19. Rook
Chapter 19
Rook
T he door to Storm's bedroom closes behind us with a soft click, and suddenly, we're alone. Really alone, for the first time in four years.
I'm still reeling from the past hour. Being discovered by security, the tense elevator ride with Reed Howard glaring daggers at me, and then finally, finally seeing Storm run toward me. The moment she jumped into my arms felt like coming home.
Jonathan Kingsley was not happy about any of it. The cold alpha made it abundantly clear that I was only being allowed to stay because Storm promised to behave at some important dinner. His exact words had been. "You can stay in her room. Nowhere else in the penthouse without an escort. One night. Then we discuss next steps."
I don't care about anything except the fact that Storm is here, real and alive and looking at me like I'm her entire world.
The moment the door closes, it's like no time has passed at all. Storm's across the room in an instant, her body colliding with mine as her hands grab my face, pulling me down to her level as she kisses me with desperate intensity. The dark chocolate scent of her wraps around me, intoxicating and familiar, though now with new omega notes that make my head spin.
Her fingers tug at the hem of my shirt, sliding beneath to touch my skin. The contact sends electricity through me, and I respond instinctively, my arms tightening around her waist, lifting her so her feet leave the ground.
"Rook," she breathes against my lips, my name a prayer, a plea, a homecoming. "I thought I'd never see you again."
"I never stopped looking." I tell her, pressing my forehead against hers, trying to memorize every detail of her face. "Four years, Storm. I waited. Then you show up on TV, pulling Kingsley's name from that barrel."
She laughs, the sound watery with emotion. "That wasn't how it was supposed to go down."
Her hands are everywhere, under my shirt, in my hair, clutching at my shoulders like she's afraid I might disappear if she lets go. I understand the desperate need for touch. Four years in the Omega House, she would have been touch-starved in a way I can barely imagine. Then spent the last few days with a pack of alphas who would be reacting the way my body is.
"Storm," I say gently, catching her wrists as she attempts to unbutton my jeans. "Wait a second."
Confusion flashes across her face, followed immediately by hurt. "You don't want me?"
"God, no, that's not it," I say quickly, cupping her face in my hands. "I want you more than I've ever wanted anything. It's just... I know how hard this must have been for you. Being here with them. If something happened with Reed or Jonathan or Alexander, I would understand. You're an omega now, and they're alphas, your pack. And you've been trapped here?—"
She jerks back as if I've slapped her, gray eyes flashing. "Nothing happened," she says fiercely. "Nothing. I've been waiting for you, Rook. Only you. Always you."
Relief crashes through me, so intense it makes my knees weak. "I didn't mean?—"
“I know what you meant, and it’s sweet, but I don’t want them.” She says, stepping close again, her hands gentler now as they frame my face. “Not as much as I want you.”
I lean down to kiss her, slower this time, pouring four years of longing and love into it. She melts against me, her body fitting against mine just as perfectly as I remembered.
We move toward the bed without breaking apart, stumbling slightly in our eagerness. Storm tugs at my shirt again, and this time I help her, pulling it over my head and tossing it aside. Her eyes darken as she takes in my bare chest, her fingers tracing scars that weren't there the last time she saw me.
"So many new ones," she whispers, concern creasing her brow.
"Occupational hazard," I say with a small smile. "Fighting pays the bills."
She continues her exploration, learning the new landscape of my body while I drink in the sight of her. She's changed too—still small, still fierce, but with curves that weren't there before, a new softness to her that makes my mouth go dry.
She steps back suddenly, pulling her shirt over her head in one fluid motion. I watch, transfixed, as she shimmies out of her shorts, standing before me in just her underwear. My brain short-circuits at the sight of her.
"Storm," I manage, my voice rough.
She smiles, reaching for the button of my jeans, but I stop her again, gently turning her and guiding her onto the bed. I pull the covers over her, then quickly strip down to my boxers before sliding in beside her.
"Rook?" she questions, confusion in her voice as I gather her against my chest rather than continuing what we started.
"Just for now," I murmur, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "I just want to hold you. Talk to you. Love on you a little."
She makes a frustrated sound, her hand sliding down my stomach. "We can talk after."
I catch her wrist, bringing her hand to my lips instead. "It can wait a little," I say, smiling at her impatience. "I want to make sure your head is right before we do anything."
She huffs, the sound so familiar, so perfectly Storm, that it makes my chest ache with love.
"Fine," she grumbles, but she settles against me, her head finding that spot on my shoulder that's always belonged to her. "But just so you know, I think this is stupid."
I laugh, stroking her hair.
For a while, we just lie there, relearning the feel of each other. Her skin is soft against mine, her heartbeat steady where our chests press together. I trace patterns on her back, marveling at the miracle of having her in my arms again.
"Tell me everything," I say eventually. "How did you end up here?"
She sighs, her breath warm against my neck. "It wasn't supposed to be like this. I had a plan."
"I figured that much," I say, remembering the address I'd given her. "427 Crescent Avenue."
She tells me everything then—about her friend Harley, about how they discovered they could rig the lottery, about choosing Kingsley's pack because they lived closest to the theater. And the address I’d given her.
"I was going to slip away in the chaos after pulling his name," she explains. "But the asshole threw me over his shoulder and carried me out like a caveman.”
My arms tighten around her instinctively. "I saw it on TV. I wanted to kill him."
She huffs a laugh against my chest. "Get in line. I was going to slip away from their apartment, but they took me to this one instead. And locked me in."
She continues her story, telling me about the past days in the penthouse, about Jonathan's cold control and Reed's intimidating presence, and Alexander's unexpected kindness. She talks about their fathers coming, about the upcoming dinner that sounds more like a trial than a family gathering.
"And then there's Frankie," she says, her voice softening.
"The beta?" I ask, remembering the nervous young man who'd been standing near Storm when I arrived.
She nods. "He was my guard at the Omega House for all four years. The only one who was ever kind to me. He kept me sane when things got bad."
There's genuine affection in her voice when she talks about him. Not the same way she talks about me, but with a warmth that speaks of deep friendship.
"I think... I have feelings for him," she says, playing with my fingers. "And I think... I think maybe he cares about me, too. In that way. But he'd never say it."
"How do you really feel about him?" I ask carefully, not jealous, but genuinely wanting to understand.
She's quiet for a moment, considering. "I love him," she says finally. "Not like I love you. It's different. But he's important to me, Rook. If we get out of here... When we get out of here, we need to take him with us."
"Whatever you want," I promise, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "If he's important to you, he's important to me."
She relaxes against me; the tension leaving her body. We talk more, filling in the gaps of our years apart. I tell her about the fights, about the apartment I managed to secure for us, about never giving up hope of finding her again.
As the night deepens, her words come slower, sleepier. She nestles against my chest, her breathing growing more even as I rub gentle circles on her back.
"I missed you," she murmurs, her voice thick with approaching sleep. "Every day."
"I missed you too," I whisper, but she's already drifting off, her body relaxing completely against mine.
I hold her through the night, barely sleeping myself, too afraid this might all be a dream—that I'll wake up in my empty apartment, alone again, still searching. Each time I start to drift off, I jerk awake, checking to make sure she's still there, still real.
Eventually, exhaustion wins out, and I slip into dreams with Storm's weight anchoring me to reality.
* * *
I wake to the soft press of lips against my cheek and fingers gently tracing the scruff on my face. Sunlight filters through the windows, casting the room in a warm glow that makes Storm's wild auburn curls look like fire.
I open one eye to find her smiling down at me, her gray eyes bright with a happiness I haven't seen for so long.
"I can grow a beard now," I say, my voice rough with sleep.
She chuckles, her fingers still exploring the stubble on my jaw. "I can go into heat now," she counters, and there's something playful yet hungry in her voice that makes my body respond immediately.
I grab her ass, pulling her closer, the thin fabric of her underwear doing little to hide the heat of her. "I know," I growl, pressing against her so she can feel how hard I am. "Your scent is intoxicating."
She reaches down, her fingers sliding beneath the waistband of my boxers, but I pull back slightly, stopping her.
Confusion clouds her eyes. "What's wrong?" she asks, worry creeping into her voice. "Have you... been with someone else in the time we've been apart? Because if you have, I understand. It's been four years and?—"
"No," I cut her off firmly. "Never. You were my first, Storm. You'll be my last. I could never touch anyone else."
Relief floods her face, followed quickly by confusion. "Then what's the problem?"
I sigh, running a hand through my hair. "Reed threatened me," I admit. "Said if I touch you in any way with my dick, he'll have me killed. I've already broken a few rules, but I think the threat is real."
"That cockblocker," Storm mutters, but there's less heat in it than I expected. "I think Alex would stop it, though. He seems to understand... us ."
I wish I shared her confidence, but the memory of Reed's cold eyes and tight grip on my arm is still fresh. Still, as Storm shifts against me, her scent growing richer with arousal, it's hard to care about Reed's threats or anything else outside this room.
"Well," I say, pressing a kiss to her neck, feeling her pulse jump beneath my lips. "There are ways to touch you that won't technically break his rules."
Her breath catches as I kiss my way down her body, pushing the covers aside. "Is that so?"
I look up at her, memorizing the way she looks in this moment—eyes dark with want, wild curls spread across the pillow, skin flushed with desire. "Trust me?"
Her answer is a breathless "Always."
I trail kisses down her body, my hands caressing her sides, feeling the subtle changes in her shape after four years. She's still my Storm, but her body tells a story of the time we've lost—a story I'm determined to learn every detail of. Her skin is softer, her curves more defined, and as my lips move lower, her scent grows richer, more intoxicating.
"Rook," she gasps as I trace the edge of her underwear with my tongue. "Please."
I hook my fingers in the sides of her panties, dragging them slowly down her legs, savoring every inch of skin revealed. She watches me through half-lidded eyes, her chest rising and falling with quick breaths. When I toss the fabric aside, she reaches for me, but I gently press her hands back to the mattress.
"Let me," I murmur against the inside of her knee. "Let me worship you like you deserve."
A shudder runs through her body at my words. I press open-mouthed kisses along her inner thigh, taking my time, relearning the map of her body. She's trembling by the time I reach her center, her scent so rich it makes my head spin.
The first taste of her after so long apart nearly undoes me. She cries out, her back arching off the bed, her hands flying to my hair. I hold her hips steady as I lose myself in her, every gasp and moan like music. The way she says my name, breathless and desperate, is better than any dream I've had during our years apart.
"Right there," she pants, her fingers tightening in my hair. "Don't stop."
As if I could. I double my efforts, sliding my hands beneath her to lift her closer, driven by the building intensity of her reactions. Her thighs tense against my shoulders, her breathing growing more erratic. I look up the length of her body, needing to see her face as she comes undone.
She's a vision—head thrown back, lips parted, a flush spreading across her chest and neck. Our eyes meet as she reaches the edge, and the connection is so intense it feels like a physical force between us.
"Rook," she cries, her body tensing, then shuddering as pleasure crashes through her. I stay with her through every wave, every aftershock, until she tugs my hair, too sensitive to continue.
I press a gentle kiss to her inner thigh, but I'm not nearly done. Four years of separation demands more than one release. I move up slightly, tracing patterns on her hip with my tongue while she catches her breath.
"I need a minute," she gasps, but I can already feel the tension building in her again as my fingers replace my mouth, exploring gently.
"We have all the time in the world," I tell her, though we both know it's a beautiful lie. We have today, at least, and I intend to make the most of it.
She laughs, the sound turning into a moan as I find a particularly sensitive spot. "Not if you keep doing that."
I smile against her skin, feeling her body respond to my touch. "Tell me what you want," I say, looking up at her. "Tell me how to make you feel good."
Her eyes darken at my words. "I want your mouth on me again," she admits, her voice husky with desire. "Please."
I'm more than happy to oblige, my own arousal a persistent ache as I focus entirely on her pleasure. This time I add my fingers, and the combination makes her writhe beneath me, her hands alternating between gripping the sheets and tangling in my hair.
"Oh my god," she gasps, her hips moving in rhythm with my touch. "Rook, I'm going to?—"
This time when she comes, it's with a scream she muffles against a pillow, her entire body shaking. Her scent explodes around us, dark chocolate so rich and sweet it makes me dizzy. I ease her through it, gentling my touch, but not stopping until she's completely spent.
When I finally move up to lie beside her, she's breathing hard, her skin gleaming with a fine sheen of sweat, her eyes closed in bliss. She looks so beautiful, so perfect, that my chest aches with the force of how much I love her.
"You okay?" I ask, brushing a wild curl from her forehead.
She laughs, the sound lazy and satisfied. "I'm better than okay." She opens her eyes, reaching for me. "But you're still?—"
I catch her hand, bringing it to my lips instead. "Later," I say, though it takes every ounce of willpower I possess. "When we're not in the Kingsley penthouse with three alphas who could barge in at any moment."
She sighs dramatically, but nods. "Fine. Be responsible."
I laugh, leaning down to kiss her once more. "I love you," I say against her lips. "Always have, always will."
Her expression softens. "I love you too. Now go take a cold shower before I change my mind about letting you leave this bed."
As I head for the bathroom, I can't help the smile that spreads across my face. Against all odds, against the entire system, I have her again. And now that I have, I'm never letting her go again.
No matter what it costs me. No matter what I have to do.
Storm is mine, and I am hers, and nothing. Not Jonathan or Alexander Kingsley, not Reed Howard, not the entire fucked-up world, is going to change that.