Chapter 18
Ophelia
"What time is it?" I rasp, vaguely aware of my surroundings, of nothing but the bright, burning bond in my chest and my sated, aching body. I can't believe I let Enzo bite me.
I can't believe I'm not mad about it.
Enzo harrumphs and it's so unlike him that I can't help but laugh. With great effort, I drag my tired body up to a seat against the pillow, taking in the absolute mess we've made.
I have no idea how many times we had sex, or if we ever really stopped, if it was just one fluid, never-ending marathon, but the last orgasm sent us both into oblivion. My room reeks of sex and sweat and pheromones.
My bedroom doubles as my nest, a comforting space we omegas ride out our heat, and though I'm on suppressants, I do have mini spikes where I get horny as fuck, and there are some designation urges I can't seem to dismiss.
Like having a windowless room, since we like it dark and quiet, so I have no clue how much time has passed since we've been in here.
Rolling out of bed, I groan from the sheer effort. Enzo slaps the now empty space next to him as if to latch onto me once more, but miraculously, I'm too quick for him. Thank god. It's been the best few hours of my life, and I cannot for the life of me figure out how Enzo did all of that as a virgin, but my body is wrecked. I haven't had sex for over a year, and I've never taken a knot.
That was… wow. I like to pretend that some aspects of a relationship with an alpha aren't a big deal, but his body was literally made for me. He coaxed out pleasure I didn't even know was possible, and though the initial thrust of his massive knot inside me stung just a bit, I immediately pulled him in and latched on, my body knowing just what to do and how to take it. If anything, now, I want more.
Or, more, later. Not right now. Right now, I need a cold compress on my vagina.
"You're sore."
I snort, "Did you need the bond to tell you that?"
I'm being sarcastic, of course. Overly observant, if I thought pre-bonded Enzo was overwhelming, bonded Enzo is going to be a terror.
"You're projecting. You're moving slowly, and the bond is telling me you feel…" He furrows his brow, climbing off the bed, his cock—somehow still hard—bobbing proudly between his legs. Coming to stand in front of me, he brings his hands to the back of my head and runs them down to my shoulders, then arms, checking for… who knows what.
I may not know Enzo well, which is a strange feeling because I also feel like I know him better than anyone else on the planet, I know he has trouble understanding others' emotions. He's not cold, but he's calculating, and if he doesn't understand something, he'll relentlessly study it until he does.
He continues thoughtfully, "You feel fatigued, but not sleepy. Sore, but not in pain. Happy, and… relieved."
I smirk, "Are you having fun?"
He smiles, and holy shit, it's devastating. He's not wearing his glasses, which often obscure his expressions, though he doesn't emote much. So the smile… It's like the universe just cracked open, with thunder and lightning booming around my heart.
I'm shy suddenly and bite my lip, but he narrows his eyes, pulling my wet lip from my teeth with his thumb.
"Fun is the wrong word. This is… new. And astronomical." The bond, he means. I feel it, too, like another being taking up residence inside me. It's not overpowering or even all-pervasive—it's more like a shadow, an echo. I can feel him in ways I never thought possible. I can't read his mind or even his emotions, but he's right. If he projects, I get an impression of his train of thought or feelings.
"And you're feeling…" I start laughing, too tired to process the intensity that is Enzo. He's feeling horny, somehow, curious, and has an overwhelming sense of restlessness. I know nothing's wrong, he's not worried, but there's a hint there, like fear's sister. "What are you thinking, Enzo? You're worried about something."
"Not worried," he quickly corrects. "Just… I never expected to feel this level of concern for your existence. I feel very protective right now. I don't think I'll be able to leave your presence for some time," he says apologetically.
I notice he's still touching some part of me. He's always been like that, needing to hold onto some small piece of me, my silent sentinel. "I suspect it's the freshness of the bond. It'll probably chill out."
He grunts though I can't tell if it's in agreement. Regardless, I can't entertain his rising cock, so I bend over and gather our clothes, handing him his glasses. Fortunately, Roxy's borrowed dress was designed to open easily. Otherwise, I'd be replacing it, though it'll need a proper clean with the reeking scent in here.
I dig out a pair of leggings and a baggy t-shirt and get dressed, pausing when I see Enzo inspecting his pants.
"What's wrong?"
He shrugs, "Nothing. I'll stay naked for a while."
"Umm… Enzo, you need to put some clothes on."
He sniffs in diffidence. "They're wet. I dislike the feeling of wet clothes on my skin."
"Oh… why are they wet?" I ask, taking them from his hand. There's a wet, white stain at the zipper. "Oh… Umm…"
"I don't care about the semen. Plus, they smell like you now," he takes them from my hand, breathing in the material. He gives me a serpentine smile that weakens my knees, adding, "I'm not embarrassed, my love. If I need to come in my pants so I can think straight with your pussy in my face, I'm perfectly fine with that. But, as I said, they need to dry."
I'm sure my cheeks are burning red, and for some reason, hearing that is so fucking hot, but we need to get out of this room before we lose another few hours to lust, so I refocus. "I might have something," I tell him, digging through an old bag in my closet.
I rifle through a few of Red's clothes from years ago that I collected when I lived with him and find a pair of sweatpants. Like Red, Enzo is lean, though he's taller than Red would have been when he owned these.
I sniff, noticing they smell a little musty, but Enzo's growl pulls my attention up.
"Whose are these?" He snaps.
I tilt my head cautiously, "Red's. They're really old; they don't smell like him or anyone. Other than a cramped closet."
Enzo's shoulders relax, the tension that filled the room suddenly leaking away just as quickly. He shakes his head, surprised or ashamed by his reaction. "I'm sorry. This is going to take some getting used to."
I'm equally surprised when he takes them from me and slips them on. They're a little tight, barely constraining the tent of his cock at the waist, but they'll do the trick. "It's okay. I should have realized… I mean, I didn't even think, since he's an alpha. That it might be an issue with our bond so new. But you know, Red is family to me, that's it. There's never been anything between us."
Enzo nods, his cool yet relaxed demeanor slipping over his skin as he clutches my hand and leads me out of the bedroom. Like he's read my mind—or the bond, I guess—he leads me to the kitchen.
While digging through the fridge's contents, he says, "I know. I can feel what he means to you. I don't know if I could wear them if they smelled like him or be okay with his scent so fresh in here; my alpha is feeling…" He pops up from behind the fridge door with a carton of orange juice, "territorial. But he's not jealous of Red because we can feel he's your brother."
He digs through the cupboards until he finds where I keep the cups. I'm only moderately offended when he peers inside, as if inspecting their cleanliness. I don't think Enzo is a clean-freak, but he's particular about certain things, that's for sure.
"So, Zo," I smile, leaning back against the counter top.
He gives me a boyish grin. "Yes, my love?"
"Umm…" He keeps inspecting everything but begins making sandwiches, pouring me a glass of juice and water from the tap for himself, but only after taste testing it, smelling it, and looking through the glass as if he could meticulously analyze the molecules with his eyes. The question burns on my tongue, but I try to think of the most polite way to ask. "Are you… I mean, do you have a strong aversion to dirty things?"
He furrows his brow, carrying the plates into my living room because I don't have a kitchen table. "What?" We sit next to each other on the couch, both sagging down into the cushions, so much so that we knock shoulders.
He fidgets, plucking at a frayed seam on the cushion, brushing it with his fingertips like he's wiping the dirt off.
"That! Right there!"
"What?" He shrugs and eats his sandwich.
I guess I'm done diplomatically dancing around the subject. "You're okay with semen on your pants, but not if it's wet. You inspected my cups like you didn't think I washed them." I fold my arms across my chest, looking at him pointedly. "And, after I was stripped naked and writhing on the bed, you took the time to fold your clothes."
I'm delighted when a light blush paints his cheeks. He slowly chews, so I start eating. The bread is dry and a little stale.
He shrugs, "I'm particular. I'm not a neat- or a clean-freak about everything, but I am about some things. I like to cater to my external sensors. Semen is natural, and I know where it came from. But I don't want my dick rubbing up against wet, stiff material; it will chafe and feel uncomfortable."
"And my cups?"
"I wasn't checking to see if they were clean, Ophelia."
I smirk and eye him suspiciously.
"I was thinking that most of your things are cracked or stained with age." The comment is so passive. And, for some reason, it makes me feel shitty about my broken cups.
I don't like thinking that maybe I'm not good enough for them. I've never cared about wealth. But what if they don't think I'm good enough? What if they're only pursuing me because we're scent-matched, not because of who I am?
"Hey, where'd you go?" Enzo asks, leaning into my space, gripping my knee.
"Nothing. Nowhere, I'm just—"
Bang! Bang! Bang!
The sounds, so huge and deafening, nearly shake the walls. Enzo dives on top of me, pinning me to the ground, the sound of yelling and screaming from outside my apartment door has me trembling beneath him in terror.