Chapter 12
Lucas
It’s rare to see the Atlantic this blue, especially the morning after a storm.
Most days, the waves roll in like an old dog with nothing left to prove.
Today, though, they’re frisky—screaming white along the rips, salt spray making everything glitter.
I’m standing on my usual patch of watchtower, the splintered wood still damp under my feet, when I catch sight of Helena on the sand below.
She is undoubtedly the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.
But she doesn’t fully belong here in Seamuse.
Not yet, anyway. Today, she’s dressed in a white sundress that probably cost more than my surfboard.
Zane’s not with her, which is strange. I let my eyes follow the line of her legs, bare and pale against the pebbly sand, then snap them back up because, you know, lifeguard professionalism. I have to at least try to maintain it.
A whistle blows in three short bursts, signaling end of shift.
I make a show of stretching—arms up, twist at the waist—like I’m not dying to vault the railing and jog straight to where Helena is picking her way across the tide line.
Instead, I take the stairs two at a time, flash the oncoming guard a grin, and try not to look as eager as I feel.
“Hey.” I shove my hands into the mesh pockets of my board shorts. “You’re up here kind of late in the day.” It’s only three in the afternoon, but she’s always been here much earlier when I’ve seen her.
Helena jumps a little—startled—but when she turns and sees it’s just me, she smiles. “I slept in but wanted to see if the ocean was still here after last night.”
I nod over to the water. “Can report it’s still here. Are you…?” I trail off. It’d be pretty presumptuous to assume Helena came all the way here for me. But I do want to spend time with her. “Can I buy you a coffee or a drink at the café?”
She tucks a loose strand of her black hair behind her ear. “I’d love that, actually?”
My heart does this weird little pitter-patter. “Perfect.” I offer her my arm. “Let’s go.”
We walk up from the beach together, her steps cautious and mine exaggeratedly careful to keep pace.
Her honey scent fills my nostrils and the air around us, charging it with enough energy that I’m convinced I may actually be moving through honey.
We get a few looks from the early crowd at the café’s patio, but nothing more than the usual.
Seamuse Village is used to summer visitors, even the rich ones.
The café’s porch is patched with sunlight. Helena slides into one of the shaded corners.
I order us two hard lemonades and then sit across from her. “Did you survive the storm okay?”
Her lips quirk up, like she’s letting herself off the leash for once. “We lost power for about an hour, that’s all.”
“Same for me.” I sip my hard lemonade. “Honestly, I can’t complain. Storms here sometimes end in calls for the lifeguards to help the coast guard in the middle of the night. As far as I know, there were no issues last night.”
Helena sips her drink as well. “That’s good.”
A comfortable silence falls between us, one punctuated with the crash of the surface over the shore in the distance.
Helena breaks first. “Is there anything fun to do here at night? Not counting ‘almost die in a storm’ and ‘watch lifeguards rescue drunk tourists.’”
I tap the side of my glass. “Actually, yeah. There’s a bar downtown—Seamuse House. They do live music on Fridays. Band tonight is supposed to be good.”
“Is that a date?” she asks with a grin on her face.
My heart leaps again and my breath hitches. “Do you want it to be?”
Are Cole and I going to get a chance to show Helena it’s worth taking a chance on scent-matches?
She picks up her hard lemonade bottle and twirls it between her fingers. “I haven’t been to a bar in ages. I’m not really allowed to go back home. I’d love the chance to go now and get to know you better, if you want to.”
‘Want to’? I’ve been thinking about a chance like this since the moment I first met her. “Zane won’t care?”
She shakes her head and her smile doesn’t drop.
“Zane and I talked out what’s happened, not just between you, Cole, and me, but between Zane and me.
This is… an unexpected potential pack, but one nonetheless.
It deserves a chance.” She leans in, eyes glinting.
“If you’re too scared, I can always find someone else to show me around. ”
“Terrified,” I admit. It’s true. Scent-matches are so rare that this feels like a lock it in or fuck it up forever shot. “But I think I’ll risk it.”
The best thing about Seamuse House is the way it doesn’t try too hard.
It’s just wood beams and battered floorboards.
Its walls are tattooed with old show posters, and a stage no higher than my shin.
By the time we get there after dinner, the place is already humming with beer and cider sweat in the air.
The band is tuning up. People crowd the stage, and Helena tilts her head, inviting me to watch with her. I make a mental note to thank whoever invented live music and low lighting, because I can’t imagine a better place to disappear for a few hours.
We trade sips of cider. Her fingers brush mine every time she sets the glass down.
I try to keep it cool, but her scent is like a punch, twice as strong as this afternoon.
There’s honey and something tart underneath, like lemon zest, and I can’t stop thinking about how it would taste if I licked the hollow of her throat.
I force myself to focus on the band, but then Helena’s lips are at my ear.
“Want to dance?” she asks.
“I’m not a good dancer.”
“That’s fine,” she says. “I’ll lead.”
She pulls me to the fringe of the stage crowd, where the music’s thickest and the bodies are close.
The band launches into a driving, foot-stomping song, and Helena moves right away, hips rocking in a deliberate rhythm that doesn’t even try to keep up with the beat.
She brings my hands to her waist, her back pressed against my chest. I can feel every tremble in her shoulders.
She smells incredible, and I’m suddenly aware of how much I want to touch her everywhere—and how impossible it is not to.
She turns in my arms, close enough that I can see the gold flecks in her blue eyes. “You’re not so bad.”
I realize my hands have wandered higher than is strictly appropriate. She doesn’t seem to mind.
The music slows down, and she wraps her arms around my neck. I keep my hands on her hips, fingers splayed, feeling the heat of her through her dress. We sway together as the sound of the band fades into the background noise of our breathing.
“I haven’t done this in forever,” she murmurs.
“Me, neither,” I admit. “Last time I danced, I think it was someone’s wedding and I tripped over a speaker cable.”
She leans in so her lips brush my jaw. “Well, I promise I won’t sue if you break my foot.”
The song ends, but we don’t move away from each other. Her hands slide down my arms, tracing the veins and scars from summers spent dragging idiots out of the surf. There’s a hunger in her eyes now, and I want to feed it.
When the next song starts, we drift toward a dark corner where the lights barely reach.
Helena moves backward, letting me chase her, and when her back hits the wall, she pulls me in—hard.
Our mouths meet like we’ve both been dying for it.
When I lick her lower lip, she gasps, nails digging into my shoulders.
There’s no one paying attention, not in this crush, so I let my hands roam.
The shape of her waist. The rise of her hip.
More tentatively, the line of her thigh under the hem of the dress.
She arches into my touch and slips one of her hands beneath my shirt to press her palm against my chest. Her fingers are cold but electric.
“Lucas,” she whispers, almost a warning. Her eyes are wide, pupils blown.
Does she want to keep going?
I tilt my head, brush her hair from her face. “We can stop, if you want.”
She shakes her head and bites her lip. “No. Please.”
That’s all I need. I let my palm slide up her leg, bunching the fabric until I’m at the soft heat of her inner thigh. Her breath hitches, and she presses her forehead to mine.
“You sure?” I ask.
She nods and then guides my hand higher, under the edge of her panties.
She’s slick and hot, her honey scent overwhelming.
I work two fingers in slow circles, feeling her tremble.
She doesn’t try to hide her noises, not even when people push past us to get to the bar.
It’s intoxicating, how much she trusts me to keep her safe here.
My omega.
Fuck, is this really happening? We’re giving this a chance?
Seems so.
I keep one hand on her hip to steady her, the other never stopping, building her up until she’s clutching my shoulders for balance and mewling in my ear.
She buries her face in the crook of my neck and shudders as her body pulses in climax around my fingers.
I kiss her, slow and deep, until she comes down.
She laughs, a sharp, embarrassed sound. “That’s definitely a first.”
I grin, then wipe my hand on my jeans. “It’s the ambiance. Very inspiring.”
She pulls me in for another kiss, sweeter this time. There’s a flush on her cheeks that has nothing to do with the alcohol.
“Your turn.” She grabs my hand and weaves through the crowd to the back door.
The alley is cold and silent compared to the inside.
Helena checks to make sure no one’s out there, then presses me against the brick wall.
She kisses me again, then drops to her knees.
Her hands are confident, moving with no hesitation as she undoes my jeans and frees my cock.
She glances up at me with parted lips and eyes shimmering dark in the alley’s wash of gold and blue.
Her gaze pins me in place, demanding attention in a way that is nothing like the shy omega I met on the sand.
I brace my hands against the bricks at my back, but even the rough stone feels soft compared to the heat of her mouth when she takes me in.
It’s not just that Helena is good at this—she’s fucking incredible, somehow both practiced and brand new, like every sound I make is a discovery she’s eager to collect.
Her tongue flicks and swirls with deliberate curiosity, mapping every inch, every vulnerable nerve, until I have to squeeze my eyes shut or risk cumming embarrassingly fast.
She holds me at the base, thumb gently tight just where I’m most sensitive, while her other hand wraps my hip to keep me from rocking forward.
I try to keep quiet, but the whine that escapes me is louder than any of the music thumping from inside the bar.
I’m thankful for the cover of night and noise, for the way her hair falls in a curtain, hiding us both.
But she doesn’t want to hide. She makes a satisfied hum around my cock.
I bite my fist to keep from groaning out loud.
I look down again. She’s watching me with blue eyes dilated and her cheeks flushed.
My breath stills in proximity of her beauty.
She pulls back to lick the tip of my cock, slow and purposeful, then takes me deeper, swallowing me so far, I can feel the back of her throat.
I see stars. I’m barely holding on. My hands drop from the bricks to her shoulders, then to her hair, threading through the dark, soft strands. With each bob of her head, my composure frays until I’m stammering her name like an apology.
“Helena—fuck, I’m—”
She doesn’t stop. If anything, she doubles down, the rhythm of her mouth and hands pushing me right to the edge, then over it. I spill down her throat. Her lips stay snug around me, coaxing every last bit until I’m boneless and shaking, slouched against the cold bricks, knees actually jelly.
She wipes her lips with a thumb, stands, and grins up at me, almost smug. I expect her to break the moment with a joke, and she does, but not before she drags me down into a kiss. She’s not gentle about it. She wants me tasting myself on her tongue. There’s no shame in it—just a hungry, wild pride.
“Not bad for a girl who’s never been to a dive bar before,” she says, smug.
I’m still catching my breath, but I manage, “You’re hired.”
She laughs, grabs my hand, and we walk back through the kitchen to the front. The show’s over, the band packing up, but I don’t care. Helena’s fingers are laced with mine, and I can’t help but feel like we just got away with something huge.
“Want me to walk you home?” I ask.
She nods. “Yes, but not just yet. Let’s take the long way back.”
We slip into the night, taking winding roads back to her rental flat and pausing in more than a few dark shadows to continue enjoying each other.