Chapter 5
chapter five
. . .
nitsa
I stood on the cream carpet with honeysuckle pouring off my skin and my body staging the kind of coup that made negotiation a joke.
The air in the suite had gone thick in the five seconds since they'd walked in, my scent layering over everything: the cream throw blanket on the chair, the orchid on the dresser, the slate-blue throw pillows on the burnt-orange sectional.
Heat did that. It made everything about you, whether you wanted it to or not.
A cramp hit. I folded at the waist. My palms went to my knees and I stayed there, breathing through it, because the alternative was a sound I wasn't prepared to make in front of three men I'd known for a collective twenty minutes of adulthood. I bit my lip and waited for it to pass.
Denil pulled his dress shirt over his head and dropped it on the floor.
I watched his jaw flex, his chest broad and flushed, his hands opening and closing at his sides like he was working out a problem his body had already solved and only the last of his brain was keeping him still.
The light from the floor lamp caught the muscle across his shoulders, and I thought, with the clarity of a woman whose brain was rapidly losing its lease, that the hotel had done an excellent job positioning that lamp.
Isak stripped his own shirt without ceremony. His skin was warmer than Denil's, or maybe it was just the light, or maybe my body had developed opinions on both of them embarrassing enough to disown. He went straight for the duffel, unzipping it one-handed, already moving.
Miner stayed dressed, minus the suit jacket.
His tie remained neatly knotted, and his sleeves were shoved to the elbows.
When I bent over with another cramp, he crouched directly in front of me until we were eye level.
All three men had at least eight inches on me. Miner folded that height down to mine.
"Who do you want to be close?" he asked.
I opened my mouth, shut it, and tried once more. The noise I made answered a question Miner had not asked.
"Water," Miner said. Not a question. A choice. "Touch. Pressure. Quiet. Space. Pick one."
I nodded.
"Say it."
"Water," I managed. The word felt thick. My throat was dry, my mouth coppery. I was two seconds from sliding to the floor; the carpet looked soft, and I wanted to lie down on it and maybe never get up.
Isak was already at the minibar. I heard the click of a bottle cap, the crunch of foil, and then he was at my side with water so cold it fogged the glass.
He tore an electrolyte packet open with his teeth, an unnecessary flash of teeth my body registered with enthusiasm, tipped it into the water, and held the bottle to my mouth.
"Three swallows," he said. His fingers steadied my wrist, and every nerve under his touch lit up. I wanted to lean into his hand. I didn't. I drank three swallows instead. The cold hit my stomach and spread through my chest. For two seconds, everything went quiet.
Isak's thumb moved against the inside of my wrist, a small circle. His scent, rich and warm brown butter, had gone stronger in the closed room. I could taste it at the back of my throat. It made the water taste better.
He took the bottle back, crossed to the lamps, and brought them up low in one practiced motion. The room softened, lamplight pooling gold against the pale walls. He disappeared into the bathroom, and water started running.
When he came back he had a washcloth, cold and dripping. He pressed it to the back of my neck and the shock of it made my spine straighten. Then to the insides of my wrists, and the relief was so immediate I almost said thank you before I caught myself.
He'd done all of it before I said anything hurt. He'd clocked the ache, the flush, my arms held slightly away from my sides, and moved before I asked.
Denil stood by the door, exactly where he'd been since he took off his shirt.
His chest rose and fell, each breath pulled through his mouth.
Every muscle held him there against the urge to cross the room.
His scent had shifted from toasted pine to something deeper, resinous, a note that landed in my lower abdomen and pulled.
I held a nugget of irritation for him and his pack, small and warm.
Their scents had circulated through the ballroom all weekend, building and bubbling under my blockers until the whole thing cracked open.
A dozen years ago, he'd stood in Celia's garage lifting weights and ignoring the preteen with markers.
Now he was here, ice-blue eyes gone dark, watching me like I was a problem he wanted to bench press.
Irritation lost badly to gratitude. They'd shown up. Miner kept one hand on Denil's shoulder. Isak handled the cloth, the water, and the lamps, taking the hard edges off the emergency. Denil stayed by the door, breathing through the effort of keeping himself in check.
The next cramp folded through my lower abdomen. I braced a hand over it and waited out the pain. When it finally loosened, need flooded the space behind it, sharper and more urgent than before, strong enough to buckle my knees.
Miner was still crouched in front of me. His eyes were blue-gray and steady.
"Tell me what you need," he said again. "Not what you think you should need. What you actually need."
The room was quiet. The curtains hung still, no rustling at all. The king bed already calling to me.
I told him.
"Denil."
They were too good at this, good enough to make me wonder through the heat haze how many times they'd done it before.
How many omegas had stood where I was standing, said what I was saying, and taken what they were offering?
Their competence brought relief and threat in equal measure. They saw right through me.
I nodded Denil in.
He crossed the room in three strides and settled at my back, chest hot against my spine, mouth at the side of my throat.
His open lips touched the sensitive spot below my ear, and sensation ran down my sternum to pool low in my abdomen.
His breath was ragged. His whole body strained to take over, to lift me, contain me, fix me.
Instead, one hand lifted my damp hair off my neck while his other arm stayed loose around my waist. He waited without pulling.
I leaned back half an inch. His arm tightened only enough to catch me. Then he was there, solid and warm, his mouth moving along the line of my throat. His body stayed steady behind mine, and relief hit so fast I almost sobbed.
Miner stayed in front of Denil, one hand on his shoulder and the other palm open toward me. He stood close enough to intervene without crowding either of us. "You're alright," he said. "You're safe. Tell us what's too much."
Denil murmured into my hair. His voice was rough, lower than I'd heard it before, and the words landed behind my ribs.
"You smell like the best thing I've ever scented." Not performative. Not polished. Just true, delivered against my skin. "Your scent is so strong. You're being so good."
I almost laughed. Good. Like I had a choice. Like my body wasn't doing this with or without my permission.
Isak crouched at my knee with the cloth and a second water bottle. His dark wavy hair fell across his forehead, his eyes warm, his mouth doing something that looked like it was working very hard not to smile.
"The state of your dignity is genuinely tragic," he said. "I've seen toddlers with more composure after a fall. It's almost impressive how thoroughly your body has overruled your entire personality."
I laughed, a real laugh in the middle of a cramp. It opened my ribs and made the next breath easier.
"Bodies are inconvenient," I said. The words came out before I could stop them. "People get strange when need walks into a room. That's all this is."
No one corrected me. No one said it's more than that or you're allowed to want or any of the things people say when they're trying to make you feel better about needing them. No one pushed. No one treated the wanting like a failure.
“Condom?” Denil asked.
“No, unless you want to. I have an implant. I’m covered.”
They took the one true thing I'd given them and built the next minute on it.
Denil's mouth moved to my shoulder. His fingers stayed gentle and precise in my hair, lifting without pulling. His arm around my waist stayed loose. When Miner said slow, he slowed. When Miner said give her room, he eased off and took half a step back, his breath ragged against my neck.
Heat built between us. My skin had gone hypersensitive, every contact, breath, and shift of fabric registering like a live wire.
Denil's chest against my back, his hand in my hair, and the open-mouthed press of his lips over my gland all sparked through me.
My throat arched into his mouth without permission.
Isak's fingers brushed my knee as he pressed the cool cloth there. His touch was warm and deliberate. My thigh jumped under it.
"Sorry," he said. Not sorry. Just acknowledging.
"Don't be."
His eyes met mine. His pupils were blown so wide the dark was almost complete. The silver stud in his ear caught the low gold light from the lamps.
Miner's hand was still on Denil's shoulder, his other open toward me.
His voice kept going, low and even, you're alright, you're safe, tell us what's too much, and underneath it I could hear Denil's breathing, ragged and controlled, Isak's quiet movements around the room, my own heartbeat in my ears.
The robe was silk-blend, soft blush, clinging to the damp places along my spine. Isak's fingers found the tie at my waist. He didn't pull. He caught my gaze and waited.
I nodded. He pulled the knot open.
He slipped the robe off my shoulders. Let it pool on the floor around my feet. The air against my skin was cool and then immediately not cool because my body was running several degrees above anything the hotel's climate control had budgeted for.