Working It Out
Nico
Mack pulls his shirt off the weight bench and slings it over one shoulder. I follow him out of the gym into the stairwell.
The stairs are one of the few things in this whole house I built.
They’re solid with no give or creak. Made with treated pine that'll outlast me.
They drop us down out of the stuffy heat of the gym into the garage, and the air changes on the way, cooler but still warm, thick with the smell of sawdust, motor oil, and cut cedar.
We've never once parked a car in here.
Eight years in this house and the garage has been a workshop since day one.
My table saw sits in the middle of it under a skin of fine dust. There’s a half-built bookcase leaning against the far wall, waiting on the shelves I keep meaning to cut.
Adrian's busted dresser is still torn down to its frame on the bench where he left it a month ago.
Somewhere in here is a lawnmower that runs if you ask it nicely.
We keep swearing we'll clean it out, but we never do.
Mack moves ahead of me, weaving quickly between the sawhorses. I trail a few steps behind him and take my time admiring the view.
The alpha has a broad back, the long muscles along his spine shifting with each step. He’s gorgeous with his shaggy blond hair, sweet southern charm, and that ass…
The thin gray fabric of his gym shorts stretches tight over two high, round globes of muscle, a perfect bubble butt that bounces with every confident step he takes. The seam bites right up the middle, leaving nothing to the imagination, and I have to bite back a low whistle.
Mack shoulders open the door at the back of the garage, stepping into the kitchen. Warm yellow light spills out over him, followed by a gust of cool air.
"You comin'?" he says. "Or you just gonna stand there enjoying the show?" He doesn't turn around, but I can hear the grin in his voice.
"I’m enjoying the show," I say as I follow my mate into the house.
Adrian is at the sink with his sleeves shoved up, slowly rinsing the plates before loading them in the dishwasher.
Mack cuts straight for the alpha and lands a flat smack across Adrian's ass on his way to the fridge.
"Quiet." Adrian laughs softly, glancing over his shoulder toward the living room. "Owen's asleep on the couch."
I glance through the doorway. Our beta is stretched out under the throw blanket, glasses folded on the coffee table, one arm hung off the cushion. He’s out cold. Through our bond, he reads as calm for the first time all night.
Thank god.
"I'll finish up in here." Adrian sets a plate in the top rack of the dishwasher. "Then I'll move Lyra into my room so you can get Owen in bed."
"No," I say, immediately remembering the look on his face when he admitted how much he wanted her. I can’t encourage that. "I'll move her."
Adrian's hands go still in the water while Mack frowns near the fridge. The blond alpha narrows his eyes at Adrian, not understanding his reaction.
"It's no big deal," Adrian says, not looking at me. "I can move her." His voice is light, but his big body is so tense I can see it from across the room.
"I know you can." I keep my voice easy but firm. "But I'll handle it."
Adrian finally glances at me, and I catch the look of pure disappointment on his face. A small part of me feels bad, but I don’t get it.
I scented the omega this morning, but all I got was sharp, bitter fear. It rolled off her in sour waves.
"I can move her." Mack tips his half-empty Gatorade at me from the open fridge, the light washing him blue. "I don’t mind."
"No."
"Come on, I'm gentle. Ask anybody."
"I'm not risking you fucking her while she's passed out, especially not with your dick still hard enough to cut glass." My gaze drops pointedly to the front of his shorts, where the thick outline of his cock is very visible.
Mack presses a hand flat to his chest, wounded. "Now that is uncalled for." He points the bottle at me. "That's your kink, big man. Not mine. Don't go putting your business on me."
"I have written permission from Owen for that," I say. "Which is more than you can claim about anything you get up to in this house."
He nudges the fridge shut with his elbow, laughing. "Fair point."
Adrian turns off the faucet, then shuts the dishwasher, turning it on. Water drips off his forearms, jaw set, as he slowly turns around and leans against the counter.
The alpha looks miserable.
"What's up with you?" Mack asks Adrian. "You’ve got that silent, brooding thing happening."
"Nothing." Adrian lets out a heavy sigh. "It's nothing."
Mack sets his Gatorade down and crosses the kitchen. He plants himself right in front of Adrian. Close. Then he hooks a finger in the waistband of his shorts.
"You know what fixes brooding?" Mack drops his voice low and warm. "Me. Bent over that dresser you keep swearing you'll finish in the garage. Give you something to do with all that tension besides sulk at the sink."
Adrian rolls his eyes, but the corner of his mouth lifts, and unable to help it, he finally smiles.
"There he is," Mack says, pleased with himself.
"I can't stand you." Adrian says it soft, smiling at Mack like the man hung the moon.
"Keep it down, you two." I cut a look at both of them. "Lyra's out cold and I'd like her to stay that way. Nobody's christening any furniture tonight."
I leave them in the kitchen and go into the living room.
Owen's still on the couch, the blanket kicked to his waist. I crouch beside him and put a hand on his shoulder. He surfaces slowly, blinking up at me in the dark.
"Hey," I whisper. "Go wash up while I move Lyra."
"You're moving her?"
"To the guest room. Go."
Owen rubs his eyes as he pushes upright. "The sheets are clean. I put fresh ones on the bed in their room before I crashed." He blinks several times, before looking up at me. "And I hid all their sex toys. I figured she didn’t need to wake up to a giant silicone dildo sitting on the nightstand."
I can’t help but smile as I press a kiss to his temple and stand. "Go take a shower, carino."
My beta smiles up at me, nodding. "Yes, alpha."
Then I turn, pulling my shirt over my head as I make my way down the hall, tossing it through the bathroom door. I need a shower myself.
Maybe I’ll slip in with Owen after I move Lyra. I’m sure he could use the stress relief too.
I ease the bedroom door open, bracing myself for that bitter, fear-drenched aroma, but the smell that hits me instead is even more shocking.
Vanilla and toasted almond, warm and soft underneath it.
It fills the whole room, worked into every inch of air around me.
There's no fear in it now. None of the sour animal panic I got off her this morning.
Just…her.
So this is what Adrian's been losing his mind over.
It's a good scent. I'll give him that much.
Sweet without being cloying, the kind of thing you'd want to lean toward, but it’s not near as good as Owen’s soft sage and lemon. That man smells like heaven on earth.
I inhale once again, enjoying her scent, then I cross to the bed.
Lyra’s so small in the middle of the mattress, curled toward my pillow with her face half-buried in it. Her dark hair spills across the pillowcase, and asleep like this, with the fear wiped off her, I can actually see her.
She's lovely.
Soft mouth and dark lashes with rosy cheeks.
She’s the kind of pretty that probably turns heads without trying.
It makes sense why Owen has a crush on her.
Moving slowly, I slide one arm under her shoulders and the other under the blanket to reach for her knees. But instead of sweatpants, my forearm meets bare skin.
Confused, I look down and find Owen’s gray sweatpants pooled on the floor by the bed. She must have kicked them off in her sleep, too hot or too tangled to stay in them.
Thankfully, Owen's black shirt is long enough to cover what needs covering, so I leave it and lift her.
The omega weighs almost nothing.
She comes up against my chest without waking, warm all the way through, soft in a way that makes me hold her more carefully rather than less. Her head rolls to my shoulder and settles there, her breath slow and even against my collarbone. Whatever she's dreaming, it isn't a nightmare. Thank god.
I carry her down the hall to the spare room like that, and she doesn't stir once.
Owen did good in here.
The room's clean, the clutter gone, no sign of the two messy men who usually sleep in it. The beta even pulled the comforter down on one side so I've got an empty place to set her.
The lamp on the nightstand casts a low, soft yellow light over everything, and the air smells faint and clean. He must have sprayed a de-scenter around too. Smart. It probably won’t be good for her to wake up surrounded by strange alphas soaked into the bedding.
I lean down to lay her on the open side of the bed, but the second her back touches the mattress her arms come up.
They slide around my neck and lock there, quick and sure, and she pulls herself in tight against me.
I go still, worried she woke up. After a second, her face turns into my throat and she breathes out slow, still dead asleep.
Not sure what to do, I stay frozen for a beat, half bent over the mattress, holding her carefully.
"Okay, sweetheart," I whisper, slipping my arm out from under her legs. "It’s okay. You can let me go." But her arms stay looped firmly around my neck.
I look down at her face to gauge how deep under she is.
She shifts a little. A slow roll of her head against my arm, and it tips her chin up and bares the long line of her throat.
And her scent hits me like a door blown open.
It's the vanilla and almond from the bedroom, but thicker now, richer, pouring up off the warm skin under her jaw. It doesn't drift this time. It reaches for me.
Something in the back of my skull goes quiet and dark, and my head is already lowering before I realize it.
Without thinking, I press my nose to her neck, right beneath her ear, and breathe her in.
And that’s all it takes.
Heat pours down through me all at once, low and heavy, my whole body drawing tight around the aroma.
I'm hard before I've taken a second breath.
My canines drop against my tongue and my mouth waters, and everything in me leans toward the soft place under her jaw with one instruction running clear and hot through the rest.
Mine.
Take her.
Taste her.
Now.
NO!
I throw myself backward, releasing her.
Lyra drops the last few inches onto the mattress, boneless, still out cold. I hit the far wall hard enough to rattle the frame beside me, then I stay there, pinned against it, breathing like I ran here.
Thank god she doesn't wake.
I press the back of my hand to my mouth. My heart's slamming and my cock aches, my teeth throbbing with the urge to rush forward and push them deep into her throat.
I stay there, against the wall, forcing air into my lungs, trying to get my instincts to stand down. But the scent of her is still in my head, sweet and thick, clouding everything.
My eyes drift back to the bed, to the small omega laying there, sweet and ready.
The black shirt she’s wearing, Owen’s shirt, has rucked up around her hips. The movement must have happened when I dropped her. The fabric is bunched there, leaving her completely exposed from the waist down.
She’s not wearing any underwear.
There's bare skin, soft and pale in the low lamplight. She’s practically hairless, like all omegas, with the smallest trace of dark blond pubic hair along the top seam of her cunt.
My mind goes blank.
All the fight, all the self-disgust, it all simply vanishes.
I take a step toward the bed, my body moving on its own, drawn by a force. My eyes are locked on the perfect curve of her soft sex. The lips look puffy and smooth, begging to be licked.
I’m transfixed.
My hand lifts, reaching out. It hovers over her for a second, then I lower it, a single finger extending until it makes contact. I touch the fine, soft hairs, the lightest brush of my fingertip against her skin.
It’s the barest touch, but it feels like a lightning strike.
Lyra moans softly. A little, sleepy sound. Her legs shift, parting slightly, then she rolls over, tucking her face into the pillow, still fast asleep.
The sound of her voice, the movement, breaks the spell.
I stumble back, yanking my hand away as if I’ve been burned.
Shame floods me instantly, hot and sick, but so does the arousal, a pulse of heat that makes my cock throb painfully in my shorts.
I have to get out of here.
Turning away from the bed, I practically run from the room, fleeing down the hall and into the bathroom, slamming the door behind me.
The shower's running. Owen's shape moves behind the curtain, water sheeting down the plastic.
"That you?" he calls over the spray.
"Yeah." My voice comes out rougher than I want, so I clear my throat and try again. "Yeah, it's me."
I brace my hands on the counter, staring at my reflection in the mirror, at the wild look in my eyes. I'm disgusted with myself, but I'm also crazy turned on, and I don't know which feeling is worse.
"She go down okay?"
"Out cold." I sound halfway normal. Close enough.
"Are you okay?" he asks. "You feel amped."
Shit.
He's got a direct line into me, and I'm standing here lit up like a live wire, pouring it straight down our bond without meaning to.
I close my eyes and reach for the thread between us.
I take everything churning in me—the heat, the shame, the animal thing still clawing at the back of my skull—and I press it down flat.
I smooth the bond out on my end until all that runs across it is calm.
Steady. A tired man at the end of a long day.
It takes everything I have to hold it there, and I hate doing it to him. It feels like lying. But I don’t know what else to do right now.
"I'm fine," I manage to say. "I've just got a lot on my mind."
In the reflection of the mirror, I see the curtain pull back and Owen sticks his head out. His wet hair is plastered to his forehead, blinking at me without his glasses. He gives me a slow once-over, and a small smile tugs at his mouth.
"So get in." He tips his head toward the spray. "Let me help you take your mind off it."
I turn from the mirror and give him a smile back. Whatever happened in that room, this is where it ends.
Owen, Adrian, and Mack are my mates.
Not that girl.