6. Sterling
STERLING
W arm. I’m so warm. It’s the kind of cozy, bone-deep warmth that makes me want to sink down and never leave. I feel like I’m wrapped in the coziest nest I’ve ever been in, surrounded by the most mouthwatering scent.
It tickles my senses, rich and intoxicating—licorice and pine trees, spiced and exotic. Soothing and wild all at once.
I’m wrapped around a man.
Wait—where did he come from?
But in my drowsy, half-asleep state, I can’t seem to care. I just want to keep touching all that velvet-hot skin pressed against me.
My hands find their way beneath his shirt, fingertips brushing over firm muscle, the heat of him practically scalding. He feels like a furnace, like solid strength and warmth.
My hands instinctively curl into him, caressing the hard planes of his back. Without even thinking, I reach up and rub my nose along his neck, nuzzling deeper, breathing him in.
His scent makes my entire body relax, makes something soft and desperate uncurl inside me.
Alpha , my mind purrs. So good. So safe.
I’m lost to the sensation of nuzzling into his neck, my lips brushing against his skin as I drag my cheek along his throat. He’s everything my Omega craves. My body hums with pleasure just from being near him.
But then?—
A deep, gravelly, whiskey-infused voice rumbles in my ear, startling me into stillness.
“Cinnamon roll, if you keep doing that, I’m gonna lose my goddamn mind and things will start getting really awkward.”
I go still, instantly aware of the thick, hard length pressed firmly against me. He shifts, just barely, like he’s fighting against the urge to rub against me, his restraint palpable. My cheeks flame, heat rushing over my skin in a full-body blush that leaves me dizzy.
It’s like being doused in ice water. Reality slams into me, crashing down with brutal clarity. My wandering hands freeze, and I yank them back to my lap like they’ve been burned. Pulling my nose away from his neck, I tilt my head up, my gaze locking onto JP’s face.
Everything rushes back—the fishing boat, the casting lesson, the icy plunge into the water.
And somehow, I ended up here—wrapped up in his arms, nestled between his legs, pressed so intimately against him, I can feel every hard plane of his body.
JP’s scent is all around me—rich, dark, addictive. It steals the air from my lungs, clouding my mind with a need I can’t suppress. His massive frame curves protectively around mine, his arms locked around me like he’s afraid to let go.
I can’t help but stare. The details of his tattoos, dark ink etched over strong hands and thick wrists, draw my eyes. Some of them are older, faded with time, others newer, sharp and vivid against his skin.
A fine dusting of dark hair covers his knuckles, and it makes my fingers twitch with the urge to trace the lines of his ink.
And that voice. The deep, gravelly rumble of his words, low and velvety, still echoes in my ears. It stirs something deep inside me, something that makes my thighs clench and leaves me wanting to press closer instead of pulling away.
He smells like my favorite tea. I’m lost to the sudden, reckless urge to lick up the side of his jaw, which is way too close to my mouth.
Heat pools deep inside me, curling low in my stomach like a fist tightening, relentless and insistent. My Omega is restless, agitated by the sudden loss of contact. She doesn’t understand.
Why did we stop touching him? Can we start touching him again? Why aren’t we touching all of him?
The craving is like electricity under my skin, sparking and sizzling with every shallow breath I take. It’s new. Terrifying. And yet, I can’t bring myself to stop it.
I don’t know if I want to. My hips ache to move, to press and grind against him, to chase the friction my body is desperate for.
I glance up at him, my gaze locking onto his, and his expression is so complex—something fierce and restrained tangled together—that it leaves me breathless.
It makes me feel like I did something both wrong and right all at the same time. I want to bury myself in his scent until nothing else exists.
The boat rocks gently beneath us, but all I feel is him. His presence is overwhelming, consuming, threading through my senses and tugging me under.
I try to pull myself back from the frayed edges of instinct, from the need that claws through me like a hunger that can’t be fed. But my body isn’t listening. My thoughts are slippery, too tangled up in him to grasp.
I should be focusing on breathing, on thawing out, on forgetting the cold terror of the ocean playing at the edges of my mind.
I should be paying attention to the way my salt-encrusted clothes itch against my skin. But all I can focus on is him. JP. His scent, his heat, his touch.
The rough scrape of his hands as they move over me, rubbing warmth back into my frozen limbs, feels like a lover’s caress. His stubble rasps against my cheek when he adjusts me in his lap, his arms firm and unyielding as they wrap me up like I belong there.
The low, steady sound of his breathing somehow grounds me and ignites me all at once. And the beat of his heart, strong and rapid, pulses against my back, syncing with the frantic rhythm of my own.
I’ve spent most of my adult life wholeheartedly ignoring the way Alphas smell. But now, that's all I can think about. JP smells like licorice and pine, like the dark heat of a fire on a cold night. It’s rich and deep, threaded through with something undeniably Alpha.
It seeps into my lungs, into my skin, making something inside me twist and clench and throb until I’m trembling with it.
I feel…off. Not sick. Not exactly. But definitely not normal, either. I can’t seem to get my thoughts to focus. My core clenches, a hot, slick ache pooling low and urgent between my thighs. I squeeze my legs together, praying he won’t scent me. What the hell is happening to me?
“Settle, woman,” he rumbles into my ear, his voice rough and commanding, cutting through my frazzled thoughts. That voice, rich and deep, makes every part of me want to bare my throat, to present myself for him.
My stomach drops, embarrassment lancing through me. I’ve never been that Omega. The compliant one, the needy one, wanting to submit. And I hate that my biology betrays me like this. That my body is reacting to him with a desperation I can’t control.
But beneath the shame, there’s a fierce and hungry Omega that wants to ignore everything but him.
I shouldn’t be reacting like this. I have been on scent blockers and suppressants for so long that I sometimes forget what Omega biology can do when it meets a good smelling Alpha.
But I have never reacted like this to an Alpha before.
Not he who shall not be named, my ex, or any other for that matter.
I go rigid, trying to will my body to behave, to ignore the way my thighs press together involuntarily. The way I want to rub my entire body against him.
JP must feel the change because his hands pause for the briefest second before he keeps moving, but slower now, more deliberate. I feel him pull me against him, almost unbearably tight before a deep sound vibrates out of his chest that I feel everywhere in my body. Is he purring ?
I swallow hard, my face burning. Omega biology is the worst , I think miserably, as another hot, slick wave dampens my underwear. This cannot be happening. It’s just the cold. It’s just the adrenaline. The backlash from almost dying.
Definitely not the fact that a 6’5” Alpha who smells like a Mr. Darcy English fantasy and looks like a Beckham wet dream has his arms wrapped around me like I’m his world.
It’s just?—
JP shifts, his thigh pressing against mine, solid and warm, and a tiny, desperate sound escapes my throat. Oh dear God. Did I whimper?
I’ve never whimpered.
Ever.
His grip tightens, just slightly—but enough. Enough to make my breath hitch, enough to make me realize just how close we really are. How impossible it is to put distance between us when he’s holding me so close.
And worse—he’s not pushing me away. If anything, his arms just keep pulling me in tighter, his fingers digging into my hips like he’s anchoring me to him.
He shifts again, his body adjusting beneath me, and I feel the unmistakable, hard length of him pressing against me with a deliberate, testing pressure. Not an accident. Not something he’s trying to hide. He’s letting me feel him. All of him.
The hard, unyielding press of his arousal against me sends a lightning bolt of heat straight to my core, and it’s too much. Too intense. Too…good. I try to squirm away, shimmying and shifting to put even an inch of space between us, but his arms are like iron bands.
“Easy, woman.” His voice is a gravelly rumble against my ear, so low and thick it makes my pulse skitter. “Just stay put.”
I go still, my breath strangling in my throat, my pulse pounding so hard it’s all I can hear.
And then he makes it worse.
“Unless”—his lips graze the shell of my ear—“you want everyone to know exactly how hard I am against you… And smell how much you like it.”
My cheeks burn so hot I swear they must be glowing. My entire body goes rigid, heat flooding me, pooling low and thick and undeniable.
I don’t know if it’s because I’m still coming down from the near-drowning experience or if it’s because I feel raw and open in his arms.
But I do know one thing. I am not prepared for JP. I barely register the boat bumping against the dock, the hum of the engine fading as the North Star settles into place.
My mind is still spinning, and I’m cold. The salt water is drying on my skin, leaving it tight and itchy. But inside? I’m burning.
It feels so good to be touched. I hadn’t realized how hungry I was for it. The firm, steady press of JP’s hands, the warmth of his body wrapped around mine—it’s grounding and overwhelming all at once. Comfort and chaos, tangled up together.