Chapter 29
Enzo
"I don't understand why we're here. You've quit your job. Must you cater to the whims of these sycophants?"
"Well, I must cater to the whims of my employer," Ophelia kicks my shin with her foot. "Are you embarrassed to be seen with me?"
I scoff. No one rouses more reaction from me than her. "Don't be ridiculous."
For some reason, Ophelia feels the need to complete her commitments. As a dedicated, if slightly neurotic, workaholic, I admire her resolve, but as my omega, my love, I find it beneath her. Her needy friend Melanie had asked her, prior to quitting, if she could cover a few catering gigs, and since she'd already said yes, she refused to not show up.
Though she attempted to give her notice at the strip club, apparently, her track record for spilling drinks preceded her, and her employer, friend, and dearly dedicated brother let her go immediately. She pretended to be mad when Theo teased her for essentially getting fired.
She couldn't get out of the catering events, though. Since the first two were random office luncheons, one of us dropped her off and picked her up, but this third was another large OFA event, and I refused to leave her during it.
I've been better about giving her more space, especially since she bonded with Asher. I expected to feel some jealousy through the bond when I could feel them both light up, knowing they were being intimate, but it actually made my alpha feel calm, knowing she was being pleasured and cared for.
But I don't trust the OFA. And since she and Sully have decided to essentially shout from the rooftops their frustrations with the injustices facing omegas today—some of which are in direct contrast with the curriculum at the OFA—I don't feel comfortable leaving her alone with them.
So, here I am, in the kitchens in the back rooms at the OFA academy—today's event is, apparently, an introductory, mingling affair for incoming attendees and recent, unbonded graduates. And where unbonded omegas go, unbonded packs of alphas go.
Ophelia runs around with the other employees, snapping at me each time I try to take the tray from her hands and do her job for her. She's wearing a fitted button-up shirt with a vest and tight black pants that look uncomfortable, considering how often she adjusts and fidgets. Though the outfit itself is terribly unattractive, it does show off her figure. I've never been so mesmerized by anything as I have watching her legs move and ass shake. It's a thing of beauty, as Theo would say, made all the more enticing by her soft waist which highlights the roundness of her ass and hips. She's self-conscious of her body, I don't understand why.
I've been told the OFA has classes that involve exercise and nutrition and, according to Ophelia, are glorified diet programs to make all naturally curvy female omegas the 'right' shape—thin, small, with only enough of a curve to fill your palm, a manufactured figure for the desire of male alphas.
I have noticed many omegas graduating from the OFA look similar, but I never paid much attention. It enrages my omega, though. I don't care much about what happens to the other omegas, but it matters to Ophelia, so I at least try to pay attention.
After an hour of annoying her and complaining that she doesn't get enough breaks, she finally takes a seat next to a tall metal prep table, dragging me down to sit beside her.
"Here," she slides a plate toward me, stacked with a sandwich.
I inspect the contents while she digs into hers. In between bites, I ask, "When are you done? This is the last one, correct?"
She nods, covering her mouth full of bread and meat. "Mmhmm. Last one." She takes a big glug of water, passing it over to me. I eye the glass, narrowing in on the fingerprints, then I look at her slim, delicate fingers. It will offend her if I don't drink from the same glass, so I take a sip.
She smirks, "I'm almost done. Sharon, my boss, thinks I should clock out early and go mingle." She shudders her shoulders. "I hate small talk, but it's not a bad idea. Sharon's sister is an omega, she agrees we should get more alphas to care about omega independence."
I sip the water, and we finish eating. When she's done, I take her plate and carry it to the back of the kitchen, where a young beta kid is washing dishes.
When I return, Ophelia's talking to another woman in a similar uniform. We're introduced, and I don't miss the way the woman, Sharon, shies away from me when I don’t look at or acknowledge her. Ophelia smiles tightly, nudging me. Before I overanalyze what she's too subtly implying, Ophelia takes my hand, and I follow her into the event.
"This is weird. I've never been on this side of one of these before."
"I'm not sure it counts when you're still dressed like a caterer."
She gives me a glare and drags me through the crowd. "For that, I'm going to make you do small talk."
"As much as I don't want to let go of your hand, you'll likely make more headway without me."
The smile she gives me is everything. "Not a chance, alpha. You're mine. If they don't like your weirdness, that's on them."
I know my brothers defend me to others, but hearing her do it is different. I want to be more for her. So I agree, though I let her take the lead while she tracks down Fletcher, who introduces her to some prominent political figures in the room. Ophelia's enthusiasm and bright smile are infectious and allow me to stand behind her without having to talk to anyone.
Most people we're introduced to are intrigued to meet the new omega of the Constantine Pack and, perhaps because I'm at her back, say only polite things, without commenting on her catering outfit or on the rumors of her upbringing in South Loop. That is, until we pause by a long table for some water and a break from human interaction.
"I knew it wouldn't last," a woman sneers beside Ophelia, making my omega stiffen. I reach out, attempting to put myself between her and the girl, when Ophelia stands a little taller, blocking me.
"What wouldn't last, Bianca?" she sighs.
"It's Bridgette, and you fucking know that." She scoffs. Then she looks Ophelia over, taking in her clothes, covering her mouth to smother a fake laugh. "I'm sorry. Are you working right now?"
This woman seems unusually irate that Ophelia has forgotten her name. The girl, a short, busty omega wearing too much perfume enhancing her fruity scent and so much jewelry on her neck she'd give Greta a run for her money, is giving off sticky, repulsive energy. I don't like it. It's making me want to shower to clean it off my skin.
The woman, Bridgette or Bianca or whatever, looks at me—briefly, because I can tell I make her uncomfortable—then scowls at Ophelia. "I knew he's the one you'd get stuck with. You should know, all these things I've been hearing about, changing the rights for omegas in poor neighborhoods," she mocks in a strange, infantile voice, "is not going anywhere. If you think the alphas are going to put up with encouraging any omega not to join the OFA, you're insane. The only omegas they want are the ones who at least have proper training. The rest of you are just trashy whores who end up so desperate for a knot they settle with the freaks."
She emphasizes the last word, and I realize she means me. I'm the freak. I offer the girl one of my rare smiles, taking a step around Ophelia, prepared to remove the girl from her presence, but she widens her eyes in fear and steps back. Ophelia is visibly upset, which just won't do.
I take another step forward and growl, baring my teeth, and the girl squeaks and runs away.
"Are you alright, my love?"
"She's a jerk, Enzo. Don't listen to her."
"Funny. I was going to say the same thing to you." She softens, resting her head against my shoulder. This is better. Wrapping an arm around her, I breathe her in, ignoring the faint plastic blend with her natural floral scent from the scent-blockers she took.
"Enzo? Mr. Constantine?" A small voice pulls Ophelia's head up. I sigh, not wanting to talk to anyone else today. I’ve reached my limit. Confused who would be addressing me directly, rare as it is, my omega stiffens when she sees another omega. Why are there so many talking to us? We need to leave this place and never come back.
Ophelia's shoulders straighten, but the woman lights up when she takes in my omega. "You must be Ophelia. I'm so sorry to interrupt. I just really wanted to meet you."
Cautiously, Ophelia reaches out to the girl, whose palm is already out, waiting for her to shake. "I'm Imogen. My parents and your pack work together. I've been hearing all about you, but it's so nice to finally meet you in person."
Ophelia's hesitance is obvious, but Imogen Bradford powers through.
"Uhh… nice to meet you, too."
"Your big news around here." She leans closer and says conspiratorially, "Listen, Bridgette is very unpleasant on a good day. She's been telling anyone who will listen her thoughts on you, your pack, and your omegas' rights campaign. I just wanted to tell you I love what you're doing, and I'm not the only one. And I would love to be involved."
"Oh. Really?" Ophelia seems surprised. I don't think she interacts with omegas outside of Queenie's much.
"Yes, absolutely. Can we exchange numbers? My parents are waiting; I'm supposed to be meeting packs," she smiles tightly. "But I'd love to get together sometime soon."
Ophelia relaxes, and the women chat animatedly for a few more minutes. They exchange numbers and when the girl walks away, Ophelia smiles up at me. I lean down and capture her lips.
"Can we leave now?" I ask.
She laughs, taking my hand and leading me toward the exit. "Imogen seemed really nice. When you guys were set up with her, and it didn't work out, Sully told me it was mutual. That you didn't click?"
My brow furrows. I hold the door open and she steps out into the bright sun. I hand the valet my ticket, and we wait for the SUV to return.
She pushes, "Is that true?"
"What do you mean?" I ask, confused.
"Well, that you didn't like each other?" When I offer no further understanding, she growls and rolls her eyes. "Come on, Enzo! She's fucking beautiful. Like, really, really pretty. And she smells really nice. You guys went on a date with her… I'm just asking if there was ever a chance—"
I place my hand over her mouth. "Now I understand. You're jealous. Or insecure. I don't understand why, though."
"I am not—"
"It's alright, my love. You don't need to hide yourself from me. She's beautiful, I suppose. I honestly didn't notice. You're all I see."
The car arrives, and I open the door for her. The drive home is quiet, and I realize what I said wasn't enough. Because she believes in me, but maybe not my brothers? Theo has been a flirt all year, and photographed in doing so.
"We didn't click, as you said. She smells fine. I didn't notice or care, and I honestly don't think the others did either. And Imogen felt the same. We didn't seek her out; her parents blindsided us by arriving with Imogen in tow at a business lunch. I believe she genuinely wants to be your friend, and I can say, without a shred of doubt or deception, that my brothers haven't thought once about her in the way you're concerned."
Her warm hand grips my thigh as I drive, and I place my free hand over it. My words seem to have settled her, and contentment filters through our bond.
"What about what Bridgette said?" She asks.
"What do you mean?"
"Can you take the long way? Past the bridge?" She asks instead of answering.
"Of course." More time alone with Ophelia is always welcome.
We drive deeper into the mountains when she answers the previous question. "I meant what she said about you. Does it hurt your feelings?"
"You can feel me through the bond; you should know the answer to that."
"I like to think I know you well enough now, not just by reading you through the bond. I think you don't care one little bit what she thinks. And that maybe you kind of enjoy making people like her uncomfortable."
"Then what is it you're really asking me?"
She's quiet as we approach the covered bridge, contemplative. On a whim, I pull off to the side in the same spot we did a year ago, and we both climb out of the car. It's early evening and light out since she got out of work ahead of schedule, still warm from the day's sun.
"We should celebrate," I say, clasping her hand and walking down toward the bank of the river. Very few cars drive past here, but even in broad daylight, we'd be hard to see down here.
"Celebrate what?"
"You're done working for Sharon."
"Enzo! You remembered her name!" Ophelia cackles.
"Of course I remember her name, I have an excellent memory." The problem isn't that I don't remember names; it's that I don't bother learning them in the first place. But I know she's teasing.
When we approach a massive oak tree, clasping her shoulders, I turn her so she has to walk backwards, until her back hits the trunk.
Staring down into her eyes, I lift the hem of her shirt, untucking the hideous thing from her pants, shrugging off her vest, peeling off the rest of her clothes, kissing her along the way. Placing my hand at her sternum, I trail my fingers down her chest, sinking to my knees. Gripping her thigh, I lift one knee to drape over my shoulder, so she leans her weight back against the sturdy tree behind her.
"Enzo," she pants. Parting her folds, I dart my tongue out to taste her, and she's so fucking sweet. "I like the way you celebrate," she sighs. "But someone could see?" She doesn't sound worried, still moaning and melting into me, so I don't bother answering the half-hearted question.
A benefit of the cheap scent-blockers is that they don't change her scent at her core, only what permeates off her skin, so it's easy to find that perfect taste of candied rose petals, lavender, soft, downy sage. She floods as I work my lips and tongue over her sensitive flesh and bundle of nerves. I've made her gush and squirt before, but only with my mouth and fingers.
I don't want to get my clothes wet because it will make me irritable when we finish the drive home.
Abruptly, I pull away.
"Wha? What?" She whines, her omega whimpering in distress. My alpha urges me to hurry the fuck up. Her lids lower as I pull at my tie. She doesn't mind watching me as I carefully undress. Through the bond, I can feel her interest, even though she's squirming in need, and when I fold my clothes neatly on a stump nearby, I don't sense any ridicule. For some reason, she finds my idiosyncrasies charming. Alluring, even.
Her chest rises and falls the faster she pants, and, setting my glasses down on the folded pile, I stalk back to my prey.
"Enzo, make me come. Please, please make me come," she begs. Leaning down, I lick and kiss Asher's bite mark, making her and, I imagine, Asher shiver. I'm sure he can sense this, because I can feel when he does the same to mine. I trail my tongue to my mark, dragging my teeth over the shape of it, then lower, sucking on her nipples.
She has sensitive nipples, and I tease and kiss, finally making my way back down to my knees. I feel prepared this time, so I don't hesitate, resuming my ministrations, licking and kissing. Using one hand, I lift the hood of her pussy, exposing her clit, slipping my thumb over the top of the little button. With my other, I slip my fingers inside her, hooking my fingers in a come hither position.
I've never watched porn before, but I searched how to make a girl squirt, and a very detailed instructional video popped up. Several, in fact. The first time it happened was unintentional, but I like to be informed, so I try to remember the exact steps from the video.
I tease and stroke her g-spot, opposite her clit where the nerve endings are most sensitive inside the tight walls of her pussy. Between both hands, rubbing her clit and stroking inside her, I work mercilessly, licking and kissing everywhere else.
I'm everywhere I could be, tasting and touching. Her knees shake violently, but I don't relent. "Enzo, Enzo! I can't, I can't," she mutters and chants incoherently, canting her hips, begging for more. "I'm coming, I'm going to come, oh fuck, oh fuck, I'm coming, ahh!" She screams, and I pick up the pace on her clit, pressing harder, flicking faster, flattening my fingers into a firm shape, essentially slapping her clit while my fingers inside her hook and stroke, coaxing more and more pleasure. In moments she's gushing, spraying all over my face. I keep going, and she doesn't stop coming.
"Oh god! Oh god!" My omega's ability to come for so long is impressive. Only when her knees stop shaking and she sobs, "Knot me right fucking now!" do I let go. Moving with a speed I didn't know I possessed, I'm standing, wrapping her knees around my waist, then I impale her, using the weight of the tree as leverage.
I don't even fuck her, I don't need to. I slam in hard, fast and full, already so hard for her, so turned on by this magical creature, I'm coming instantly, roaring as my knot tucks in, my cock pulsing and spraying inside of her.
She shakes again, this time coming from a deeper place, a well inside her body. She whispers her love for me; we both feel Asher in the bond, who must be masturbating because suddenly he's coming with us. Tears leak from her eyes, and I kiss them, tasting her beautiful rose scent on her lips, still bucking slighting into her, until my knot releases.
When my cock slips out, I pick her up and carry her to the river. It's cold when we step in, but we adapt to the temperature quickly. Delighted, she smiles as the water cools our overheated bodies.
Holding her tight while the rush of water swarms, she wraps her arms around my neck. "This is perfect, Enzo. Thanks for celebrating with me." I kiss her cheek in response and she nestles further into my arms. "I should come here with Asher sometime, too. Rewrite the past."
I don't want to rewrite the past, but I know her history with this river is more than just that moment in time when she ran from Asher, our pack. It's the death of her family, too. Macabre, maybe, but I think being in here, like this, is healing in a way.
"What were you trying to say earlier?" I ask.
I lick and taste her wet, salty skin. Her long dark hair came out of the tie she had it in from work, and I run my fingers through it at the base of her head, massaging as she closes her eyes.
"I know what she said doesn't bother you. It doesn't bother me either. I don't want anyone ever to think I'm stuck with you, though. I fucking love you. So much. You're everything to me. And I can't imagine my life without you in it."
Her eyes open, pleading with me to accept and trust that. But I already do.
"I know my love. Because I feel the same way."
I kiss the tip of her nose, releasing her to swim and play while I sit at the bank's edge to dry off. When I'm fully dry—because, like a heathen, she doesn't care about getting dressed while she's dripping wet—I get dressed and drive us home.