Chapter 28
Imogen
Staring at my closet, I wonder how many of my things I can sneak away with before my mother notices I’ve essentially moved out. I could lie and say I’m living with the Stevens Pack, but I don’t trust her not to call and confirm. My mother walks into my bedroom like it’s her personal space, and eventually, she will notice my things are missing.
When did things get so twisted in my family that I had to sneak out and lie about where I was and what was happening in my life?
It's been an exhausting week of lying, pretending to be excited about my engagement with Stevens. To celebrate, my mother decided to have them over for lunch; maybe she was testing my resolve, I don't know. But I held my OFA cloak on tight, smiling quietly, listening, not speaking, acting obedient, but on the inside, I was panicking and angry and disgusted. All I could think was that I was sitting around a lunch table with a bunch of predators while they all smiled and laughed.
Ophelia seems to think they're lying low because of the spotlight she’s put on the heat clinics, but still.
I want to take them down. I need to take them down.
Sully and Red are working together to find information on who my parents might owe money to, before we confront them. I felt ashamed when Red insisted on being involved—not that having Sully know all the grim, sordid details of my family’s problems wasn’t bad enough, but Red… I don’t want him to lose respect for me. To think I’m anything like them, that I’d ever place money before family.
But I can't let my pride get in the way when there's so much on the line.
Deciding to wait until tomorrow to move the last of my things, I slip my empty luggage into the closet. Sneaking out of my room, I barely make it ten steps before my mother is there, greeting me like a staff member. She must have snuck right back in after she left for the morning, I wasn’t expecting to see her.
"Imogen, there you are. I've contacted the catering company you recommended, it was an excellent suggestion. Contacts like that are key when hosting high-society. As the mayor's wife, you'll need to be proficient in organizing events. I'm proud of you."
She's never told me she was proud of me before. Who knew all it took was party planning. She continues speaking, turning down the stairs. I'm expected to follow.
"Kenneth was delighted you suggested an engagement party." She pauses, spinning to face me. "Really, I am quite proud of you. This was an excellent turnaround."
She continues, though I’ve yet to say a word. "So the catering company is taken care of, I’ve contacted Fletcher, she gave me the name of a string quartet. I thought of using the same one we hired for the wedding, but honestly," she scoffs, "how tawdry."
"Mother," I interject once we round the stairs into the foyer. She continues on toward the kitchen, where we find Gerald chopping away.
I have to interrupt her again while she gets lost in party details. The only good thing is that the engagement party is soon, so I only have to endure another few days of this.
"Mother, I think, since they are hosting the party at their house, at my suggestion, perhaps we should let them tell us what they need. We don’t need to make it such a grand affair."
You would think I suggested we have a tailgate potluck by the look she gives me.
Her scrutinizing gaze narrows, then she snaps her fingers. "I almost forgot! Imogen! You’re going to be late!"
"Late for what?"
"My goodness, child, thank god we’re getting you married and not a minute too soon. Where is your head these days? You have an appointment at the OFA. With Fletcher and their nutritionist. Remember?"
She turns, plucking a seasoned carrot from Gerald’s tray. We share a commiserating glare but say nothing.
"I don’t think that’s necessary. I’ve been back on my strict OFA diet and will try the dress—"
"Imogen, dear, don’t lie to me. If it wasn’t for this recent turnaround, I might seriously consider getting you some counseling. You’ve never misbehaved like this."
"I'm not a child, mother. I can’t misbehave." I wish I sounded stronger, but my voice is thin.
She squeezes my arm, and this time, right in front of Gerald, touches my stomach, pinching my side. "It’s not just muscle, Imogen. You know I fully support a healthy diet with a reasonable amount of exercise. But you’ve gained…" She pinches my side again.
Tears sting my eyes, not because it hurts but because it hurts.
"Inches," she continues. "How many dress sizes? Two? Some men like a little thickness, but no alpha likes muscle on an omega, Imogen, certainly not both. Now, be a good girl, sweetie, and go get changed. Your appointment is in an hour."
Somehow, she reduces me to an overly emotional child, incapable of articulating the depth of the hurt she causes. Dejected, I head upstairs to change. Because, of course, I do. Regardless of what she says or does, I can't escape the years of ingrained need to be perfect for her. To not disappoint.
My appointment went far too long and was significantly worse than my mother telling me how far off the wagon I’d fallen regarding my appearance.
You’d think I was training to be a bodybuilder the way they gasped and sighed. Madam Fletcher assured me I could regain my previous waif-like shape in no time, with vigorous cardio and calorie counting.
I ran on the treadmill until I wanted to vomit. I drank teas and elixirs I knew would feel problematic in my guts within the house. They weighed me, twice, and when the personal trainer was extra helpful and asked if I wanted to measure my arms and thighs with a measuring tape, I’d had enough.
Raked over emotionally by my mother, treated like an object by the OFA, I just wanted to scream and cry. My mask was slipping, my perfectly serene smile was more of a grimace, and I felt like I was losing control.
I force myself to drive back to my parent's home and, without caring, march upstairs and pack another piece of luggage. I shower, change my clothes into something comfortable because I just can’t put on a dress, and storm back downstairs.
I can’t honestly say what I’d have said to my mother if she was there waiting. Gerald, without looking up, hands me a cookie, and I almost cry, snatching it out of his hands, mumbling a heartfelt thank you. Then I’m off.
The guys weren’t expecting me for hours. They gave me a house key, and aside from requesting I not to look at the nest until it’s finished, they’ve encouraged me to treat their home like it’s mine.
I want that. I want it to be mine. Ours.
The kitchen is quiet, and I drop my purse on the table, then nearly jump out of my skin when a buzz saw shrills.
Someone’s working on the nest. Someone in my pack is doing something for me.
I carry my luggage to the other small pile of my things, now occupying an embarrassing amount of space in their living room, and settle on the couch. Breathing in their scents, feeling at home, surrounded by their things, soothes my omega. We feel sad. Disappointed. Never good enough. I let the tears I held back earlier roll down my cheeks. I let the mask slip off.
I must have fallen asleep because the next thing I know, I’m gently rocking in Iggy’s arms while he carries me to Cass’s bedroom.
When he sets me down, I grip his arms and hold him close, and he relents easily, wrapping me up in his strong embrace, lying down beside me. He smells like paint and other chemicals, fresh sawdust mixed with his warm mulled wine and cinnamon scent.
I whimper, shaking against him, and then Iggy purrs and nothing in this moment could be better.
Stroking my hair, pulling it away from my face, wiping the tears, he continues to purr, holding me tight.
Eventually, he sighs, his breath warm at my temple. "You okay, love?"
Love. So simple, the words slipping out so easily, yet they wrap my heart in a tight fist, and I tense, wondering if he means it. After everything today, my mother, who is supposed to love me, the shame and guilt erupt once more, and I sob.
Through soggy tears, I cry, "I’m sorry, I’m getting you all wet." Iggy chuckles, and I laugh, too. "I'm okay. Just… frustrated. Hurt. I hate that I still let her opinion matter. When I was younger, I tried so hard to be perfect for her. I lost myself along the way, but after we moved here, after she tried to make me marry Stevens, I've come to realize I'll never be perfect for her. I'll never be enough. And I know it's stupid, but a small part of me… feels shame that I'm not capable of being enough."
"Can I tell you something?" Iggy asks gruffly.
"Of course."
"You're not perfect. Your mother isn't perfect, and everyone at the OFA is very fucking imperfect. There's no such thing as perfection. It's all perception. You couldn't live up to your mother's expectations because her expectations aren't yours. Thank fuck for that. I'm so fuckin' sorry she makes you feel less than, but baby, you are your version of perfect, my version of perfect—just the way you are. You haven't done anything wrong."
My breath hitches, but rather than succumb to more tears, I grip the sides of Iggy's head with shaking hands and press my lips to his, and he lets me ride the wave of emotion until any lingering sadness I felt is nothing but a thin tendril, our mingling scents, cherry and cinnamon wine, flooding between us. My tears wet our cheeks, but he kisses them away lovingly.
Iggy's fingers grip my thigh tightly, and when I pull back, he follows, straddling me, knees on either side of my waist.
"Want some help getting out of your head?" He asks. I couldn't lie if I wanted to; my scent, my slick, responds so quick and fast he actually laughs. He's a miscreant, my Iggy.
We're such a contrast, he and I. He's thin, defined in his own way, and I trail up his chest, discovering the tight planes of his body, feeling the shape of his hip bones. I know what I'd find in the light; so many tattoos, barely a scrap of blank space from his neck all the way down to his feet. Swooping birds shape at his pelvis, disappearing beneath a trail of hair, and a perfect, velvety cock adorned with rows of piercings and a thick set of metal barbells at the base of his knot.
Iggy is everything my mother would hate. But he's everything I love. Maybe he's right. We're perfect for each other and no one else. And that's just fine by me.
I pull at his shirt, and he assists, stripping down, taking my clothes away one scrap at a time. He disappears from the bedroom, returning with my gift from Red, the small velvet chest, and a mischievous smile.
Propped on one elbow, I watch curiously while he ceremoniously opens the box, setting it on the nightstand beside the bed, removing one item at a time. My pussy clenches in anticipation, but I'm a little nervous, too. Especially when I see the ball gag.
"Umm… Iggy?" I ask innocently.
He tilts his head and sits beside me on the bed. "How did you feel when we were together in the backroom at Queenie's?"
"The four of us? I mean, I felt great. Amazing."
He nods, then turns to face me, his dark gaze calculating. "And Cass knotting your mouth?"
"Is that what the gag is for?"
"I took away some of your senses. But locking him down your throat meant you could only breathe through your nose."
He looks at me pensively, waiting for deeper answers, so I dig for them. "I… I was scared at first. Not scared, exactly, more… nervous. I've never done that before. But you kept encouraging me to breathe, and Cass did, too. His fresh cotton scent helped, it was reassuring."
"And…?"
I dig a little deeper, trying to remember how I felt in that moment. I was freaked out, but tried not to let it show. But Iggy taking control, all of their scents surrounding me, knowing I was safe with them, definitely helped.
"It felt amazing because all I could do was feel. I knew I was safe with you. So once I relaxed and just felt… It was incredible."
He picks up the gag. "Do you want to try it again?"
I nod quickly, but he doesn't laugh. "How do you feel about… electrocution?"
"What?"
Then he chuckles. "Not strong. Just some light e-stim. It's like a tens unit. Very mild."
"Umm… okay. Yes. I'm curious. It's not like a vibrator, is it?"
"It is not."
"And where would you—"
"Can it be a surprise? I just want you to feel. But just like before, the rules all still apply. You won't be able to talk with the gag, but I'll give you a little light that tells me you need to slow down or stop. And I'll check in with you, too. Okay?"
I nod, slightly more nervous, when Iggy smiles. It's dark and full of deviant promises.
He caresses my breast, not stopping or teasing or pinching, just feeling my skin, but with enough pressure to force me back down to the bed.
With the lightest pressure, he gently caresses my arms, one at a time, before binding my wrists above my head to each bedpost. He left a little give, but I can't pull away entirely. My heart beats wildly in my chest while he does the same to my legs, fingertips trailing ever so lightly over my skin before tying each ankle until I'm spread, completely open, on the bed.
Every stroke sets me on fire. Every light touch is too light, and I want more—more and harder, firmer, faster, just more. But he doesn't give in to the speed I want; he ignores me when I plead his name.
Dipping into the velvet chest, he pulls out an elaborate sleep mask with folds at the ears.
"It won't take away sound completely, but will dull it. We can play with full sensory deprivation someday, but this is a good start." Sitting beside me, he slips it over my face, immediately plunging me into darkness. The mask fits snugly around my ears, too, and I can make out words, but mostly, it forces me to hear the sound of my own pulse, a faint whomp-whomp sound in my ears. Iggy's hand cradles my face, thumb grazing over my lip.
"Feeling okay?"
"Yes," I reply breathlessly. "Iggy, I'm ready," I whine. Still moving at a turtle's pace, I feel him shift things around the bed, but I can't see anything. The gag comes to my mouth then, a soft ball, a smaller fit than I expected after having Cass's knot in my mouth. He secures it around my head.
A small piece of metal slips into one of my hands, and Iggy directs my fingers to a small button on the end, like a little flashlight. He tells me to press the button if I need to slow down or stop.
"Nod if you understand," he commands. The further into the scene we get, the more demanding and less coddling he becomes. It makes me nervous but also more excited.
Bound, spread, and completely vulnerable, sound muffled, voice, taste, and vision stolen away, I'm completely at Iggy's mercy, setting my nerve endings up to full volume. Just the anticipation has me aching with desire, and already, even his lightest touch feels like the greatest pleasure.
And then he begins.
A fingertip gently circles my nipple, one at a time, but I have no room to squirm; I can barely moan. Then there's a sharp pinch, and by feel, I know he just attached nipple clamps, they might as well have clamped around my clit; the intense shock of pain then release of pleasure is so intense I try to scream.
"Are you okay? Nod yes or shake your head no."
I nod vigorously. Iggy's fingers trail gently, too fucking gently, over my skin, down my belly, passing by the place I need touch the most, teasing my thighs, bringing his touch closer and closer, then pulling away. He does it again and again until a sudden shock zaps my nipples, and I screech.
He checks in, but I nod yes to keep going, then he does it again, teasing my skin with not enough touch, torturing me, bringing me to the edge, then turning on the e-stim nipple clamps, zapping the sensitive flesh, the shock coursing through my body. I nearly come, and I know I'm dripping slick like a honeycomb, but I'm tied down and can't find relief no matter how hard I squirm.
The third time he zaps my nipples, the shock shoots straight to my clit, and he's not even touching me, but I come. It's unsatisfying, but I can squirm and squeeze enough to get the lightest pressure on my clit, even the air feels like a caress. My hips buck wildly, fucking the air, while he zaps my nipples, and it's all too much.
All I can do is feel, and it feels incredible.
Iggy tugs on the clamps, but I can't tell what he's doing, only feeling the chain trail over my belly. Then, without touching my clit, and god, do I want to scream at him to touch me there, beg him to please, please pinch it, squeeze it, flick it, he carefully avoids it instead, but then I feel his cock press against my entrance and the relief is unreal.
He pushes his hard length around, coating it in my slick before plunging in, filling me to the hilt. We both groan in relief, but Iggy fucks me slowly, teasing his length in and out of me, so I can feel every bump from his piercings along my inner walls.
The pace is maddening, but finally, finally, he picks up, thrusting faster, pulling out, then slamming in harder. He pauses once to check in, and if I didn't have the gag in my mouth, I'd scream at him to stop asking, but he picks right back up, fucking me with so much care but so much intensity, it's like the only thing on his mind is my pleasure, not his.
He angles his hips, and while I can't touch him, I can feel him, and I can scent him, his body making mine sing with delicious pleasure.
He fucks me harder until his slow ministrations are all but lost, slamming into me, that beautiful piercing on his knot finally hitting my neglected clit. But each heavy stroke, with his piercings along the top side of his cock, slides against my g-spot, and since all I can do is feel, I can't focus on anything but how good it is, how he's building me up, rocking my core.
My pussy clamps tighter, squeezing us both, and he pumps faster until his knot, so swollen he must be aching to come, thickens impossibly large.
Notching that thickness inside me, he shoves forward, and I squeeze, pulling in his knot, a slight sting while it fits, but fuck I need it so bad. His hands disappear from my body, but then something pinches around my clit, and I die.
Electricity zaps my clit, and I convulse; every pleasure center of my body lights up, then both nipples and my clit zap and sting, shocking my nerves, a war of pain and release, and with Iggy knotted so full inside me, still grunting and bucking his hips, I come so hard I nearly black out.
Vaguely aware of Iggy convulsing on top of me, I feel his warm come shooting inside me, our orgasms a lesson in cosmic pleasure, but all I can do is feel, and it's too much.
Still locked inside me, Iggy removes all three clamps, then gently circles my clit, his callused fingers moving slowly at first, then hard and quick, and the change in texture and sensation forces me to come so violently, my teeth grit around the ball gag and I grunt like an animal, shaking and spasming, more slick flooding around his cock.
This time I pass out.
When I come to, both my wrists are being untied simultaneously, an amused lilt of Cass's voice in the room. "Had I known what you two were up to, I'd have left work earlier."
Iggy grunts in response. When I'm fully untied, the gag and mask removed, he strokes my cheek, concern lacing his brows.
"How do you feel, Imogen?"
I croak some intelligible response, followed by a giggle because I have no words. I'm spent. I can't even talk. But I feel un-fucking-believable.
Iggy smiles warmly, then tucks his arms under me, picking me up, cradling me to his chest. Carrying me to the bathroom, since they don't have a tub, he sets me on my feet and then takes great care of washing me down. He washes and conditions my hair, running his fingers through the strands, using the shower sprayer to rinse me off, bringing it down between my legs, rinsing away all the dried slick and come, but he doesn't tease or pleasure me and that in itself is a relief. He just takes care.
Iggy dries me with a towel carefully and thoroughly. I feel ridiculous being cared for like this, like I'm incapable, but my omega is preening at all the attention, and truthfully, I'm still on post-orgasm shaking legs and probably couldn't manage it. I'd still be lying in Cass's bed, sticky, staring at the ceiling, wondering about the meaning of life.
When we return to Cass's room, he's right there with comfy clothes for me, and they both help me dress. Cass already changed the sheets and, since it's way too early for sleep, asks if I want to just relax and watch a movie.
And that sounds perfect. I fall asleep in both their arms, breathing them in, and though my day didn't start off great, I hope they all end something like this.