Chapter 9 #2
“I am. Mostly.” He covers my hand with his, threading our fingers together, and the simple gesture has my heart stuttering. “But I still think about her sometimes. Wonder what her life would’ve been like. If she had kids, grandkids, dreams she never got to live.”
“That’s what makes you good at what you do,” I say. “You care. You remember. You don’t treat people like statistics.”
We’re quiet for a moment, just the sound of the truck and the heater running, our hands linked on his leg.
“So when did ice cream become your rebellion?” I ask, trying to lighten the mood.
He laughs. “I was never allowed to have it as a kid. My parents were strict. So the first time I had my own money, my own place, I went to the store and bought six different flavors. Ate myself sick. Best decision I ever made.”
“Very rebellious.”
“I’m full of surprises.”
“Clearly. Frozen dairy as an act of defiance.”
“You mock now, but wait until you try this stuff. It’s going to change your life.”
I find myself staring at those powerful forearms covered in tattoos, dark ink swirling across muscle and tendon. The way his hands grip the wheel. There’s something about men’s forearms that makes my brain short-circuit. The visible strength, the way they flex with every small movement.
“What are you thinking about?” he asks, catching me staring.
“Your arms,” I admit.
“Yeah?”
“They’re very distracting.”
His grin goes wicked. “Should I cover them? Don’t want to be a hazard.”
“Too late. Already distracted.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“You should.” I’m blushing now, but I don’t look away. “Very effective arms.”
“Effective for what?”
“Things.”
“Very specific,” he teases. “Care to elaborate?”
“Nope. Remaining mysterious.”
“You’re being adorable.”
“That’s the goal.”
We’re approaching the mansion now, and he pulls out his phone, taps something into it. The massive metal gates swing open smoothly, and we drive through onto the long driveway.
“Very high-tech,” I observe.
“Necessary when you make enemies for a living.” He pockets his phone as we navigate the curve through trees. The house comes into view through the trees, stone and timber lit from within, warm and inviting instead of intimidating.
My brain should be screaming warnings. Should be second-guessing this entire decision.
But all I can think about is the kiss earlier. The way having him in my mouth felt almost calming, like my body recognized something it needed. I feel drawn to him in ways that terrify me because I don’t know how to trust this pull.
But maybe I can be professional. Keep boundaries. Enjoy ice cream and conversation and nothing more. Sure. That’s definitely going to work.
We park in front of the house, and I follow him inside. I kick off my heels at the door, and the relief is immediate. My feet are screaming gratitude.
“It’s almost ten,” Noel says, glancing around the quiet house. “Chris and Kane are probably in their rooms if they’re back from the night’s job.”
The house is peaceful, most lights off except in the kitchen. The stone fireplace in the great room is blazing, flames dancing and crackling, casting moving shadows across the leather furniture. Makes me wonder if the other two guys are home if their fireplace is on.
Though, I would kill to have a home like this.
It’s everything I’ve ever wanted, cozy and warm and safe. Sometimes when I can’t sleep, I play YouTube videos of those fantasy cabins with fireplaces roaring while rain pounds outside on the window. This could be one of those places. The kind of home I’ve been dreaming about my entire life.
I set my wallet and Lily’s spare house key on a side table and sink into the enormous couch facing the fire. My feet don’t touch the floor, so I curl my legs beneath me.
The heat from the fire washes over me, and I close my eyes for just a second, letting the tension drain from my shoulders.
“Don’t fall asleep yet,” Noel says. “Ice cream first. Then sleep.”
I open my eyes to find him returning from the kitchen, and my breath catches.
He’s shed his button-up shirt, now wearing just jeans and a tight black tee that shows off every line of muscle, every defined plane.
His boots are gone, feet bare on the hardwood, and there’s something intimate about seeing him comfortable, relaxed, at home.
And he’s holding a black container of ice cream with two spoons sticking out like flags.
The firelight dances across his face, all shadows and angles, and for a few seconds, I let myself imagine this being real. Coming home to three of them every night. Building a life here. Saying yes to being their Omega and trusting that they wouldn’t break my heart.
My pulse thunders so hard I can feel it everywhere—throat, wrists, between my legs.
He sits next to me, close enough that our legs touch, and leans in with a grin that’s pure sin. “Choose your weapon.”
I select a spoon.
The ice cream is beautiful—swirls of cream, flecks of what might be real vanilla bean, threads of caramel running through everything.
I take a bite. Oh my God. Rich. Creamy. The bourbon adds depth without overwhelming, and the caramel is perfectly balanced between sweet and salty, with little pockets of crunchy hazelnut adding texture. “This is incredible,” I moan and immediately take another scoop.
“Right?” He’s grinning, watching me with obvious satisfaction. “We’re going to eat the whole thing tonight.”
“I’m not even sorry.”
“Good. Because I have two more in the freezer.”
I laugh. “Two more? Why do you need three containers?”
“When you find something good, you stock up. Avoid future regret.” He takes another mouthful, and a little bit of caramel sticks to his lower lip.
Without thinking, I lean forward and swipe it with my thumb.
He catches my wrist before I can pull back, brings my thumb to his mouth, and sucks the caramel off slowly.
Heat floods through me, my heart racing.
“That’s cheating,” I whisper.
“All’s fair in ice cream and war.”
We’re both reaching for the container at the same time, spoons colliding, and I try to get the better angle, but he blocks me. We’re play-fighting like children, laughing and jostling, and somehow I end up half in his lap, our faces close enough that I can feel his breath.
He runs his nose along mine, a gentle motion that’s sweet and ridiculous, and I’m smiling madly despite the heat building between us. I try to return the gesture, but he’s faster, and suddenly he’s leaning in, capturing my mouth with his.
I taste ice cream and bourbon and the salt-sweet of caramel, and I moan against his lips without meaning to.
“You taste amazing with ice cream,” he murmurs when we break apart.
“You’re not playing fair.”
“Never said I would.”
I reach for more ice cream, determined to regain some control, but he’s already scooping up a dollop and putting it directly on his lips, grinning at me with a challenge in his eyes.
Then he’s kissing me again, and I’m laughing against his mouth, trying to push him back, but he’s got me pinned now. Half on top of me on the couch, one hand braced against the cushions, the other cupping my face.
The kiss deepens. His tongue sweeps against mine, tasting of promises I shouldn’t believe but want to. Something cold hits my chest. I gasp, pulling back, and there’s melted ice cream sliding down into my cleavage, leaving a sticky trail.
“Oh, no,” I start to say.
“I got it,” Noel says, and his voice dips. He sets the tub on the side table then his mouth is on my chest, licking up the trail of melted ice cream, moving lower and lower toward the edge of my dress. His tongue is hot against the top of my breasts, and I’m so turned on I can barely breathe.
My panties are soaking wet. My body is on fire. Every nerve ending is screaming for more, and I know exactly where this is heading.
Which is why I panic. I wriggle out from under him, breathing hard, my hands shaking as I push against his shoulders.
He lets me go immediately, sitting back, giving me space.
He’s sprawled on the couch now, still clutching his spoon. He licks his lips slowly, deliberately.
“You should probably show me my room,” I blurt out, grabbing my wallet and keys from the side table. “I’m exhausted. Long day. Need sleep.”
He blinks, and I watch him process the abrupt shift. “Oh. Already?”
“Yeah. Sorry. Thanks for the ice cream. It was amazing.”
He doesn’t push. Just nods, sets the container on the coffee table, and stands. “Sure. Come on.”
I follow him upstairs. The second floor is quiet.
Noel leads me to a room at the end of the hall and opens the door.
Moonlight streams through large windows, bathing everything in silvery blue light.
The bed is enormous, easily big enough for five people, with gauzy netting draped overhead, mounds of pillows and cushions in every shade of blue and gray and cream.
It’s a sanctuary. A nest.
“This is your room,” Noel says quietly from the doorway. “No one enters without your explicit consent. Ever. It’s yours if you want it.”
I step inside, and the urge to dive into that bed is almost overwhelming. Noel stands in the doorway, hands gripping the frame so tightly his knuckles are white. His chest is pressed forward slightly, and he looks like a wolf watching prey—patient but hungry.
I can still taste him. Ice cream and bourbon and skin. It takes everything I have not to drag him inside and lose myself completely in whatever this is between us.
“Good night, then,” I manage, my voice barely steady.
He stares at me for a long moment, and I watch the war play out in his expression, want versus respect, desire versus restraint.
“I’m just down the hall.” He points left. “If you need anything at all, and I mean anything, you come find me. Understand?”
I nod, not trusting my voice.
“Good night, Hannah.” He pulls back into the hallway.
“Good night, Noel. Thank you for everything tonight.” I push the door shut before I do something reckless. The latch clicks, and suddenly I’m alone.
The room spins with how hot I feel. My skin is too tight.
My nipples are hard and sensitive, pressing against my bra.
My entire body feels like it’s vibrating at a frequency only I can hear.
So, I jump onto the bed, sinking into ridiculous softness.
Pillows and cushions cradle me from every side, and under different circumstances, this would be heaven.
But I can’t stop thinking about Noel. About his kiss. His hands. His mouth on my chest. His cock, God, his cock, so big and thick and perfect in my mouth earlier. How much better it would feel between my thighs, filling me, stretching me, sating this impossible ache building in my core.
My pulse is racing everywhere, but especially between my legs.
The heat consuming me intensifies with every passing second. I lift my dress, shimmy out of my stockings and panties, kick them off the side of the bed onto the floor.
The cool air helps. For about thirty seconds. Then the ache returns, worse than before. I reach down between my thighs and find myself absolutely soaking. A single touch and I’m moaning in the quiet room. I have to bite my lip to keep from making more noise.
This is more than arousal. This is deeper, an ache in my core that I recognize from pre-heat. That desperate, clawing need that’s almost impossible to satisfy without heat suppressants or an Alpha’s touch.
Was I too quick to send Noel away? He was clearly ready. More than ready. I could’ve invited him in, let him take care of this, let him—
No. This isn’t my heat. My cycle isn’t due for weeks. This is just me being horny because I kissed an attractive Alpha and my body is overreacting. Except it feels like I’m drowning.
I strip off my dress and bra, then turn on the ceiling fan. Cool air washes over my burning skin, teasing my sensitive nipples, and I gasp at the sensation. It helps for maybe a minute before the ache intensifies again, burning hotter.
I try lying on my side in bed. My back. My stomach. Nothing is comfortable. Every position deepens the ache, makes me more aware of how empty I feel, how much I need to be filled.
This is exactly why Omegas shouldn’t live with unmated Alphas. Our bodies betray us, needing what we can’t have, demanding what we shouldn’t want. I’m soaked between my thighs, and I stumble toward the bathroom, thinking maybe cold water will shock my system into submission.
But halfway there, pain curls sharp and deep around my core, and I moan, gripping the doorframe to stay upright. I’m shuddering with arousal.
In that moment, I know what I have to do. I snatch one of the sheets off the bed, wrap it around my naked body. The fabric is soft against my oversensitized skin, and even that simple touch has me moaning.
I know I’m desperate and I’ll probably regret this in the morning. But I can’t bring myself to stop. My feet carry me to the door, and I pull it open without letting myself think, without letting doubt creep in.
The hallway outside my room is dark and quiet. Everyone is asleep.
I pad barefoot down the hallway, and I don’t let myself hesitate with only Noel on the brain.