Chapter 9
Ollie
I’ve been stroking myself furiously all night, and sleep is just a dream. I’m so strung up and haywire that I don’t know what the hell I’m supposed to do.
I shouldn’t have come back to Timber’s house after being with Kane. Everything felt so open with him that it’s torn the door off the box I’ve been stuffing my feelings for Timber in, and now I can’t get it closed.
I’ve jerked off when I’m sad before, so I know the vibe, but this has gone too far.
When I come, I’m not crying out for Timber or Kane. I’m crying for it to stop.
I don’t want to hurt Timber anymore. I need to get out of here so I don’t have to hear the same betrayal in his voice that poured through when he drunkenly told me he knows I’m an omega… and that he likes me. Sort of.
Now I’m back in the kitchen at my usual morning slot in front of the stove.
I scratch my chest before stirring the steaming pot again.
It stings so much it’s like I have heartburn, but I ignore it as I focus on breakfast. Even though there are still twenty minutes until Timber’s chaotic alarm is set to blow, I nervously fiddle with the scarf around my neck.
Along with that, I’m wearing a high turtleneck top to hide the hickey on my shoulder that Kane gave me after he came, and I just hope that Timber doesn’t see it.
I want that man in my nest, and I’m close to dragging Timber in there as well. Then I can have two thick chests to lie on and play with.
Even if Timber is my scent match, I can’t keep on doing this. It’s better for everyone if I jump ship.
It’s not like I’m going to go to Marilyn and be like, “Oh, hey, yeah, so I’m quitting the Scorpion’s job because I actually scent matched with two of your players.
What’s that? Hm, well, pretending to be a guy was the side gig to perving on Timber.
I mean, considering that I was super good and didn’t fuck him the whole time I was there, do you think you could give us a reference so we can work for other teams? ‘Kay, thanks, byeeeee.”
Oh yeah, class act right there. We’ll totally get away with that.
Though Kane won’t let me run from him, which kind of shivers me timbers as well.
There’s a clunk behind me, and I jump, spinning to find Timber staring straight at me. He’s all bleary-eyed and cute in the morning and isn’t one hundred percent with the living yet.
He blinks slowly as he pads forward. “Oatmeal?” he asks numbly, looking at the pot over my shoulder.
I stiffen as he molds his body against me, and my hand tightens around the handle of the spoon.
I have to move. I need to move. But he plops his wide chin on my shoulder, rustling my scarf. My eyes roll as his hands sweep over my waist to dent my stomach. He splays his fingers, groaning as he bends, his chest against my shoulder. It’s a triple whammy that I can’t resist.
I don’t even think as I lean back into him, brushing my cheek against his slight stubble, pleasure blooming through me. I’m going to purr like his car engine if he touches me anymore.
It’s terrible, but he doesn’t seem to remember anything until after he’s had a shower, no matter how lucid he acts. He’s only wearing a dressing gown, and, tragically, the combo of that and my jeans is thick enough to separate us.
Timber nuzzles me, pressing his nose into my cheek, and I’m sure I feel his lips on my jaw. The smallest moan echoes from me as he rubs in his scent.
I don’t care that he’s half-asleep, my alpha is scent marking me, and it’s driving me wild.
“Can you make it like before?” he murmurs, his breath caressing my cheek. “You know… with the maple syrup?”
His nose bumps against mine, and I turn my head. I know it’s bad; it’s so wrong that I’m going to go to hell. But the man wants his maple syrup, and I’m right here.
My heart bursts in my chest as I edge forward so I can look at him over my shoulder.
“Timber…” I whisper, my back arching, pushing my ass into him, grinding my hips. Then I really do moan as I find him hard against my ass.
I’m so close. I just need to lean in and kiss him. He’s right here, and I know he won’t say no like this.
Until his hand slips downward, his thumb bumps against my belly piercing, and a siren louder than his clock goes off inside me.
I gasp as I jump away, quickly shooting between him and the stove. My back hits the edge of the island, but I’m two feet away and counting. I’m panting, my chest heaving as I look at him in shock.
If he’d gone even an inch further and touched my pussy…
I clutch my stomach as perfume curls from me. I bite my lip hard to stifle my goddamn whimper as I keep edging away from him.
My omega side is crowing like a proud rooster, but I’m not giving in.
God, Timber’s hands are so big, though. His fingers twitch, and I can already feel how they’d stretch my pussy.
He takes a step, and another. I quiver each time his foot hits the floor.
There’s only so far I can go, and soon enough, I’m trapped against the far counter, and he’s reaching for me with a bleary look in his eyes.
Don’t look down. I shout at myself. Because his dressing gown is slipping open, and all my horny hopes and dreams are being unveiled like a prize.
His cock is right there. And there’s only so much I can take before I lose it.
The scent of his coffee grows stronger as my needy body answers with another wash of perfume.
I’m praying to the God of Knots that the tie of his robe holds long enough for me to escape, because my mouth is watering and my pussy is joining in.
He grunts, his hand rising, and his palm curves like he’s going to cup my cheek. I suck in a breath, flinching back from him. As soon as he touches me again, I’ll pounce. I’ll fling my muscle man to the floor and have my way with him before he even knows what’s happening.
He’s too close, and, like a kung fu master, I block him with a jab of my forearm to his palm because there is no way he is nuzzling me again. He’s got his syrupy goodness, but he still gives me a forlorn look that gets me right in the heart.
I’ll have a black belt in slicking by the time I leave here.
Why does this 6ft. 4in. hockey player who’s twice my age have to be so cute and sexy at the same time?
He pauses, his brow scrunching as tension hangs. I wait for it, I wait for him.
He blinks sleepily, and suddenly he turns and trudges off without a word. His back hunches, true caveman style, and I’d cheer him on if he grabbed me by the ankle and dragged me off to his cave to fuck.
I'm frozen, trying to process what just happened.
Even when I hear the hiss of the shower and I know he'll be in there for at least ten minutes, I’m still on edge.
I can see the stairs leading to our rooms through the living room door in case he comes back.
The bathroom is so far away from the kitchen that he won't catch me, but that's how the first oatmeal debacle happened.
Because my dumb ass thought I'd be able to hear him while my fingers tap-danced on my clit.
I move back to the stove, staring at the oatmeal as I stir it, shaking with a silly smile on my face because my omega side is singing. I needed that so much. Even just the slightest touch would have been enough, so that’s way more than I expected.
I press the back of my hand to my mouth, trying not to grin too widely.
My vision is filled with beige as I give myself a mental talking-to.
I won’t put more slick in the oatmeal. I can’t do that to him. No matter how insanely hot it is that he loses his mind over me, it’s just wrong.
But I’m already wet, and it’s just a small portion, and it could help lift his spirits…
“Don’t even think about it,” I whisper to myself.
Except I can’t do anything but think about it.
My eyes flutter closed as I remember his moans, his cries, the desire that beat through me as he desperately thrust into his hand and gulped down the oatmeal—all because of my slick. It made him so freaking horny that he basically went into rut. If I gave him even more, it would happen again.
I roll my eyes, hating myself as I shuffle my hips. Because, yeah, wiggling my ass is really going to hold back my slick.
I should start wearing underwear again…
But, I mean, he asked for it, didn’t he? It’s not like it would be out of nowhere, right? I’m not technically manipulating him if he asked in a half-conscious state and he won’t remember after he’s had a shower.
My logic is flawless.
I groan as I shove my hand down my pants, guilt burning inside me. The second my fingers brush my pussy, a moan trembles from me.
I angle my hips, reaching further, pressing two fingers between my pussy lips to feel just how much slick has built up.
“Fuck,” I whimper as I stroke from my entrance up to my clit. “Timber.”
The harder I come, the more potent my slick will be for him. I’m not putting slick in his oatmeal, so why the hell am I still stroking myself?
Because it feels so good, and my pussy aches with need.
I’m already hot, and my clit is swollen just from his touch.
I’m twitching inside and out because I need my alpha back here.
Even if he just holds me as I bend myself over the stove and as I keep stroking and nothing else, it would be enough to light me up.
He could have gone further, pulling away my scarf and turtleneck to reveal my bare skin. I want him to growl when he sees the hickey, to get so turned on by me and Kane that he can’t help but sink his cock deep and dig his teeth into my neck as he shows me who my alpha is.
I cry out as my pleasure rushes through me. My hips curve, my mouth opens as the steam from the oatmeal swirls around me as I come. I silently call Timber’s name as it grows inside me.
I just want my alpha.
It peaks, and I shudder as a rush of warmth coats my hand as more thick slick drips from me. I whimper as my legs shake, because even the quickest orgasm with the echo of Timber's touch on my body is better than anything I've done to myself since I was with Kane.
My alpha told me to keep his cum inside me, but I cleaned myself yesterday just in case. Now I hope I’ve missed some.
I pull out my hand, swallowing nervously at the sight of my slick-coated fingers as my scent radiates from them.
If I was a normal person, I would never have let it go so far. But nothing about this situation has ever been ‘normal’.
With my hand between the pot and my body, I attempt to sort my stupid omega side out that’s rumbling with pride. I’m flushing while my common sense tells me to back the hell away.
I’m see-sawing between them both when my common sense wins. As the bathroom door opens, and Timber treads around upstairs, fear shoots through me. I swipe a dish towel from beside the pot to wipe my fingers in a panic before staring at it numbly.
“Seriously?” I hiss. Out of all the things I could have done…
I look mournfully at the sink that could have easily washed my slick away, but alas, no. That would have been too simple.
Why don’t I ever think before doing dumb shit like this? I already know he wouldn't have seen me from up there.
I sigh as I ring my hand dry with the dish towel, getting every last speck of slick, groaning as I grab the empty oatmeal bag and stuff it inside.
I roll the top of the bag and pray it stays secure as I leap over to the trash can right next to the fridge.
If the washing machine weren’t in the basement, I would have thrown it in, but I don’t want Timber to catch me and ask why I’m down there.
All I have to do is shove the dish towel so far into the trash that no one will ever find it. I shake the half-full can, making sure that all the trash covers it, and there’s no chance the oatmeal bag shows as I close the lid.
Even though Timber kind of technically maybe said he could smell my slick at the restaurant, he didn’t actually confirm it. So that’s officially going in the ‘don’t worry about it’ folder, and I’ll refuse to think about it again.
I’ll tell Timber I can’t recreate the taste even after all that nonsense about the special flavoring in the hot chocolate he basically licked from my lips, and take out the trash once he leaves for the rink.
Then he’ll never find out how close I was to making our breakfast the middleman between his mouth and my pussy again.