Chapter 13
Thirteen
COLE
Icarry Liana through the front door of the penthouse, and her head tips back against my chest. The white towel is barely holding on, stained with all of us.
Ezra’s cum leaks down her inner thigh, Julian and August’s cum mixing between her legs, my own semen drying on her neck where it spilled from her mouth. She smells like roses, sex, and exhaustion, and my cock is already hardening again.
“Wow,” she breathes, her eyes wide as she takes in the great room and the floor-to-ceiling windows. “This place is huge.”
“It’s home,” I say quietly, hoping she would stay here forever with us.
August has already disappeared down the hallway toward his room, muttering about needing to freshen up.
Julian is stripping his shirt off by the kitchen island, his back gleaming under the pendant lights as he pours a drink.
Ezra stands by the windows, phone to his ear, his gray eyes finding mine across the room for one second, nodding for me to take care of our omega.
Our omega.
Liana’s cleavage bounces against the towel as I adjust my grip under her ass.
Her breasts are full, round, the tops flushed pink from heat and friction.
The towel is soaked through in places, translucent, and I can see the dark auburn patch between her legs where her pussy hair curls wet against her skin.
“You’re covered in cum,” I tell her, because it’s true and because watching her blush is becoming something I look forward to.
Her face goes scarlet. She presses her lips together, looks down at the towel like she’s just now registering the extent of the mess, and a tiny, mortified sound escapes her throat.
“It feels good though,” she whispers, so low I almost miss it.
My chest tightens. “I hope we impregnated you.”
Her eyes snap to mine, wide and shocked, and the blush deepens until it’s crawling down her neck toward her collarbone. “Cole. It would be way too soon. We haven’t even—you know—gone on a date yet.”
The earnestness in her voice, the way she says it like dating is some sacred ritual we’ve skipped past, makes something warm and fond settle behind my sternum. I chuckle, low, and her head drops against my shoulder like she’s hiding.
“You’re so cute,” I murmur against her hair, and carry her toward the bathroom.
“But still, what would you do if I was pregnant?” she asks. “Aren’t you concerned?”
“Not at all,” I grin. “You’re our omega.”
I set her down on the edge of the tub, her bare feet against the cold tile, and kneel in front of her.
“Let me,” I say, and my fingers find the edge of the towel where it’s tucked between her breasts.
She doesn’t protest. Her eyes are on my face, watching, and I unwind the towel slowly, letting it fall open inch by inch until it pools around her hips and then, with one gentle tug, drops to the floor.
She’s naked. Flushed head to toe, sweat-damp hair clinging to her neck, her breasts full and heavy, her nipples hard and pink.
My eyes drop to her pussy without permission, to the dark auburn curls there, thicker than I expected, glistening with slick and cum.
My finger finds them, brushes through the hair, and she makes a small, sharp sound.
“How are you feeling?” I ask, my voice rough.
“A little pain from the heat,” she admits. Her hands are folded in her lap, knuckles white. “But it’s manageable. For now.”
The heat comes in waves. I know this. I’ve studied enough field medicine to understand the cycles—the peak, the plateau, the crash before the next surge.
She’s in the lull. But it won’t last.
“We need to get you in the bath,” I say. “Before the next wave hits.”
“Okay,” she says as she steps into the tub.
The water is hot, steaming, scented with something August must have added—eucalyptus, maybe, or cedar. She sinks into it with a sigh that sounds like relief, her head tipping back against the marble, and I strip quickly, kicking my jeans into the corner, and step in behind her.
“Is the water too hot for you?”
“It’s perfect,” she says as sweat beads on her forehead.
The water rises as I sit behind her, my back against the curved end of the tub, and she settles between my legs, her back against my chest, her thighs spread. I reach for the washcloth hanging on the hook, dip it in the water, and wring it out.
“Arms,” I say softly.
She lifts them. I start with her shoulders, the cloth moving in slow, methodical circles across her skin.
She’s small against me—five-two to my six-three, her head tucked under my chin, her ass pressing against my half-hard cock where it rests between her cheeks.
I wash her neck. Her collarbones. The soft swell of her breasts, circling each nipple with the cloth until they pebble harder under the fabric.
She’s quiet. Breathing slowly. Her body loose against mine in a way it hasn’t been since I met her.
My hand moves down her stomach. The cloth traces the dip of her navel, the curve of her hips, and then I’m washing her thighs, one at a time, the cloth moving in long, slow strokes from knee to the junction where her leg meets her pussy.
She shifts, her hips rolling slightly, and a soft sound escapes her.
I move to her arms. Left first, washing from shoulder to wrist with the same care. Then the right.
I drop the washcloth.
Her forearm is laid bare in the water—silvery, jagged, the failed claiming bites overlapping in a brutal topography of scar tissue.
I set the cloth aside and use my hand instead.
My palm finds her forearm, and I wash her slowly, tracing every ridge, every valley of scar tissue with my fingertips.
Reverence. That’s the only word for what I’m feeling.
Not disgust. Not pity. Something older, deeper, a protectiveness so fierce it burns behind my ribs like a live wire.
She’s a warrior whether she knows it or not.
She stops breathing. I feel the sudden stillness in her chest, the way her lungs lock. Her body goes rigid against mine.
“Are you...” Her voice is thin. Scared. “Are you grossed out by them?”
The question hits me like a bullet. I press my forehead against the back of her head, close my eyes, and breathe through the rage that wants to tear out of my throat.
“No,” I say, and my voice is steadier than I expect. “You’re utterly beautiful, Liana. Sweet. And the monsters who did this to you should be punished forever. Not walking around free like they are.”
She turns her head, just enough that I can see the profile of her cheek, the gold flecks in her pale green eyes gone wide with alarm. “You’re not going to go after them, are you? Please don’t.”
I’m quiet. Because in my head, I’m already mapping the distance to Silus Thornton’s pack house upstate, picturing my rifle centered on that cold, pale face, the way his smirk would vanish in a red mist.
I’ve killed before. I know what it feels like to watch a man die because I decided he should. The difference is that this time, it’s crucial that he dies.
“If they even think of trying to make you theirs again,” I say, my voice low and flat. “I’ll have no mercy.”
She shudders. I can smell the shift in her scent, the rose blooming warmer, thicker, her body responding to the dark promise in my voice. My hand slips between her legs, under the water, and cups her pussy.
Warm. So fucking warm. Her folds are swollen, slick, and she moans as my palm presses against her. She leans back against me, her head falling onto my shoulder, her ass grinding against my cock where it’s hardening fast against the curve of her.
“Your ass feels nice,” I murmur against her ear.
Filled with an insane urge, I push my middle finger between her folds. She’s so wet my finger slides in without resistance, her pussy clenching around me, hugging my finger like it’s been waiting.
“Oh,” she gasps when I wiggle my finger deeper into her channel.
“Your pussy is hugging my finger,” I say, and she whimpers, her hips rocking forward, seeking more.
“I think I need a knot again.”
“I never got to knot you,” I whisper. My lips brush the shell of her ear. “The others did. Not me.”
She turns her head, her mouth inches from mine, her breath hot against my jaw. “Then maybe it’s your chance.”
I withdraw my finger slowly, watching the slick cling to my knuckle, and instead, I rub her pubic hair. My palm covers her mound, heel of my hand pressing against her swollen clit through the curls, and I massage her there—slow, circular motions that make her breath hitch sharp in her throat.
My other hand slides between her ass cheeks under the water. I find her hole. Her ass is still loose from Ezra’s cock, slick with residual cum—and I rub it aggressively, my finger circling the rim, pressing and squeezing as more cum spills into the water.
“Need to finish your bath,” I murmur. “Scrub your butt before I knot you.”
She’s squirming now, her hips rolling, her pussy grinding against my palm. “I’m ready right now, Cole. Please.”
“Get on your hands and knees,” I tell her.
She moves fast. Turns in the water, her knees finding the bottom of the tub, her palms flat against the marble edge.
Her back arches beautifully—spine curved, ass sticking up, her tits swinging beneath her, pink nipples pointed and hard.
The water laps at her breasts, bubbles clinging to her skin, and my cock throbs so hard it aches.
I cup her breasts from behind. They’re full, heavy in my palms, and I squeeze gently, watching them sway in the water. My thumb finds her right nipple, rubs it in slow circles, and it perks harder under my touch, the areola tightening.
“Pretty nipples,” I say.
She blushes. I can see it creeping down her neck even from behind. “Thank you.”
“So polite.” I squeeze her breast with one hand, reach around with the other to grab her ass cheek, and spread her. Her pussy is visible now, pink and swollen, her asshole still slightly open from Ezra’s dick ravaging her. Both holes are visibly clenching, and waiting patiently.
She turns her head, looks at me over her shoulder with need in her gaze. “I want your knot, Cole. I can’t wait.”
My hand slides down from her breast, under the water, and finds her pussy. I rub her gently, two fingers spreading her folds, circling her clit, and my balls tighten at the way she clenches around nothing, her pussy hungry and empty.
I stand in the tub behind her. Water sloshes over the edge, onto the marble floor, and I don’t care. My cock is rock hard, jutting out from the water, the head flushed dark red and leaking. I position myself behind her, grip her wet hair at the roots, and pull her head back.
“I’m going to penetrate you now.”
“In my ass or pussy?” she asks in a panic.
“It’s a surprise,” I growl, guiding my cock towards her pussy entrance. The head presses against her pussy, and she’s so wet I slide in an inch without resistance.
“Fuck,” she moans, her head dropping forward until I tighten my grip on her hair and pull it back again.
“Be a good girl for me, hun,” I say, pushing my cock deeper into her tight heat.
One inch, two, my cock stretching her open, her pussy gripping me so tight I have to grit my teeth. She’s hot inside—slick, pulsing, her walls clenching around my shaft in rhythmic waves that feel like she’s trying to milk me already.
“Oh god. Oh Cole,” she murmurs desperately.
I thrust. Hard. Burying myself to the hilt in one smooth stroke, and she screams.
My hips press against her ass, my cock buried completely inside her, and I hold there for a second, feeling her pussy pulse around me, her inner walls fluttering against my shaft.
“Your pussy is so tight,” I snarl, pulling out slowly until just the head remains, then slamming back in. “So fucking tight around my cock. Made perfectly for me.”
She’s moaning with every thrust like she can’t take me anymore. “Yes, Cole. Yes, my pussy is yours.”
I grip her hair tighter, using it as leverage, and fuck her harder.
Each thrust drives my cock deep, her ass bouncing against my hips, water sloshing violently over the edges of the tub.
Her tits swing beneath her, nipples dragging through the water, and the sight of her so desperately taking my cock makes me wilder for her.
I can’t believe anyone treated her badly. Can’t believe anyone looked at this woman and thought she was something to break. The rage feeds into my thrusts, makes them harder, deeper, my hips pistoning against her ass until the water is churning around us.
“Who do you belong to?” I demand, my voice rough.
“You,” she gasps.
“What am I to you?”
“My…my alpha.”
“What do you want from me, baby girl?” I growl, pounding harder now.
“Your knot.”
My hand leaves her hair, finds her hip instead, and I grip hard enough to bruise.
My other hand reaches around, finds her clit, and rubs it in rough, frantic circles as I fuck her.
Her pussy clenches around my cock, her inner walls gripping me so tight it’s almost painful, and I feel the orgasm building at the base of my spine—hot, relentless, climbing fast.
“Coming,” she sobs, her body going rigid, her pussy clamping down on my cock like a vise. “Oh god!”
The feeling of her pussy pulsing around me, milking my cock, tips me over the edge.
I roar as I cum, spurting inside her in thick, hot pulses that feel endless. My cock swells, my knot expanding, stretching her entrance wider as it locks us together, and I keep thrusting through it, grinding my hips against her ass, pumping every last drop of cum into her hungry, clenching pussy.
She collapses forward, her forehead resting on the edge of the tub, her ass still pressed against my knot, and I follow her down, bracing my hands on either side of her, my chest against her back, my mouth against the nape of her neck.
We breathe. Together. The water stills around us, gone lukewarm, and my knot holds us locked, my cock buried deep inside her, cum leaking around the seal where we’re joined.
“You okay?” I murmur against her skin.
She nods, her hair dripping, her body trembling with aftershocks. “More than okay.”
I press my lips to the scar at her temple and hold her there, in the cooling water, my knot swelling inside her, and for the first time in longer than I can remember, I feel something close to peace, and I don’t want her to ever leave me.