18. Ash
18
ASH
T he bell above the shop door jingles as I walk in.
Grace is behind the counter. She’s wearing a short denim skirt and an off-shoulder blouse, her dark curls spilling down her back.
The boots on her feet give her a little more height, but she’s still small enough that I could pick her up without breaking a sweat.
“Hey,” I say, leaning my elbows on the counter. “You eat yet?”
She shakes her head. “Not yet.”
I grin. “Can I take you out?”
Her lips press together, like she’s fighting a smile. “I have Alphas.”
I shrug. “It’s just lunch, baby girl.”
She blushes. Actually fucking blushes. “You’re trouble.”
I chuckle. “Only if you want me to be.”
She rolls her eyes but doesn’t say no.
We end up at a little diner by the water. The place is half-empty, the scent of coffee and fried bacon thick in the air. I order for both of us—pancakes, eggs, sausage, the works.
“You always eat this much?” she asks, raising a brow.
“Gotta keep my strength up,” I say.
She snorts but doesn’t argue, shifting the conversation to my move to Driftwood Cove.
We’re halfway through breakfast when she suddenly stiffens. Her fork clatters against her plate, and she pushes back from the table.
“Grace?”
She shakes her head. “I—I’ll be right back.”
She rushes to the bathroom, her steps quick, almost unsteady. I watch the door she disappeared through, a tight knot forming in my stomach.
When she comes back, she’s different.
Her skin is flushed, her breathing shallow. Her scent—already sweet—is thicker now, richer. And fuck, I know what this is.
Her heat.
“Let’s go,” I say, already standing.
She nods quickly, not meeting my eyes. I don’t need to push her. She knows as well as I do that she can’t stay here like this.
Outside, she grips the car door handle, her knuckles white. Her thighs press together as she shifts on her feet.
I exhale through my nose, forcing down the surge of heat rolling through me. “What do you need?”
She swallows hard. “Take me home.”
I nod, sliding into the driver’s seat.
By the time we get to her house, she’s shaking.
“I called my pack,” she whispers. “They’re coming.”
I grip the wheel. “I’m not leaving you alone.”
“I’m okay,” she says, but then she moans, her head falling back against the seat.
I bite back a curse.
“You think I don’t know this is torture for you, too?” Her voice is breathy, wrecked.
I clench my jaw. “I don’t mind.”
Her laugh is soft, barely there. “Liar.”
She fumbles with the door, and I rush to help her inside. As soon as we’re inside, she collapses onto the couch, eyes glassy. I grab a bottle of water from the kitchen and kneel in front of her.
“Drink,” I say.
She takes a few sips before handing it back. “I think I need a shower.”
She tries to stand, but her legs give out and she stumbles right into me.
Fuck.
She’s warm. Too warm. I help her up, settling on the sofa with her on my lap.
And she’s pressed right up against me.
Her breath hitches as she realizes what she’s done. “I’m?—”
“Don’t,” I rasp. Her eyes lock with mine, and I swear I can see her nipples harden through the blouse.
She bites her lower lip, and I have to fight the urge to suck it into my mouth, to bite it so hard the taste of copper fills both our mouths.
Fuck me!
Her hips shift, just slightly, but it’s enough.
My body reacts, hard and fast.
Her scent is everywhere. It’s messing with my head, making me want things I shouldn’t.
She lets out a little noise, something close to a whimper, and buries her face in my neck.
I grip her waist, holding her still. “Sweetheart, where are they?”
“I don’t know,” she mumbles. “Soon.”
She shifts again, pressing closer, her lips grazing my skin.
I groan, gripping her tighter. “How often does this happen?” I ask, desperate to distract myself.
She doesn’t answer.
Instead, her teeth scrape my throat, right over my pulse.
Fuck.
My hand fists in the fabric of her blouse and she straddles my lap, rocking against me, seeking friction, seeking anything to ease the ache.
I shouldn’t let her. But I do.
She moves, and I grip her hips, keeping her steady.
She’s burning up, and so am I. If she asked, I’d give her anything. Claimed or not.
Her pheromones are too strong, her need too sharp. I breathe through my nose, keeping myself still.
This isn’t for me.
It’s for her. I just have to hold on.
Grace’s breath comes in short, sharp gasps as she moves in my lap, her body pressing flush against mine.
Her hands are everywhere—gripping my shoulders, sliding under my shirt, pressing against my stomach. And fuck, I should stop this.
“We shouldn’t,” I murmur against her skin, my lips brushing over her shoulder.
She whimpers, grinding down harder. “Please.”
My hands tighten around her waist. The way she’s moving, the way she’s begging—it’s got me unraveling fast.
Every inch of me is screaming to give in. Just once. Just?—
The door swings open with a sharp thud.
Grace doesn’t even notice. She’s too lost in it, her head thrown back, chasing that last bit of pleasure. But I do.
Jake and Rowan storm in like they own the fucking place, and when their eyes lock onto Grace—onto their precious Omega, in my lap—it’s over.
I go rigid. She doesn’t.
“Grace,” I say, my voice rough.
“Fuck,” she breathes, still rolling her hips.
Jake growls, low and dangerous. Rowan’s nose flares, his hands curling into fists at his sides. He takes a step forward like he’s about to rip me apart.
“Let her finish,” Jake says, voice dark, unreadable.
My jaw tightens. “She’s?—”
“No,” Grace whimpers. “So close.”
Fuck.
She presses herself deeper against me, nails digging into my skin as her fingers slip under my shirt again, tracing fire across my stomach.
She grinds down, seeking, chasing. My gaze stays locked on Rowan and Jake.
I don’t let go.
“Yes, yes, yes,” she moans, and fuck, they hear it, smell it, know the exact second she tips over.
The room is thick with it, her scent wrapping around all of us like a vice.
She’s panting now, her body trembling against mine, eyes hazy as she finally looks up and sees them.
Jake takes a slow step forward.
“Hey, baby,” he says, voice softer now. “Let me help you up.”
He’s careful when he lifts her, keeping her close, making sure she doesn’t stumble.
Rowan doesn’t move. His gaze snaps to me, sharp and full of something vicious. Jake looks between us.
“Let him go, Rowan. We need to take care of our girl.”
Rowan’s chest rises and falls like he’s barely holding himself back.
His hands twitch at his sides, his whole body vibrating with the kind of energy that says he’d rather throw me through a fucking wall.
But he doesn’t.
“Get the fuck out,” he finally says, voice like gravel.
I swallow, still impossibly hard, and push to my feet. My jaw is tight as I force myself to move, as I make it to the door.
Then I hear it: a soft, wrecked moan.
“Fuck me,” she whimpers.
I don’t look back.
I step out, my pulse hammering, my body screaming, my mind—what the fuck was that?
I keep walking, my muscles coiled tight, my breathing sharp as I head back to my place. It’s close enough to fucking see right into her windows.
I don’t mean to look.
But the light’s still on. My body is still wired, still aching.
I drag a hand down my face and sink onto the couch, every inch of me desperate and raw. My fingers move to my belt, unbuckling it with a sharp pull, and fuck?—
Not even with Mia. Not even with my mate have I ever felt this fucking powerless to an Omega.
And that scares the absolute shit out of me.