds with a scream so loud I find myself eternally grateful that I live in the middle of nowhere. What the hell has gotten into me?
My doorbell buzzing has me leaping three feet in the air and I fumble to turn the shower off and wrap up in a towel. Without the heat from the water my skin prickles with goosebumps. I clamber out of the shower on unsteady feet.
“I’m coming!” I yell, reaching for the dressing gown I left thrown over the back of the sofa and wrapping it around my body. The feel of the cotton fabric against my wet shoulders makes me grimace but I fight against the sensory nightmare.
“Hello?” I yell as I approach the thick wooden door.
“Babe, it’s me, are you running late?” Jack asks and I can almost feel him looking down at his watch. Surely I didn’t just spend an hour in the shower?
A little look at the numbers on the oven display screen tells me that yes, my quick shower turned into an hour-long masturbation session. Fabulous .
I unlock the door and let Jack over the threshold before I rush through to my bedroom. The last thing I want is for him to see me looking all flushed and dishevelled. He’s already jealous enough of my relationship with the guys without knowing I’ve added them to the spank bank.
Spanking, now that’s tempting.
Jack walks down the narrow corridor to my bedroom at the same moment I manage to slip on a light pink sundress. I keep things relatively tame since his mother has made it quite clear she doesn’t approve of the way I dress. I pair the dress with my well-loved Vans. My hair and skin are lost causes, however. I braid my hair into two plaits and cover my skin in a thin layer of moisturiser.
“You doing okay?” Jack asks, stepping into the room and throwing himself down on my bed. My whole body tenses, I don’t want him there. That’s my space.
“Could you get off my bed? I’ve just made it,” I say without thinking much of it. Clearly, Jack doesn’t feel the same because his entire demeanour changes. He sits up slowly, bringing himself to his feet with ease and walking slowly towards me. His hand clasps on the back of my neck and squeezes just a little too hard.
“What’s with the mood?” he asks, holding me in place.
“Nothing, I’m sorry,” I reply, hoping it’ll be enough to avoid one of his bad moods. I’ve always wondered if Jack feels somehow inferior, being a beta he’s not exactly at the top of the food chain. Most of his friends are alphas and I swear he spends more time trying to act like them than figuring out who he is. He hums to himself, suspicion clouding his eyes before he lets me go.
“That what you’re wearing?”
I look down at the pretty pink dress and frown. “Well, yeah?”
Jack’s eyebrows raise briefly and he makes a clicking sound with his mouth. “You know I like it when you cover up a little more, babe.”
Disappointment sits heavily in my stomach as I rub the soft material of my dress between my thumb and forefinger. Hoping to avoid any more confrontations, I grab a pastel pink cardigan from my wardrobe and throw it on, buttoning it up and tucking it a little at the bottom.
“Better?” I ask with a sigh, it might be September but the sun is scorching outside and I just know that between the heat and Jack’s mum’s roast dinner, I’m going to be sweating like a pig within the hour.
“You’ll do, let’s go,” he takes my hand in his, giving me barely any time to pick up my phone and slip it into my pocket before we’re out the door and down the stairs.
Jack’s mum’s house has got to have one of the most hideous interiors I’ve ever seen in my life. It’s an ex-council house that’s uncharacteristically large but Trudy has made a point of decorating every room in cream and silver. Little plastic diamonds hang from the ceiling light and just about every accessory in sight is a sparkly velvet material. There are big glass mirrors all over the walls, above the fireplace, in the hallway, behind the dining table in the adjoining dining room. I love pink as much as the next gal, and I’m no stranger to garishly girly living but Trudy takes it to a whole other level.
I often wonder how his dad feels. While Trudy is a petite blonde woman, Jack’s dad is an alpha with a bald head and very few words. I actually get on with him better than I do anyone else in the household and that’s including Jack’s brothers and their partners.
“Ahhh Jessamine, lovely to see you my dear,” Trudy coos, lifting her tanned and perfectly moisturised hands to my cheeks in welcome. “Could you start with the cutlery and ask if Mac needs a beer.”
It’s a brief but not unfamiliar welcome into their home. Trudy and I are courteous with each other but we both know there’s an undertone of dislike. It all comes back to that time a few years ago where I walked in on her telling Jack that he could do so much better than a chubby orphan with zero social life. I can’t even be mad because she isn’t wrong about me, I am a chubby orphan with zero social life but I’m pretty sure at least one of those things isn’t my fault.
“Beer, Mac?” I ask, poking my head out of the adjoining dining room and into the sitting area. He grunts a reply I take as a yes before he suddenly speaks for probably the third time since I’ve known him.
“Did you use a different perfume?” His eyes are still glued to the TV but his face is tilted up as he tries to sniff at the air.
Fuck.
I knew it.
My resounding horniness and my cramps this morning.
I avoid Mac’s question like the plague and spin on my heels, heading back towards the kitchen where Jack is speaking to his mum.
“Hey, I think I should maybe go,” I say, hoping he doesn’t fight me on this for once. It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve tried to pull the old I’m ill card to get out of Sunday lunch. “Oh and Mac needs a beer.”
“I’ll take it through,” Trudy sighs, abandoning her place at the kitchen worktop and leaving Jack and me alone.
“You can’t keep avoiding my family, Jess,” he warns, leaning against the wall and taking a sip from his own beer.
“Why? They don’t like having me here anyway.” There’s definitely something wrong with me. It’s the second time today I’ve snapped at Jack and I know better than to wind him up.
He tilts his head to the side and surveys me, his jaw tight as he expels a growling breath. “You’ll stay until I tell you you can go. Understood?”
I twist my hands at my front and nod, casting my eyes to the ground. He might not be an alpha, but I am an omega, and I don’t react well to his harshness. It’s the one thing I’d change about my unfortunate designation if I could. The fact my backbone all but disappears the second someone raises their voice at me.
Before long we’re sitting at the dining table, an array of overcooked meat and even more overcooked vegetables lies in front of us. Trudy is gladly plating up and passing around a jug of lumpy instant gravy.
Back when my dad was alive he used to make the best Sunday roasts ever. Homemade Yorkshire puddings, roasted vegetables from the garden and whatever meat the butcher had convinced him to buy that week. We’d sit just the two of us, usually in the conservatory where we could watch the garden through the windows. We wouldn’t always talk much, sometimes just enjoying the peace and quiet. I miss him a lot. I miss the house, too. But I’ve never been able to bring myself to go back there. Instead, I stay in the tiny little fisherman’s cottage that Dad used to rent out as a holiday let in the summer.
My dad was an alpha, my mother an omega. She’d passed away not long after my tenth birthday and he’d never taken another mate. It was as if after my mum died he just… couldn’t face the thought of loving someone else. Even though their deaths were years apart, it still feels like he died of a broken heart.
“So you’re still not working, Jess?” Trudy asks out of the blue as I pour a little of the gravy over my meat in the hopes it’ll make it easier to swallow. The texture isn’t ideal but it’ll have to do.
“I do work, Trudy. I’ve been working for a while now,” I reply, knowing that no matter how many times I tell her, or Jack or the rest of his family that I work from home writing content for websites and apps, they still don’t believe me. I’m sure in their minds I’m just a lazy do-nothing loser. I actually hate the way they make me feel. Like I’m somehow not worthy despite the fact I’m doing my best to get by.
“Hey babe, that’s enough,” Jack chips in, taking the serving plate of roast potatoes from my hands and eyeing my plate. There are three small potatoes on my plate. .
My stomach clenches, twisting in that agonising, cramping, tearing way it had done this morning.
Trudy chimes in, ignoring my obvious discomfort. “You know, even after I had my third child I managed to bounce back to my pre-pregnancy figure. I stuck to high protein and low carb. It was easy once I put my mind to it. Lots of milky coffee throughout the day, too. You’d be surprised how full up you feel after a big mugful.”
I’m too hot. Too clammy. My dress feels too tight all of a sudden and the plate of food in front of me is making me nauseous.
“Excuse me,” I grunt, pushing away from the table and making a break for it. The minute my knees hit the cool tile in the downstairs bathroom, I expel the entire contents of my stomach.
I need to get home. Need to crawl into the safety of my bed and bury myself under the mountain of blankets and pillows and familiar things to make myself feel better.
I’m so delirious that by the time there’s a knock on the bathroom door I barely notice.
“Take me home,” I mumble. “Please take me home.”
“God, you’re always such a drama queen. Get your shit, I’ll start the car.” Jack turns to shut the door behind him, pausing for just a second. “And clean up in here before my mother has a fucking hissy fit.”