Chapter 23
CINDY
I t’s too hot.
Not the kind of hot that a fan or an open window can fix. This is deeper, rolling under my skin like a storm gathering pressure, a kind of molten need that makes it impossible to sleep.
I kick off the sheets, the thin blanket, and then the pillow I was clutching like it might magically absorb the heat radiating off me.
My skin is damp, sticky with sweat and something else.
I’m pulsing. Throbbing. My thighs slide together, and the squish of it is so obscene that I groan and roll to my stomach, pressing my cheek to the cool pillow like it might save me from the sudden and very real fear:
Oh God. What if I’m going into heat?
A real heat. The kind that throws your body into losing control, rewrites your brain, makes you feral.
And of course it’s showing signs of arriving now. Because tomorrow my mother is coming over. Here I am, slick like someone cracked an egg down the inside of my thigh, panting into my pillow like I’ve just run a marathon and wishing, aching , for the Alphas.
It’s not fair. I’ve tried everything to cool down. A cold compress. Ice water. But nothing works. It’s what he did to me in that maze. The feel of him inside me. The way I came apart for him, like I’d been waiting my whole life for that moment.
And then he stopped, still hard and thick and heavy in his pants.
“Goddammit,” I mutter, slapping my forehead with the back of my hand. “Why am I like this?”
I try rolling onto my side. Then my back. Then the fetal position.
Nope. Still horny. Still overheating. Still one sharp memory away from marching across the house and climbing into Holt’s bed like a crazy person.
I swing my legs over the edge of the bed. Bad idea. As soon as I shift, I feel the wet slide of slick on my thighs, like proof that, yep, my hormones have declared war on reason. I try to stand, but my legs wobble, and I have to brace a hand against the nightstand to keep from face-planting.
So much for dignity.
I shuffle toward the bathroom, feet slightly sticking to the wood floor with each step. “Sexy,” I whisper to myself. “So sexy. If there were a pageant for disaster Omegas, I’d win by a landslide.”
I fumble with the bathroom light, blinking against the glow. In the mirror, I look like a woman on the verge of spontaneous combustion. Flushed cheeks. Dilated eyes. Hair a mess. There’s even a mark on my neck where I must’ve clawed at myself in frustration.
Jesus.
I peel my sleep shorts down and grimace at the stringy trail of slick that clings to my thighs. I’m soaked. And not in a cute, romance-novel kind of way. No, I’m viscous .
I grab a washcloth, run it under cold water, and do a quick cleanup.
I sit on the toilet lid and drop my head into my hands.
“I should go to bed,” I whisper. “I should definitely not go to Holt’s room.”
Except I’m burning.
And I remember the way he looked at me earlier, like he couldn’t believe I was real. But he didn’t finish.
He stopped so I could come, and then he held me, and helped me clean up, and smiled when I stole my underwear back like a little gremlin.
He was sweet. And dirty. And perfect .
Would it really be so wrong to show up in his room right now and return the favor? Just to say thank you? Just to sit on his lap and…
Okay, this is spiraling.
I splash cold water on my face and glance at the mirror again.
“You owe him,” I tell my reflection. “And you’re a giver.”
God, even my reflection is blushing.
Still, the image sticks. Me. Him. My thighs straddling his. That big hand splayed across my back as I ease down over him, finally taking him inside me the way I’ve needed since the maze.
I groan into my hands.
“Okay,” I whisper, standing. “Just going to see if he’s awake. That’s all. Maybe he’s having trouble sleeping too. Maybe he’s lying there thinking about me and how rude it was to leave him like that.”
I pause. “And if not… maybe I can just lie there and be held. Right? That’s fine. That’s normal.”
Except I’m already walking down the hallway.
I tiptoe, heart pounding harder with every step. I’m not even sure why I’m trying to be quiet. It’s not like I’m sneaking out of my parents’ house. This is my house. Sort of. Temporarily. With three dangerously hot men I’ve apparently decided to thirst after all at once like a hormonal raccoon.
I pass Arrow’s door and freeze.
It’s cracked open, just enough to catch a sliver of warm light spilling across the floor from his bedside lamp. I peer in without meaning to, and my lips curve in spite of myself.
He’s passed out diagonally across the bed, one leg hanging off the edge, hair tousled like he lost a wrestling match with his pillow.
And sprawled across his stomach, purring like an idling engine, is the General.
The fat Maine Coon has claimed him like a furry overlord, one paw resting over Arrow’s bare chest like he’s keeping him hostage.
I smother a laugh behind my hand.
Arrow snuffles in his sleep and mutters something about “Don’t touch my fries,” and I quickly move on before I wake him. The smile sticks as I continue down the hall, my body still aching but my mood lifting slightly.
Am I really doing this?
By the time I reach Holt’s door, the doubt sets in. My feet slow. My fingers hover near the wood but don’t touch it.
What am I doing?
I should turn around. Go back to bed. Do literally anything other than throw myself at the one man who makes me come undone with a single look. Especially when my hormones are rioting and I’m one step from throwing myself into a bathtub full of ice cubes.
But then I remember his mouth on mine. His hand between my legs. The way he looked at me when I shattered against him.
I close my eyes and press my forehead to the door.
“This is a terrible idea,” I whisper. “It’s a mistake.”
And maybe it is. But my skin burns and buzzes, and I know that if I go back to bed, I won’t sleep. I’ll just lie there thinking about us in the maze. Wanting him. Spiraling.
So maybe, just maybe, being with him will ease the ache. Just enough to get through the night. Just enough to survive my mother’s judgy stare tomorrow without climbing the walls or dry-humping the furniture.
I take a breath, straightening my spine.
Just a quick visit. Just a little relief. Then I’ll deal with everything else tomorrow.
The door creaks slightly as I push it open, heart hammering in my throat like I’m about to do something dangerous.
Probably because I am.
The room is bathed in silver moonlight. The curtain by the open window flutters lazily in the breeze, casting shifting shadows across the floor. The air smells like him. And there, sprawled on the massive bed, is Holt.
He’s on his stomach, the sheet barely clinging to his hips.
His broad back is all hard planes and muscles that shift subtly with every breath.
One leg is bent, the other stretched out, and the sheet dips low enough to give me a perfect view of the curve of his ass.
Moonlight drapes over him like he’s been carved out of shadow and sin.
Hell.
He resembles a predator resting between hunts. Like something out of the kind of books I used to hide under my mattress. The ones where the heroine knows better but climbs into bed with the beast anyway, because some aches don’t go away with reason.
This is a mistake. I know it is.
My mom is going to be here tomorrow. I’m slick and restless, and one wrong word could spiral this whole truce into disaster. And yet here I am, sneaking into Holt’s room like some kind of horny cartoon burglar.
I should walk away.
I don’t.
“I was wondering how long it would take before you came to me, little Omega.” His voice slices through the dark. He doesn’t even turn his head to face me.
I freeze. “You were awake?”
“Close the door.”
My fingers fumble behind me, finding the knob and nudging the door shut with a quiet click. The room feels even darker now, more intimate. My skin prickles.
I walk toward the bed, heart racing. He rolls over slowly, the sheet slipping down his body like it knows better than to stay in the way. And then he’s on his back, naked, hard, and completely unbothered by any sense of modesty.
I actually gasp. His cock is erect and standing upright.
Is it the lighting? The moon? Because he looks bigger than he did in the maze.
More intimidating. His chest rises and falls slowly, arms folding behind his head like he’s some kind of god waiting to be worshipped.
Every muscle is cut and powerful, shadows playing across his abs and down the V of his hips.
I should say something witty. Clever. Anything. But my brain has been reduced to static.
His gaze rakes over me. “Clothes off, beautiful Omega,” he growls, eyes gleaming in the dark. “Unless you came here just to stare.”
That voice. It goes straight to my core. Deep. Commanding. Raw hunger laced with dark amusement.
“This is a terrible idea,” I whisper.
“Then make your decision quickly. I’m dying over here.”
My lips part. My breath stutters. Heat flashes across my skin. My hands fumble at the hem of my shirt, tugging it off, trying to pretend that I’m not trembling. His gaze follows every inch of skin I expose, and when my shorts drop, he exhales like he’s been punched.
God, he’s watching me like he’s starving.
When I’m naked, I stand there for a beat too long. Vulnerable. On display.
His jaw clenches, and I can see just behind his eyes how close he is to pouncing.
“Come here,” he says. “Slowly.”
So I do. Crawling onto the bed, trying to look seductive but probably looking like a baby giraffe learning to walk. My knees sink into the mattress, and I move toward him, his gaze locked on my every movement.
Every inch I close feels like an electric wire tightening between us. I don’t know what’s going to happen once I reach him. Only that I won’t be leaving this room the same.
And maybe that’s exactly what I want.
His grin is sharp. Dangerous. “We’re going to fix that ache, aren’t we?”