Nelly
When I toss open the front door, the house groans like it knows it's losing me.
I step over the threshold with Nash at my back, the boards creaking under our combined weight. Dust still hangs in the air where the fire department stomped through earlier. All over the tile floors whose grout just dried, mind you. The red notice crinkles against my palm like a scarlet letter.
Condemned.
I hate that word.
I pause in the middle of the living room, hands on my hips, and take it all in. The place looks worse now that I know I'm being forced out of it. The couch I dragged in from the curb sits against the far wall, half-covered in mismatched blankets and pillows I've collected over the past week.
My "nest," if anyone in this town had the nerve to call it that.
I feel like I'm abandoning it.
I was lucky enough to find that couch, as is.
I mean, it's not like I have a bunch of big, strong Alphas at my disposal to help me move furniture from place to place.
I could hire movers, sure, but that's more money out of my profits when I could just live out of my suitcases and give a second life to furniture about to be hauled away.
Apparently, not everyone is impressed with my ingenuity, because behind me, Nash exhales slowly. I don't have to look at him to know he's cataloging every single problem in sight. That's the kind of Alpha he's always been. Always looking after people. Always keeping them out of danger.
Always smelling too good for public consumption.
"Don't start," I mutter.
"I didn't say anything," he replies.
"You didn't have to. I can hear you thinking."
"That sounds like a 'you' problem."
I roll my eyes and move farther into the house, stepping around a stack of lumber I'm going to use for the upstairs flooring. "It's not that bad."
"Nelly."
"It's not," I insist, even though I sidestep a loose board that dips under my weight.
"No wonder this place is condemned."
"Temporarily," I shoot back.
He doesn't respond to that, which somehow annoys me more than if he argued.
I move toward the couch and grab what I can: my bag, a couple of shirts, my laptop wedged between the cushions like that's a totally normal place to keep it. I shove everything into the bag, silently mourning the privacy I'm about to lose.
Nash's body heat is at my back.
Not touching. Not interfering.
Just… there.
Watching.
It makes my skin itch.
"I don't need supervision," I say.
"Good, because I'm not supervising you."
"Then what are you doing?"
"Making sure the floor doesn't give out from under you."
I snort. "It's not going to—"
The board beneath my foot shifts and my balance goes with it.
"—do that," I finish weakly as I tip sideways.
Nash's hand shoots out before I hit the ground, gripping my arm hard enough to stop the fall. The force of it pulls me flush against him, chest to chest, his other hand bracing my waist.
I don't like how he fits so well against me.
For a second, everything stops. My breath catches as my gaze whips up to his face. Nash has always been handsome. Stereotypically so, for the kind of Alpha he is. He's always had the town eating out of his hand, especially since his family has kept this place safe for generations.
His grip tightens, like he's making sure I'm actually steady before he lets me go.
His touch leaves behind a searing warmth.
"You okay?" he asks. "Didn't twist your ankle?"
I don't like how my heart gallops in my chest.
"Get off me," I murmur, shaking off his touch.
He lets go, hands lifting in surrender, but there's something behind those sharp blue eyes of his that makes me hold my breath.
"Stubborn Omega," he mutters.
"Overbearing Alpha," I fire back.
His mouth twitches like he wants to smile, but he doesn't. "You're welcome, by the way."
"I had it handled."
"You were about to eat the floor."
"I would've caught myself."
"Sure you would've."
I glare at him, then turn and storm off toward the kitchen.
The hole in the wall I covered up with construction plastic gives me a blurry view of the backyard.
I would've had that patched yesterday if I hadn't run into the electrical issues that plague this place.
No sense closing it up until those get addressed.
I'll have to give Ford and Knox a call over that one.
I grab the trash bags off the kitchen counter and start packing. None of this sits right with me, though. I don't like leaving the homes I'm working in.
"I'll be back soon, girl," I whisper as I pat the countertop.
I whip the trash bag through the air to puff out the middle, then head toward my things. I snatch up my nesting blankets and pillows, trying not to look at the stains on the curbside couch.
"You're insane for staying here," Nash says. "Look at that couch."
I ignore him and tie the trash bag closed. "I've got what I need. You can grab my bag."
I turn toward him, and he looks at me like I've grown a second head. "This is all you have?"
"I'll come back for the rest."
"You're not supposed to be staying here."
"I'm not staying," I say. "This is my place of work, and tomorrow I'll come back for the rest."
"Nelly."
"Let's go," I say as I brush past him toward the front door.
The walk to his place is quiet. His body is a steady wall beside me, and it reminds me of all those afternoons back in high school when he'd walk me home because I'd have to stay after school for tutoring.
We bickered then, too. He'd poke fun at my math skills with a grin on his face, and I'd fire back that he wrote like an eight-year-old with a mobility problem.
God, he smells good.
"Omegas first," Nash says as he opens the door to his apartment complex.
I just pause and look up at him.
"What?" he asks.
"I'm waiting for you to go through. You said 'Omegas first.'"
His face goes flat. "Hah. Hah. Hah. Get inside, Nelly. It's about to storm."
I beam a smile in his direction and make my way inside. Thunder rolls as the sun dims. I'm not worried about the weather, though. I've got everywhere I need covered with plastic and tarp, so despite the condition of the house I'm renovating, everything that needs to stay dry will stay just that.
I'm ripped out of my thoughts when we get into the elevator.
Nash has always smelled amazing. The scents of cedarwood, leather, and crisp winter air drift up my nose as we stand in the closed-off metal space. There's nowhere for his scent to go except everywhere on me, and something scratches at the back of my mind. Something I shove down so I can think.
Thankfully, we only have to go four floors up.
Nash holds his arm out and I scurry out of the elevator. He falls in line beside me with a couple of fluid strides, and then he stops at the last door on the left. By the time he gets it open, I've got my head screwed back on straight.
His place is exactly what I expect.
"Home, sweet home," Nash says as he walks in behind me. "Room's down the hall, second door on the right."
I just nod as I drag the trash bag behind me. His kitchen gleams. The carpets have fresh vacuum lines running through them. Either that, or he doesn't host much company. His scent drenches the place. My gaze moves to his couch.
Man, he's got a nice couch for a nest.
Everything has a place. The pictures that decorate the wall sit at the same height.
The television mounted above them has been measured and leveled to perfection.
Even the curtains that hang over his windows sit pristinely in their spots, as if they, too, have been bitched out by the Alpha about knowing their place.
My nostrils flare as I drag in more of his scent.
That's not good.
"I'll put your bag in the room," Nash says as he brushes past me.
"I've got it," I say as I reach out and rip the bag out of his hand.
I don't wait for him to shoot me a look or scold me for something I've done. I just book it down the small hallway in front of us. I shoulder the second door on the right in and draw in a deep breath of what I hope will be fresh air.
But all it does is fill my lungs with him.
Nash.
The Alpha who doesn't know when to shut his mouth.
"Need anything?" Nash asks behind me.
I drop the trash bag to the floor. "I'm fine."
He steps in and hands me my duffel bag. "Need anything for the room?"
I take it from him. "It's fine."
"High praise."
"I've stayed in worse."
"I'm sure you have."
I shoot him a look as I unzip my bag. "Don't start."
"I'm not starting anything."
"You always start something."
"And you always finish it," he counters.
I huff out a laugh despite myself and start pulling out my clothes. "Go be a sheriff or something. Don't you have paperwork to do?"
Something buzzes, and he pulls his phone from his pocket. "Actually, yeah, I think."
He glances at the screen, and his expression tightens.
"What?" I ask. "Emergency?"
"I've gotta head in for a couple hours," he says as he pockets his phone again.
"Then go." I wave him off. "I'm not going anywhere."
His gaze lingers on me for a second longer than necessary. "You sure?"
"Yes, Nash. I can survive without your supervision for a few hours."
"That's not what I—"
"Go," I say, cutting him off, "before I start charging you rent for hovering."
He huffs out a quiet laugh. "Make sure the door locks behind me."
"I know how doors work."
"I'm serious, Nelly."
"So am I."
"I'll be back later."
"Cool. Take your time."
Something tinks against a hard surface behind me, but I don't look at him when he leaves.
I listen, though. He rummages around in his room, which is right next to mine with only a wall between us.
I fold my things and turn to put them in the dresser, and there it is. The source of that tinking sound.
The spare key.
He's set it on top of the dresser for me.
His front door closing rips me out of my trance. I peer into the hallway, staring at the door as the deadbolt flips and the knob lock clicks over. Still, I rush down the hall and check both of them myself.
My shoulders drop a fraction at the sound of his footfalls shuffling away.
Finally.
I'm alone again.
The tension I've been holding all morning presses in from every direction, heavy and suffocating. My body aches from work. From the stress of having to uproot my entire living environment. From Nash and his stupid, too-good scent.
It's already hard enough, turning a profit by renovating houses in Honeysuckle Grove. Folks have let them go to shit, and not many buyers are moving into the area as it is.
I may have to branch out into other towns and cities around me if I want to stay afloat.
Which means calling Beau, my financial advisor and good friend, before I make a career move like that.
Shower. I need a shower.
I ditch the unpacking in favor of a nice, hot shower. That always yanks me out of my head, and I haven't had one since I started renovations on my latest project. I crank the hot water up until steam pours into the air.
I'm out of my clothes in seconds, and then the spray batters against my skin.
"Oh, yeah," I groan as my muscles relax.
The heat seeps into my bones, washing away the dust and frustration from the morning. But my skin still crawls. There's a tightness in my chest I can't breathe through, and a restless energy bubbling low in my gut.
The memory of Nash's hands on me flares through my veins like wildfire.
"Get it together," I murmur as I tilt my head up into the hot water spray.
This is stupid. It's just Nash. Just another annoying, bossy, overbearing Alpha who imposes his will on everyone without asking.
Nash, who walked everyone home from school whether they wanted an escort or not.
Nash, who cheered the loudest at every football game just because his best friend, Levi, played second string on the team.
Nash, who offered me a place to stay without making me beg for it.
My breath catches, and I have to force it back out.
Nope, not going there. I need to rest and clear my head. But there's only one thing that's ever worked for me when things get too loud and too tangled inside my body.
I lie down in the shower, tossing my leg over the edge of the tub. I close my eyes and let the dark carry me off while my hand finds its way between my folds. I'm soaking wet, and my scent floods the steam. It mingles with the faint scent of Nash, and my nipples pucker at the combination.
"This is only temporary," I whisper to myself.
My finger circles my clit and my leg twitches. Always so sensitive. A grunt slips past my lips as my thighs tighten, and the images that pop into my mind make me groan in frustration. There's Nash, his dark hair hanging in his eyes and those blue eyes gazing down at me.
Fuck, he's so pretty.
"Yes," I moan.
I slide my other hand along my thigh, needing to be filled more and more with every tight circle around my pulsing nub. Slick drips down my ass crack, and I curse myself for not bringing my knotted dildo into the shower. Next time.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck," I whimper as my fingers trace my wet entrance.
I give in to it. Fuck it, if Nash's scent is what gets me off. This is only a temporary setup. My hips buck as my fingers fill me, but it's not enough. My fingers are never enough. I squeeze my eyes closed and lift my hips into the air, imagining Nash's face between my legs.
His tongue laving up my slit.
His hands gripping my hips.
My slick dribbling down his neck.
"Take all of it," I groan out. "Lick me up. Oh, yeah. Just like that. Ffffu—"
My eyes roll back as I catapult over the edge. My body locks up, threads of arousal squirting from between my legs. It splatters against the shower wall. My back settles into the smooth floor, and the world tilts like it's got its own axis.
I heave air into my lungs as my scent drowns out Nash's.
Thank fuck.
The orgasm smooths out the jagged edges of the morning. Everything dulls around me, long enough for me to think straight. I rest against the shower floor for a moment, letting the last of the tension drain out of my body.
Finally, I feel a bit better.
Not perfect.
But better.
I haul myself off the shower floor and clean myself up. Reality closes in while I wash and rinse my hair, and I catalog the phone calls I need to make. Beau first, to figure out where my finances stand. Then Ford, to see if he and Knox can spare some time to fix the roof on that house.
It's one of the few things on a home I can't fix by myself, and I hate it.
I hate needing help.
But I'm also not stupid. I know my limits, and roofing was never something that clicked for me.
I'll need Knox's electrical expertise for the wiring as well.
I scrub my hands down my face before I turn off the water.
As much as I want to go back and work some more on the house, getting out of Nash's place and winning my privacy back means fixing the bigger things first.
Because living with Nash is completely temporary.
And the quicker I can get out of here, the better.