Chapter 25 Bianca #2
“Fuck,” Owen breathes, watching me with wide eyes. “That was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”
After we finish cleaning up—for real this time—Owen offers me a clean shirt that smells like him, and I pull it over my head, inhaling deeply. I love wearing their clothes. I love smelling like them. It’s becoming a thing for me.
Owen guides me to the dining area, where the smell of lasagna makes my stomach growl audibly.
Weller sits at the head of the table, elbows on the surface, head cradled in his hands like he’s trying to contain an explosion.
Freddie and Tristan are already eating, their plates piled high with the lasagna we made earlier.
The sight makes me smile. The high from the gummies lingers just enough to keep me relaxed.
“Well, well, look who decided to join us,” Tristan says when we enter the dining area, his eyes trailing over my bare legs with obvious appreciation.
I saunter over to him, still riding the high from Freddie and Owen, my body loose and satisfied.
When I lean down to give him a quick welcome-home kiss and then start to pull away, his hand shoots up faster than I can track, wrapping around the back of my neck.
His fingers tangle in my damp hair, gripping just tight enough to make my scalp tingle as he pulls me back down.
“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” he murmurs, his lips barely leaving mine, breath hot against my mouth.
His teeth catch my bottom lip. The sharp sting blooms outward, replaced by a rush of warmth when he soothes the spot with his tongue and then deepens the kiss, literally fucking my mouth with his tongue. My knees weaken, and I have to brace my hands on his shoulders to stay upright.
His other hand slides up my bare thigh, stopping just short of where I’m still sensitive and swollen from Freddie and Owen.
These men make me feel ridiculously needy. It’s a little embarrassing.
“Was it a good shower, omega?” He inhales deeply, and I feel the rumble of his dark chuckle before he pulls back to fix me with a knowing look. “Did you give Owen what he wanted, or did you put him in his place?”
Heat crawls up my neck, and I narrow my eyes at him. “I hate you.”
“I think we’ve established you’re a pretty little liar,” he whispers, his breath sending shivers down my spine, “since I can smell Owen dripping from your cunt right now.”
A whimper escapes before I can stop it, my thighs clenching together at his words. His hand lands on my ass with a playful swat as I step away, making me jump.
I watch, trying to regain my composure, as Tristan pulls out a tiny notebook from his pocket. It’s smaller than his palm, and he takes a little pencil from the spine and writes something down before tucking both items away with a flourish.
“What is that?” I ask, suspicious and intrigued.
He gives me a devilish smile. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
I file that away for later investigation, already plotting how to get my hands on that notebook.
I roll my eyes, and Owen pulls out a chair for me, but instead of sitting in it, I make a beeline for Weller. His head lifts at my approach, those hazel eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that would be intimidating if I didn’t feel the concern behind it.
I climb onto Weller’s lap, straddling him, folding myself into the space between his arms and pressing my face to his chest. His heartbeat thrums steady and strong against my cheek, a little too fast to be calm.
His arms wrap around me instantly, broad palms anchoring me, warming the small of my back.
He leans in, his lips brushing the crown of my head. He lingers there.
It’s strange, I think, how easily we fit together after everything. Like the years between us were just a long inhale before picking up a conversation we never finished.
“Hi,” I whisper. I push back to see his face.
Deep shadows bruise the skin beneath his eyes, exhaustion written in the hard set of his jaw.
I reach up, tracing a thumb over the furrows in his brow, trying to smooth away the tension.
His skin is warm under my touch, stubble on his jaw that wasn’t there this morning.
He blinks, and his eyes go soft for a moment. “Bianca, we need to talk about—”
I press my lips to his, barely there, just enough to stop the words.
“I know, but don’t be mad at Freddie. He tried to stop when he remembered the cameras, but I made it impossibly hard for him to think straight.
” I shift on his lap, making my point. “So if you’re looking for someone to blame, blame me. ”
“Hmm.” Weller’s eyes narrow.
From behind us, Tristan laughs low and dark, while Freddie snorts.
I kiss Weller again, more insistent this time, licking along the seam of his lips until he opens for me with a sigh. The need to comfort him—to ease whatever’s eating at him from the inside out—is a need beneath my skin.
“You feel like home.” The words against my lips are so unexpected. His eyes search mine, vulnerability flashing across his face before he can hide it. “I wish I’d been here with you instead.”
My heart squeezes in my chest. “You had to do what you had to do.” My fingers tangle in his hair, massaging his scalp, trying to knead the tension from him. He groans, eyes fluttering closed.
He presses his face into the crook of my neck. Weller feels so deeply, but he holds it in. Every feeling locked down tight.
We’re definitely going to work on that.
“Eat.” His voice is back to business, hands guiding me to turn on his lap so my back’s to his chest, facing the table.
Freddie slides a plate with two slices of lasagna toward us, his smile warm and a little sheepish. “It’s actually not bad considering.”
“It’s a miracle anything made it to the oven,” Tristan drawls, eyeing the slightly charred top with exaggerated disdain. “And there was icing fucking everywhere.”
I giggle, helpless to stop it.
“I finished the cupcakes while you were in the shower.” Freddie’s green eyes rake over me with a little heat and a lot of mischief.
Weller clears his throat, his body tensing behind me. Here we go. “We need to discuss sexual activities in the monitored areas.”
Oh god. Sexual activities. I make a face. Only Weller could make something so delicious sound like a job site safety warning.
“Today was a learning experience.” His intensity is building, his arm cinching a little tighter. “Going forward, I do not want Bianca’s naked body or her intimate experiences on recordings for anyone to see or hear. I don’t know who’s watching those feeds, and I never will.”
“I don’t care about the cameras,” I interrupt, taking a bite of lasagna. The cheese stretches—a long, gooey strand—and I catch it with my tongue, shameless.
“Well, I do.” His lips are suddenly at my ear, his voice dropping to that commanding tone that makes my insides melt. “No one sees you but us. That’s final. This is more of an informative discussion, not a debate.”
A thrill runs through me. “And if I break your rule?” I twist to look at him.
“I’m sure you will find out, Bianca.” His lips curve into a small, dangerous smile that makes my heart skip.
I point at his face, feigning shock. “Did you see that? He smiled!”
He huffs a half-laugh, exasperated, and I lean in, my mouth brushing his ear as I whisper, “I want you to knot me to sleep tonight. Is that allowed, even if the cameras are watching?”
He groans, shifting beneath me, his hands tightening on my hips. “As long as you’re covered up.”
I grin, feeling victorious, and take a triumphant bite of lasagna.
“Bianca,” Weller says, the edge in his voice replaced by something gentler, “I arranged for you to see your parents and Winston during the family dinner tomorrow night. I’ve booked private transportation that I trust, and Montgomery’s guard will follow.
Winston will meet you outside and walk you in.
He’s recovering well, using a walker. He’s eager to see you. ”
At first, I’m excited. But then the anxiety comes, twisting my insides. I haven’t seen my parents since the hospital. Before I was captured. Before I awakened. Before the bond. Before I found out my mother dated Montgomery in college.
I push my fork away, my appetite gone.
It’s a bitter thing, wondering if your mother could be part of the nightmare you’re living. Did she know? Did he trick her? The questions gnaw at the soft places in my memory of my childhood.
Growing up, I was close to my parents. It wasn’t always easy to meet Mom’s sky-high academic standards, the pressure to be perfect, but our house was warm. No screaming. No drama. I felt loved.
Mom cooked my favorite foods when I was stressed. Dad played basketball in the driveway with Winston and me after dinner every night. They came to every event, every milestone.
There’s no way she knew. Right? She was wrecked when I didn’t come home with her from the mountains.
“What is it?” Weller’s voice is closer, his arms banding tighter around me. “Where’d you go?”
Owen is leaning in, eyes dark and unblinking. “Your scent changed,” he observes.
Tristan’s watching me.
Freddie’s hand finds mine across the table. “Bianca?”
I swallow hard. In all of the commotion, I haven’t told them that my mother knew Montgomery and she could be the catalyst for all of it.
This makes me feel so fucking guilty. If not for me—if not for whatever connection my mother had with Montgomery—would they have been in captivity in the first place?
I can’t answer them truthfully in front of the cameras. I shake my head slightly, flicking my eyes meaningfully toward the lens in the corner of the room.
“Later,” I mouth.
Understanding dawns in their eyes. Apparently, the bathrooms will have to be our secret sharing space too. Soap, secrets, and fucking.
I paste on a smile, kissing Weller’s cheek. “Thank you for making it happen.” I try to sound normal. “I mean it.”
It’s nice being taken care of.
A little giddiness returns at the thought of seeing Winston, though. He’s more in the loop about everything and can help me suss out what’s going on.
“Will Clara be there? Winston’s pack?”
“Maybe,” Weller answers. “It’s possible.”
God, I hope so. I need girl time. Girl time that doesn’t involve haircuts, backstabbing, or fighting to the death.
Four men can be pretty fun when it’s not exhausting. Their energy is everywhere, their scents a constant in the air, their eyes tracking my every move. Their need for me… endless.
Not that I’m complaining.
Today was one of the best days I’ve had in longer than I want to admit.
Waking up with Tristan between my thighs, kitchen chaos with Freddie, a shower with Owen, dinner with all four of them, and the promise of Weller’s knot to come.
I could almost forget I’m now the star of Whitney’s dollhouse, playing my part for Montgomery.
Almost.
“So,” Freddie says, clearing his throat, breaking the tension that’s settled over the table. “Dessert?”
I can’t help but smile.
I take a cupcake, making a show of licking the icing off, swirling my tongue around the peak of frosting, enjoying the way he blushes.
“Mmm.” Cupcakes made with love taste even better.
And shit. I almost forgot. I need to get back to Whitney’s office soon. Freddie distracted me earlier.
Whitney always loved her secrets. Earlier, during our little snoop, I spotted a book on her shelf that looked familiar.
I’ve read that book before—but not this one. Not if it’s the same one I remember.
Because it isn’t a book at all.
It’s a hollowed-out copy of Pride and Prejudice where she used to keep things hidden from her father. I remember finding it once when we were teenagers, eager to read it, but the pages were cut out to create a secret compartment. There was nothing too interesting in it back then…
But I really want to know what’s inside it now.
I lick more frosting from my cupcake, plotting how to get back into that office without anyone noticing.
Obviously, I will share anything I find…