Chapter 7
I usher her through the poolhouse doorway around the pairs of shoes by the entry, trying not to let my embarrassingly overexcited alpha grin over her head too much.
She's completely dwarfed by my blazer as it hangs loosely over my shoulders.
Dellie glances up at me. Despite the bright kitchen light, her pupils are blown wide, and her hair has tangled at the back from where she ground her head against the headrest as she came.
But as her eyes flick away from mine, her expression grows wooden and her shoulders tense up.
She's glancing around, looking at the corners, the shelves covered in fake potted plants and books Ralph's family don't read any more, the power points.
She's worrying her bottom lip with her teeth.
"There's no, uh, cameras, right?" she murmurs.
I shake my head as questions that I don't know her well enough to ask yet streak through my mind.
My alpha is on alert, demanding to know what happened to this omega that this is the first place her mind goes when she enters an unfamiliar place.
I can't hide the worried grimace that pulls my mouth tight. "No, of course not."
Allen is sitting on the scuffed brown leather couch next to Clarke, his shirt sleeves rolled up, his dark brown eyes locked on Dellie. His golden-brown forearms flex every time his fingers idly stroke Clarke's thigh. His hand stills and his brow creases when he hears what she asked.
Clarke is leaning forward, running his hands through his dark brown curls, his elbows on his knees, studying her like she's a puzzle that needs solving. He flinches at her question, concern swamping our bond. "Definitely not."
Something drops from her shoulders. She leans into me, breathing me in. Her eyes fall closed with a quiet sigh. Even though she's sober, she seems almost drunk on my scent.
"Why do you smell so good?" she murmurs into my chest. I wrap my arms around her and breathe in the heady, intoxicating freesia aroma from her hair. She shakes her head slightly. "I'm not used to being able to scent anyone like this…"
My head spins a little. The notes of fresh flowers are singing in the air.
Dellie glances around again, worrying her bottom lip. Then she presses gently into my side, just enough to make it a choice. I run a tentative finger along the side of her neck, tracing the path down towards her shoulders.
She opens her mouth, inhales like she wants to say something, then closes it again. Under my fingers, her muscles are tugging at themselves like they think they should be tensing.
"Is it all happening too fast?" I ask her, keeping my voice low.
She shrugs, looking at the floor. I sit her down in the other squashy beige armchair, and kneel in front of her, positioning myself so I can see her eyes. She looks like she doesn't know whether to bolt, or to jump me.
"Six words, remember?" I keep my voice low and steady. I've seen inhibitions catch up with desire before.
She sighs. "No. Not too fast…" She shakes her head. I can barely hear her voice.
Allen eases over to us, careful not to make any sudden movements. He rests lightly on the arm of her chair.
"Are you worried one of us might hurt you? Make you do something you don't want to do?" he asks, his voice low and soothing.
Her head shoots up, her eyes flashing fire. "No, of course not!"
Some of the tension dissipates from Zeke's posture, easing a little of my worry. Allen smiles warmly towards her.
"Record something that's meant to be private?" I murmur.
She flinches, but shakes her head. A little sigh slips out. "… no. Not you."
Allen inhales sharply. "Something that happened to you before?"
There's a pause. "Yes." She clears her throat. "But I'm never letting it happen again."
"I'm glad to hear that. You know you're still in control. Nothing happens that you don't want. And if you just want to sit around with us and talk or cuddle for the rest of the evening, I know each of us would be glad you were here. Right?" Allen's voice is firm, his eyes flaring with certainty.
I nod, angling myself away so the tenting of my pants is slightly less obvious. I feel Clarke moving behind me. He kneels next to the other arm of her chair. She turns towards him.
"Hmmm. But you didn't. You said you wanted more than just talking. Would I be right in thinking you wanted more than a cuddle?" His voice is low and gentle.
She takes a sharp breath. "Yes." She's chewing on her bottom lip and rubbing the folds of her skirt between her fingers.
"Would I be right in thinking you still want more than that?" His tone is so soft, I can barely make out his words.
Her fingers still as her teeth release her lip. Determination is sparking in her eyes.
"Yes." Her voice is a little clearer this time. I rest one of my hands on hers and give it a gentle, encouraging squeeze. A smile flits over her lips. Clarke sits back on his heels and grins.
"Well. I think I can safely speak for everyone here when I say that we would like to give you what you want. Nothing more or less than that. Would that be okay?"
A grateful "yes" falls from her lips, her face relaxing into a soft smile.
Something in my chest unknots. God, Clarke's good. I know Allen's officially the psychologist, but we all want Clarke to take point when words matter.
Clarke reaches up tentatively and softly strokes her face. Her eyes drift closed.
"What are your six words?" His voice is barely on the edge of hearing.
"Stop. Less. Good. More. Yes. No." Her pace is gentle. I run my thumb slowly over the back of her hand.
A purr emerges, unbidden, from my chest. A wave of gooseflesh ripples across the bare skin of her arms as my purr envelops her.
"Do you want to stick with those for now and figure out what feels right as we go along?" Clarke asks.
She bites her lip again, and opens her eyes. "Yes," she says, her gaze flicking back and forth between Clarke's pupils.
Her fingers interlace with mine. My cock jumps in my pants.
I scrunch up my toes in my shoes, and raise an eyebrow at Allen as I twitch my head towards the bedroom door. He raises questioning eyebrows at Clarke.
"Sweetheart, I worry we are crowding you a bit in here. Do you want to have a look at the setup in the other room? See if you might be more comfy in there? We can come straight back out if it's a hard no."
Her breath hitches. "Oh. Okay."
Clarke guides her face towards his with a firm but gentle hand. His stormy blue eyes lock onto hers. "Is 'okay' one of your six words, sweetheart?"
Her hands still. "No." A smile twitches across those plump lips.
"Well then. Let's have another go. Do you want to have a look at the other room?" Clarke's murmur is gentle, his eyes unblinking. Her gaze is ensnared in his. She can't look away from our beta.
Fuck, that's hot.
"Y—yes."
Clarke grins, the lust that I could feel through the bond that had been hidden behind his mask finally peeking through. "That took courage. It's hard to ask for the things we've been taught we shouldn't want, isn't it?"
She's melting under his steady gaze. Her fingers lightly squeeze mine again. My uninvited purr revs up even harder.
Clarke's eyes flash towards mine momentarily.
The throb through the bond, and the way his gaze flicks towards the pitiful excuse the poolhouse has for a pack bedroom tells me about his unasked question.
I nod, sharply. "Sweetheart, I think James would very much like to take care of you.
However you like, and only how you would like. Does that sound good?"
I swear, nobody can resist Clarke's gentle nudges.
Nobody with a heartbeat, at least. Her eyes catch mine, and a waft of crisp, fresh, sweet florals traverses the air, making my basil scent pulse in response.
The scent makes me feel like I've just woken up to something I'd spent my whole life sleepwalking through.
At this rate, I'm going to cum in my pants like a teenager in his first rut.
Her fingers squeeze tight around my hand. "I—I think so. Yes."
I reach up to stroke her cheek with my free hand.
"Can I show you the other room?" My voice is husky, and rattling from the purr I can't control.
She nods again. "Yes."
I can't rush her. Her instincts are fighting her inhibitions. I have to make sure we don't move too fast. I have to ask the question at every step.
I find conversation hard enough at the best of times, let alone when there's so much on the line.
I usually step back into the carer role with omegas like this, keeping everyone limber and hydrated, while Clarke and Seb and Zeke take point on touching and orgasms and knots; but, fuck, I can't bear the thought of not getting the connection with Dellie.
This is insane. Why the fuck do I care so much?
Does it even matter?
I need to figure out how to get more chatty, and fast.
"Uh, this is a little embarrassing, but my alpha really wants to look after you. Uh—would it be okay if I carry you in?"
She chuckles lightly and rests her hand on my cheek.
"Sure. Yes." She strokes my hand down my face and rests it lightly on my chest. My purr gets bolder as I scoop her up, clamping down on my alpha as I force my arms to relax.
She squeaks and rests her head on my chest as I carry her through the open door, bridal style.
Thank god Allen insisted on changing the sheets before we went out tonight.
It's a pain to change them on the California King, and takes at least three of us to get the duvet cover on properly, so winning the argument was not a guarantee.
And thank god Seb actually tidied his sex toys away when Clarke reminded him.
I sit down on the red-and-white striped duvet with her still in my arms and pull us back up the bed, so that I'm leaning against the comforting pile of matching pillows and the wooden headboard, and sit her in my lap.
She snuggles back against me, resting against my still-rumbling chest. Her hair is soft between my fingers; my hands seem to have reached up on their own to stroke her shoulders and hair.
She rubs her cheek against my hand, scent marking me, making my skin flush red and the hairs on my arms stand on end.
The rest of the pack slowly filters in. Allen leans against the wall with his one hand in his pocket, the other running through his black hair, the intensity with which his gaze is fixed on hers betraying the nonchalance of his posture.
Sebastian perches on the bottom corner of the bed, his bronze forearms flexing as he slowly unbuckles her shoes, his dark green t-shirt pulled tight against his biceps in contrast against his bronze skin.
His gold-streaked brown hair has fallen out of its bun, and loose curls are gently grazing the top of his well-built trapezoids.
Dellie groans in relief as Seb slips her shoes off her feet, and starts rubbing them. My cock brushes against her back as it twitches at the sound.
Fuck. Calm down. Don't rush her.
Zeke slides onto the bed on my right-hand side, and Clarke settles on my left.
"Is this a bit more comfy now, lovely?" I ask.
She wriggles back against my torso and leans contentedly against my chest.
"Mmm. Yes. God, that feels so good," she breathes.
Oh. Fucking hell.
Clarke brushes a stray hair from her cheek. "Keep going just the same, good? Or do you want more?"