11. Vayda
Isit settled deep in Wally's lap on the bare mattress.
I thrust my hips forward, chasing the intense friction of Simon driving his cock deep into my slick pussy.
Simon kneels in front of me and holds my thighs spread wide.
His grip leaves dark bruises on my pale skin.
Wally sits right behind me, keeping me anchored.
He presses flush against my back. His massive chest provides the perfect leverage.
He reaches his arms around to twist my nipples between his calloused fingers.
The double stimulation forces a breathless scream out of my throat.
The air in the shed is thick with sweat and the overwhelming scent of bergamot, leather, amber, and sea breeze. Kel sits against the far wall. His dark eyes track every single thrust. He waits for his turn to ruin me.
Simon growls low in his chest. The swollen knot at the base of his shaft nudges against my slick opening with every thrust. He builds the friction until he can't hold back anymore.
He drives his hips forward, forcing the thick bulb past my tight entrance.
The stretch pushes my inner walls to the limit.
His hot cum floods my tight core. My body clamps down around him, milking every last drop.
The resulting orgasm hits me like a freight train.
It shatters my senses and drags me under.
My eyes snap open. I stare at the water stains on the ceiling of my guest bedroom.
I suck a ragged breath into my lungs. My heart pounds against my ribs.
Sweat coats my forehead and dampens my t-shirt.
The dream felt too real. My body remembers the exact pressure of their knots and the relentless pace they set.
An intense, desperate ache throbs between my thighs.
My core clenches on empty air, begging for the friction of an Alpha’s knot.
A wave of suffocating guilt crashes over me seconds later. It chokes the arousal right out of my throat.
I roll over and bury my face in my pillow. I'm a terrible mate. Brendan is asleep in his medical bed just down the hallway. He depends on me for survival, and I'm in here dreaming about getting fucked by Alphas.
I throw the blankets off and scramble out of bed. I have to wash the scent off. If Brendan smells my arousal, it will agitate his underlying Alpha instincts. He will sense my craving for other Alphas and get confused. I need to protect him from that kind of distress.
I march straight into the small bathroom. I strip out of my damp sleep clothes and turn the shower on. I step right into the freezing spray. The cold water shocks my system, but the desperate ache between my legs persists.
The water turns scalding hot. I lean my back against the wet tile. I reach down and press my fingers against my slick clit. I chase a quick, brutal release to clear my head and settle my spiking hormones. I jump right into a frantic, punishing rhythm.
The image of Kel's massive hands pinning my hips down flashes in my mind.
The dark cedar branch tattooed on the side of his neck leads down his collarbone, connecting to a sprawling pine forest scene across his broad chest. A towering evergreen sits on his bicep, fading into a network of deep, knotted roots down his forearm where a carved woodsman's axe rests.
His image burns behind my closed eyelids.
My breathing turns rough, echoing off the cramped shower walls.
I bite my bottom lip to keep quiet. My back arches off the tile. My climax hits fast and hard, flooding through my core in a series of intense spasms. My knees buckle. I slide down the wall and sit on the wet floor of the shower stall.
I let my head fall back against the fiberglass.
I reach up and turn the dial all the way to cold.
I push myself up off the wet tile and stand under the freezing spray.
The icy water beats down on my chest and face, shocking the post-orgasm haze out of my brain.
I grab the pheromone-suppressant soap and a rough washcloth.
I scrub my skin until it turns bright red.
I try to wash away the lingering ghost of their scents.
I try to wash away the memory of three Alphas keeping me alive in that freezing shed.
I turn the water off and step out of the stall.
I grab a large bath sheet and dry my shivering body.
I wrap a second, smaller towel around my dripping red hair.
I head into my bedroom and pull on a pair of comfortable, worn-out jeans and a baggy blue sweater.
I need to focus. I have to get my mind off the Reapers. I need to get back to my routine.
My heat is over and my body survived the rejection sickness. That means my nursing coverage goes right back to the normal routine. Vinny comes twice a week to help with showers and lifting. I'm on my own today.
I walk down the short hallway to the master bedroom.
The room smells like clean laundry and a faint trace of his old rain and driftwood scent.
Brendan is awake. He lays in the adjustable hospital bed taking up a large section of the room.
His bright blue eyes track my movement as I walk over to the side rail.
"Morning, Bren." I force a cheerful tone into my voice. I press a kiss to his warm forehead.
He blinks. A soft humming noise vibrates in his chest.
I lower the side rail and pull his blankets back.
Getting him ready for the day requires massive effort to tackle alone.
I brace my knees against the mattress and roll Brendan onto his side to change his overnight briefs.
I swap his sleep shirt for a clean, faded flannel and pull a pair of comfortable gray sweatpants up his legs.
He makes a frustrated groan. His stiff muscles fight the movement.
"I know you feel stiff today." I wedge the thick canvas sling under his back and hips. "We will get you stretched out soon."
I hook the loops of the sling onto the metal arms of the Hoyer lift.
The machine whirs, lifting his frame off the mattress.
I guide the lift over to his customized wheelchair and lower him down.
I make sure his hips sit flush against the back cushion to keep him from sliding forward.
I strap the padded headrest into place and secure his chest harness.
The exertion leaves me out of breath. My lower back aches in protest.
I unlock the brakes on his chair and wheel him out of the bedroom. We head down the hall and into the kitchen. I park him near the small dining table. I angle the chair so he has a clear view of the counter and the window overlooking the backyard.
I pull a fresh bib from the box on the shelf and snap it around Brendan's neck. He sits in his wheelchair by the dining table, tracking my movements.
I grab a bowl from the cupboard and prepare his blended oatmeal. I stand at the counter right in front of him to finish the meal. I crush and stir his medication into his food.
"Dave is coming around noon for your PT session." I tap the spoon against the side of the ceramic bowl. "If the weather stays nice after he leaves, we can take that walk I promised you on Tuesday. We can get some fresh air. The sun is out today."
Brendan blinks. He makes another soft vocalization.
"We need to put a grocery order for tomorrow this afternoon." I grab a cup of thickened water and carry the breakfast over to the table. I sit in the chair next to him. "I also need to figure out a way to hack down the dead brush in the front yard. It blocks the windows."
I spend the next thirty minutes feeding him. I offer small, careful spoonfuls. I give him time to swallow. I wipe the drool and stray food from his chin with a napkin. The quiet, tedious process demands my full attention. It sits in stark contrast to the wild, chaotic adrenaline of my Heat.
Breakfast wraps up. I unlock the brakes on his chair and push him into the living room. I park him near the sofa and put a nature documentary on the television to keep him occupied while the morning passes.
Noon hits with a loud knock on the front door. I walk over and pull it open to find Dave standing on the porch. He towers over me, clutching an oversized travel mug. The tall Beta bounces on the heels of his sneakers, vibrating with endless energy.
"Afternoon, Vayda! Ready to get to work?" Dave steps into the entryway and drops his canvas bag onto the floorboards with a thud.
"We're ready." I lock the deadbolt behind him. "He had a stiff morning. His right arm is giving him trouble."
Dave rubs his hands together. "We'll loosen him up."
He walks into the living room and rolls Brendan into the center of the floor space. I trail behind them, stopping near the edge of the hallway.
Dave unhooks the chest harness and tilts the wheelchair back a few degrees to change the angle. He grabs Brendan's right wrist and supports his elbow, initiating a slow upward stretch.
Brendan groans. A loud, strained noise rips from his throat as the stiff joint fights the movement. His free hand curls tighter into a fist.
"I got you, Bren." Dave keeps his grip firm, pushing the arm a fraction higher. "Breathe through it, buddy."
Brendan makes another loud vocalization of sheer frustration.
I turn away and walk back to the kitchen.
I sit at the small dining table and wrap my hands around my cold coffee.
The sounds of the grueling session echo down the hall.
My stomach twists with guilt. Skipping this means his muscles lock up for good, so we suffer through it.
Dave finishes up and heads out. The house falls back into a quiet, monotonous rhythm. Cali trots into the kitchen. The calico cat winds around my ankles, letting out a demanding meow for her afternoon snack. I scoop a cup of dry kibble into her ceramic bowl.
I head to the kitchen sink to tackle the pile of dishes. I plunge my hands into the warm, soapy water.
A loud, aggressive knock on the front door shatters the quiet.