Chapter 28 Sophie
SOPHIE
The inn is quiet. But after I slept, I woke up bleary, antsy, and uncomfortable.
I can hear the occasional thud of shovels scraping against packed snow outside, the rhythmic sound of Ethan and Tyler clearing the front gate. But inside, it’s just me, the crackling of the fireplace in the grate of my room.
I need to do something. I get up, remembering that I had a bunch of books that came and needed to be unpacked and shelved in the inn’s new library.
Padding across my room, I pull on an oversized sweatshirt soaked in Tyler’s scent. The fabric is warm and soft.
Ten minutes later, I’m lost in the process of unboxing all the books. As I move through the library, the faint creak of wooden shelves is the only sound I hear.
The air is thick with my own scent, rich and musky, the ever-present scent of my slick. It’s a new experience, the unmistakable shift in my body that comes before heat entirely takes hold. It clings to my skin and seeps into the fabric of my clothes, making my body feel too hot and too sensitive.
I shift uncomfortably, my thighs pressing together in search of relief that won’t come. I can feel how wet I am. I pull the hood of my sweatshirt over my head, grateful to have something to do.
I should be hiding in my room, curled up in my nest, preparing for what’s coming. But I’m not ready. The thought of being at the mercy of my instincts, of needing them in ways I can’t fully control, terrifies me.
So, instead, I bury myself in work, sorting through a mess of books and forgotten trinkets on the shelves, pretending like I can fight against biology with sheer willpower alone.
It’s not working.
The moment Brodie steps into the room, I’m instantly aware, and I know I’m in trouble.
His scent—earthy, rich, and distinctly Alpha—wraps around me like a warm blanket, sending a sharp spike of want straight to my core. I can smell his need, and it’s so fucking good I have to clench my thighs together and close my mouth so I don’t whine.
My fingers tighten around the book in my hand as I inhale, unable to stop myself, trying to keep my expression neutral.
He’s got that lazy, confident stride, and his sleeves are rolled up. His forearms are dusted with a hint of sawdust. “I just came for my sketchbook,” he says as he gestures to the table by the window.
He pauses in the doorway to look at the disaster I have made out of the once cozy space. Boxes litter the floor, half emptied and turned on their sides, piles of books cover nearly every surface.
“Do you need a hand, love?” he says softly. “I’m good at this sort of thing.”
I swallow hard, forcing a smile. “I can handle a few books. But if you’re volunteering…”
He comes into the room and kneels next to me, looking at me with an amused glint in his amber eyes. “Oh, I’m always happy to help.”
I clear my throat, setting a book onto the growing pile beside me. “How’s it going outside? Ethan and Tyler still digging us out?”
Brodie laughs, standing up and crossing to the window. “Yep. We had some energy to burn,” he says with a look I don’t fully understand.
“I decided I needed to do some sketching and only just came to grab my book and maybe peek in on you.”
The almost shy way he’s acting looks way too good on him.
That shouldn’t fluster me. But it does.
I turn away, pretending to focus on the shelf before me, but I can feel him watching me, the weight of his attention pressing against my skin—the room suddenly too small and the air scorching.
His voice is teasing when he finally speaks again. “You’ve got dust on your nose.”
I barely have time to react before he steps closer, lifting his hand to brush it away. His fingers linger for a fraction too long, his touch searing into me. My breath catches, heat pooling low in my belly.
I should move. Say something. Do anything but lean into him like I crave every inch of his touch. Like I’m craving to have my whole body pressed against his, naked, sweaty, melting with pleasure.
My body betrays me, and he notices as I lean a fraction of an inch into him. Of course, he notices.
His half smile fades, replaced by hungry, smoldering need. “Sophie,” he murmurs, his voice rough with restraint.
I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to get control of myself. I start to turn away. “I should—”
But before I can finish, he’s behind me, close enough to feel the heat radiating from his body. His hand trails up my arm, catching my wrist as I reach for another book.
“Let me,” he murmurs, voice like velvet and fire.
I freeze as his chest presses against my back, his grip firm but not forceful, just enough to hold me in place. My breath stutters, and when I lean my head back in surrender and look at him, the intensity in his gaze steals whatever excuse I was about to make.
Brodie’s fingers slowly slide from my wrist down to my hand, and I feel the calloused roughness of his palm against my skin. “Let me help you. I can feel you, the scent of you, and it’s fucking driving me crazy.”
I open my mouth to protest, but he silences me the only way he can—his lips pressing against mine, a fierce and deliberate glide. His tongue demands that I submit. I want nothing more than to have this beautiful man do anything he wants to me as long as he doesn’t stop kissing me.
A soft, helpless sound escapes me as I melt into him.
His kiss is everything—possessive, demanding.
My body responds instinctively, pressing closer, my fingers tangling in the fabric of his shirt, pulling at what I can reach of him like I need him to breathe, my wrists still held in his large palms.
Brodie’s free hand drifts down, settling at my waist before sliding lower into the waistband of my leggings. He glides one finger along my slit rhythmically before sinking into my heat. My knees weaken, heat licking up my spine, and he lifts me slightly, a growl of pure need coming from his chest.
He pulls his hand out and to his mouth, looking me deep in the eyes as he tastes me on his fingers. The sight is so erotic I slick instantly, wholly undone by the heat in his eyes.
He releases my wrists and turns me in his arms. His grip is rough as he drives his hands to my ass and lifts me effortlessly, pressing me against his hardness. His lips claim mine in a bruising, frenzied kiss. He guides me back against the nearest table.
“Brodie,” I whisper, breaking the kiss, my voice shaking with need.
He pulls back just enough to look at me, his pupils blown wide with hunger. “Tell me to stop, and I will,” he says, his voice a low growl.
I don’t want him to stop.
I can’t think beyond the press of his body, the way his hands skim up my thighs, lifting my hoodie to hook his hands in the waistband of my leggings and, achingly slow, pulls them off, taking my underwear with them.
His hands and lips make a slow, reverent path back up my body. Every nerve in my body is on fire, desperate for more, for him.
“Let me take care of you, Sophie,” he murmurs, his voice filled with a kind of devotion that steals the breath from my lungs.
A shuddering sigh leaves my lips, my resolve crumbling under the weight of my desire. “Yes,” I whisper.
That’s all it takes.
Brodie kneels before me, his broad hands bracketing my thighs, spreading me open with a reverence that sends a full-body shiver through me. His grip is firm, steadying me as if he knows I’ll crumble beneath the weight of my own need.
The room feels impossibly hot, my Omega instincts clawing to the surface, desperate for his touch, his scent, his claim.
I barely have time to process the sight of him on his knees before his lips follow, pressing to the sensitive skin of my inner thigh, his stubble scraping lightly, sending a fresh wave of slick between my legs.
His tongue traces a slow, deliberate path, and my head tilts back, a moan slipping past my lips before I can stop it.
“Good girl,” he murmurs against me, his voice dark and rich with praise. His breath ghosts over my heat, and my hips shift toward him instinctively, my body betraying any last shred of restraint.
My fingers grip the table’s edge behind me, knuckles white as he takes his first taste. Laving my clit with slow teasing licks, he takes my clit in his mouth and sucks. The sensation sends me over the edge.
And he meets my climax with a deep chuckle, “Such a good girl, coming for your Alpha. So pretty.”
He takes his time, dragging me higher, pulling every sound from my lips like he’s savoring each one. Every lap of his tongue, every slow stroke of his fingers on my folds, is deliberate—controlled and all-consuming.
He plays my body like he was made for me. He grounds me with whispered praises, his voice threading through my haze like silk.
“You’re perfect like this,” he rasps, his voice thick with possession. “Soft. Sweet. Mine.” before he plunges two fingers deep and has my back arching. I’m so close to another climax.
A primal, needy sound I didn’t even know I could make escapes me as he starts to move inside me, plunging in and out. He’s rough with me, his fingers wet as slick drips down his wrist and coats my thighs.
A shudder rips through me as Brodie’s fingers curl inside me, finding that devastating spot that sends a lightning strike of pleasure straight through my core. The heat burning beneath my skin ignites into something uncontrollable, something all-consuming.
My fingers dig into his shoulders and into his hair, fisting it with my need, desperate for something to hold onto, but I can’t ground myself. I’m too lost, too overwhelmed.
“Brodie—oh my God—please…I can’t—I’m—” The words tumble from my lips, breathless and needy, before breaking into a moan as the pleasure crests, crashing over me like a tidal wave.
My body clenches around his fingers, slick and pulsing, every nerve on fire. I try to make sense of it, try to hold on to something solid, but all I can do is surrender, my voice trembling as I gasp, “I’ve never—never felt this—”
Brodie groans against my thigh, his voice thick with something dark, something claiming. “Fuck, you’re so tight, God love, that’s it. Come for me. You’re so fucking perfect, I’m never letting you go.”
His words hang in the air, settling deep into my bones, branding themselves into my skin. My Omega keens at the claim, but my mind barely has time to latch onto the meaning before the pleasure crests, shattering through me again.
I cry out, my thighs shaking, my body trembling as I come apart beneath him. The force of it leaves me gasping, my chest heaving as I struggle to pull in my breath.
Brodie doesn’t pull away immediately—he lingers, pressing slow, open-mouthed kisses along my inner thighs as I twitch beneath him, his hands still firm on my hips, anchoring me.
When he finally rises, his hands find my face, cupping it gently as he kisses me, deep and consuming, letting me taste myself on his lips.
I melt into him, hands fisting in his shirt, needing him closer, needing him to drown out the storm raging inside me. Needing him to know me. The desire to feel his teeth on me while he knots me from behind is almost enough to give me another orgasm.
His forehead presses against mine, his breath unsteady, and for a moment, the world narrows to just us—his warmth, his scent, the raw emotion crackling between us. His own need pressed against me, hot and insistent.
“I’m not going anywhere, Sophie,” he murmurs, his voice a low promise, filled with something I’m not ready to name.
But I feel it.
It settles deep inside me, curling around my heart, something too big, terrifying, and undeniable to ignore.