12. Grace
12
GRACE
T he kitchen smells like garlic and oil, and I’m fussing over the sausages in the pan, prodding them with a fork even though they don’t need it.
The damn sink’s dripping again, a slow, irritating plop , plop , that’s been getting on my nerves all morning. I huff, turning the heat down and twisting the faucet handle harder, like that’ll do anything.
The front door swings open, and in walks Jake, smelling like cedar and pines, and something sharper, something clean and warm and stupidly, unfairly good.
My stomach tightens. He’s in a worn-out Henley, sleeves pushed up—exposing those forearms should be illegal. His jeans are slung low on his hips, and his boots scuff against the floor. He takes one look at me, then at the sausages, and smirks.
“Domestic life suits you, Grace.”
I roll my eyes. “Shut up.”
He sniffs dramatically. “And here I thought I was smelling something decent. But nope. Burned sausage.”
I point the fork at him. “They’re not burned.”
“Yet.”
I flip him off and turn back to the pan, but I’m hyper-aware of him behind me, close enough that his scent wraps around me, making me lightheaded. My stomach clenches, just for a second, but then the moment passes.
So, the suppressants are working again.
Thank fuck.
For a second there last night, I thought—well, doesn’t matter now.
I settle, focus on my task, try to act normal. I scrape the spatula under one of the sausages to check the crispiness, and then remove the pan from the stove. I glance over at the sink. The drip is still going, and it sets my teeth on edge.
Jake follows my gaze. “That thing been doing that for a while?”
“Two days.”
“Want me to look at it?”
I sigh, shifting on my feet. “There’s a toolbox under the sink. If you wanna play handyman, be my guest.”
He grins like I just handed him a damn present. “You’re too good to me.”
“Just fix the damn sink.”
He crouches down, pulling open the cabinet. I hear tools clanking as he rummages through them. “You ever think about just replacing this thing? Feels like you’re fighting a losing battle.”
“Maybe. But I’m stubborn.”
“No shit.”
I turn, watching him get to work, his broad shoulders stretching under his shirt as he shifts under the sink. His voice is muffled when he speaks. “I ran into Callum earlier. He’s got a new puppy.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. Cutest little thing. Almost made me wanna get one.”
I smirk. “Jake Marshall, dog owner? I don’t see it. Also, isn’t that a little ironic?”
“Fuck off.” He chuckles. “I’d be a great dog dad. It’s practice for when I have cubs someday.”
I laugh, shaking my head as I go back to the stove. The kitchen is warm, the kind of cozy that makes me relax just a little.
Then it happens.
Out of fucking nowhere.
A sharp, liquid heat lances through me, curling low in my belly, and I gasp. What?—
Oh, fuck. It’s happening again.
I grip the edge of the sink, knuckles white. My body is on fire, every nerve ending flaring to life, my head spinning.
No, no, no. This isn’t supposed to be happening. I took my suppressants. I was fine.
The tools clatter to the floor. Jake’s up in a flash, his hand on my arm. “Grace?”
I shake my head, panting. “It’s—” My throat is dry. “It’s happening again.”
His eyes darken. “Okay. Breathe. Don’t panic.”
I make a strangled sound, half a sob, half frustration. “Jake, I?—”
“Shh.” He pulls me close, one big hand sliding around my waist, the other brushing back my hair. “Don’t fight it, baby. Just breathe.”
The nickname shouldn’t make my stomach flip, not now, but it does. And fuck, he smells so good. He’s strong and steady, offering the kind of comfort that makes me want to crawl into his skin.
His hand moves up, cups my cheek. “Is this how it happened last time?”
I nod. “Fast. Too fast.”
“I’ve seen Omegas in heat before,” he murmurs, like he’s trying to figure it out, like he’s working through some equation in his head. “But never like this.”
“Not even that time in the cabin?” I ask and press my forehead to his chest, gripping his shirt. My teeth graze his jaw, just for a second, just enough to make him inhale sharply.
His whole body tenses. “Grace.” His voice is lower now. Rougher.
I whimper. I hate it. I hate the way I sound, the way I need. But I can’t stop it. It’s like my body is running on instinct, and he’s the only damn thing keeping me tethered to reality.
His hand fists in my hair, tilting my head back. His light green eyes are darker now, something flickering in them. Something dangerous.
Then, he says, “Fuck this.”
And he kisses me.
It’s not gentle. It’s not careful. It’s all heat and pressure and possession, his lips moving against mine like he’s staking a claim.
I gasp into it, and he takes advantage, tongue sliding against mine, deepening it, making me dizzy.
My body responds instantly, pressing into him, needing more, more, more.
I’m burning.
He swallows my whimper, one arm locked tight around my waist. His other hand is in my hair, tilting my head, angling me how he wants, like he’s taking his time memorizing my taste.
My hands curl into his shirt, pulling him closer. It’s too much and not enough all at once.
When he finally pulls back, his breath is ragged, his forehead pressed to mine.
“Shit,” he mutters.
I swallow hard, still shaking. “Yeah.”
His grip tightens on my waist. “Grace…”
I know.
I know this changes things.
I know it’s dangerous.
But right now, with his scent clouding my head and my body screaming for more, I don’t give a damn. I grab the front of his shirt, tug him down.
“Do that again.”
His breath hitches. Then he groans, low and wrecked, and his mouth crashes against mine.
This time, neither of us hold back.
He smells fresh, like pine and clean soap, but underneath I pick up something warmer. Something thicker. Something purely him.
My whole body is burning, pulsing, aching. His tongue slides against mine, and I swear I could drown in the taste of him.
Somewhere in the haze, I realize he’s lifting me, carrying me.
“Bed,” he growls.
I whimper, pressing closer, heat licking at every nerve as he strides down the hall. The second we hit the mattress, his hands are on me, roaming, mapping, tearing down every logical thought I had left.
This is wrong. I’m taking advantage of him.
Everyone in town knows Jake has a bit of a crush on me. But right now? Right now, all I can think is… Alpha.
I need him.
My trembling hands go for the button of his jeans. He curses, catching my wrist, pressing a kiss to the inside of it.
“Please,” I whisper.
Jake exhales sharply, his fingers tracing my pulse. “I don’t want you doing something you’ll regret.”
“Jake.” It’s a plea, breathless and raw.
His jaw tightens, but then his hands are on me, pulling my dress over my head. I’m left in nothing but my bra and thin cotton panties.
One of his thick fingers presses against the damp fabric.
Jake groans.
The scent of my arousal thickens the air, and I swear I hear him breathe it in. I tug his shirt over his head, desperate for more skin, more warmth. But when I reach for his jeans again, he grips my wrists, pinning them at my back.
The motion pushes my chest forward, and he smirks before sucking one of my nipples through the fabric of my bra.
I gasp, writhing, grinding against his thigh, searching for friction, anything, everything.
His lips move up, kissing my neck, licking over my scent gland, then crashing back to my mouth.
“Do what you have to,” he murmurs and releases my arms.
I fist my hands in his hair, rolling my hips harder, faster, chasing the fire. I can’t stop. I don’t want to. The pleasure builds, climbing, twisting, until?—
Everything shatters.
My whole body goes tense, a sharp cry breaking from my lips. When I finally come down, my breath stuttering, there’s a wet spot on his jeans.
Jake lets out a short laugh. “Shit.”
I groan, pressing my face into his neck, heat rushing to my cheeks. “Don’t look at me.”
“Oh, I’m looking.” He grins, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “You’re so fucking sexy.”
I swallow hard. “Did you come…?”
He raises a brow. “In my pants like a fucking pup.”
I let out a weak, breathless laugh as he kisses my forehead, wrapping me up in his arms. The weight of him, the warmth of him—it’s grounding. Safe.
But something between us has shifted. This changes everything.
Jake brushes his fingers along my spine, his voice softer now. “You okay?”
I nod. My breathing finally evens out, the fire dimming to embers.
Then guilt creeps in. “I… I feel like I used you.”
Jake huffs, tilting my chin up. “It was an honor to be used by you, Grace.”
My heart clenches. I don’t know what this means. What comes next. But right now, wrapped in his scent, the steady sound of his heartbeat under my ear, I can’t bring myself to care.