Chapter 25
Chapter Twenty-Five
Halley
Jolting awake, I gasp for air and flail my legs, causing the coarse blankets to twist and turn, as I fiercely resist an unknown, overpowering presence.
Panting, my eyes finally focus. I’m alone. The bunkhouse is empty. My chest aches from a nightmare I can’t recall. I curl my legs against my chest as I struggle to relax my breath.
I rub my hands over my knees, trying to generate some warmth.
I’m drenched in sweat, and my clothes from yesterday are soggy, stuck to my body. My mind clears of the remaining drowsiness as my heart beats slow.
I don’t remember coming to bed. The last thing I recall is working myself to the breaking point, determined to prove to Prime Asshole I’m not a weak pushover.
I must have passed out.
I scrunch my nose up in a silent cringe. How embarrassing!
I wallow in self pity for a moment, when a scent wafts to my nose.
I push my face into my sleeve of my shirt and sniff.
Gunpowder and roses. Viper.
He must have picked me up after I collapsed from exhaustion.
My stomach tightens, and my heart pounds as I think about his strong arms wrapped around me.
Whatever bond formed between us in that hospital room hasn’t gone away. It’s grown with our proximity. His presence soothes me and makes me feel cherished. To know that it was him who tucked me into bed makes me smile.
I bury my nose deeper in my sleeve, inhaling again. My thighs clench together as I tingle in a very pleasant way.
The feeling grows more intense as I recall the dream I was having right before I awoke. It wasn’t a nightmare at all, but it definitely got my heart racing.
It was Viper.
In the dream, we were back in the small hospital room.
This time, he wasn’t fighting for his sanity.
He was his quietly observant self. His hands were on my bare skin, eyes filled with affection, and soft.
The touch light, as if I was breakable. His fingertips caressed my cheeks, then my neck, and my body ached with a deep-seated want and longing.
His mouth moved towards mine, his scent making my mouth water in anticipation.
And then I woke up.
Life is cruel.
I can’t get some respite, even in my dreams.
I reach up and touch the leather collar. My skin tingles underneath, and I desperately want to rub my gland, but I don’t dare take the collar off.
My legs rub against each other as the tingle between my legs intensifies.
I shouldn’t.
But I really want to.
It’s so stupid, and embarrassing, but it’s becoming unbearable. My body is yearning. I’m craving.
It wouldn’t take much. I’m slick and swollen, and I could do it in minutes.
My mind is telling me this is the stupidest idea. But the throb between my thighs is insistent, and no one is in the bunkhouse.
I slip my legs back under the blanket and hike it up around my ears, covering myself completely.
I push my hand down my sweat-soaked uniform and underneath my underwear. I graze my slick folds, and a gasp leaves me as the soft friction gives a little relief.
My legs spread apart, my back arches, and my other hand clutches at the sheets. I close my eyes, and Viper’s face appears before me.
My fingers explore lower.
A shudder runs through me as I feel the hot, swollen skin of my pussy.
The dream returns, but I take control this time. Viper’s hands are mine as my fingers move against the hot folds, stroking up to the top of the hood where my clit is throbbing. My mind focuses on it. Stroking in big circles, working myself into a quick frenzy as the pressure builds.
I slip two fingers lower and push inside, curling up and hitting the sensitive flesh just inside the entrance of my pussy.
The spot only a knot can reach when it inflates and stimulates an Omega’s specific bundle of nerves.
My fingers pale in comparison to what an Alpha’s knot could do, but I’ve spent years with only my fingers. I know how to play myself just right.
The pressure is building and I move back up to the clit, this time in tight circles, nudging against the bead rapidly with the tip of my finger. My body shudders again. I’m close.
I bite my lip to stifle any sound as my hips start to pump against the air. The climax is so close but tantalizingly out of reach.
Someone clears their throat.
I squeal and wrench my hands from between my thighs. My back stiffens as I’m brought crashing back to the real world. I wrench the blanket up over my head, and pray the bed swallows me whole.
This isn’t happening! This cannot be happening!
My thighs clench together again, and my eyes well with tears of frustration.
Frickity-frack.
I peek over the blanket as the person standing at the entrance of the tent clears their throat again.
Knox is standing there, but he’s purposefully staring at a spot to his right.
“Gear up, Omega Sparks. We start at zero-six-thirty. Pack your belongings in your rucksack.” His voice sounds strangled, choked by clenched teeth and spit.
I can only make a small squeak of acknowledgement.
The door of the tent flaps as he leaves, and I release a shuddering breath I was holding.
I sit up slowly and swing my legs off the side of the bed. My whole body is flushed and burning from embarrassment. The desire has been replaced with pure shame.
What must Knox think? I was masturbating with him right outside.
Idiot.
He was so firm with his instructions. Don’t indulge in my sexual urges. Don’t put the squad at risk with my wanton behavior.
I press my hands to my face and groan. He’s definitely going to punish my horny ass.
I can’t even bring myself to make any sort of excuse. I know how this must look. I know it’s against the rules. I’ve messed up.
My body is a constant traitor. Working against me.
I moodily start preparing for the day, which no doubt involves physical and mental torture.
Knox is not going to let this slide.
I’m pleasantly surprised to see another bowl of oatmeal placed beside my bed. My mouth waters as I watch a curl of steam rise steadily from a large mug of coffee. I don’t know who gifted me with the brown elixir of life, but I’m in their debt.
Between mouthfuls and sips, I prepare for the grueling day ahead.
I’m still wearing my clothes from yesterday, and cringe at their state.
They’re filthy and still sweat damp from yesterday’s trials.
My nest is filthy too, streaks of dirt in the sheets.
Defeat washes over me as I do my best to apply scent-canceling deodorant, brush the snarls out of my long brown hair and twist it up into a neat regulation bun.
When I reach for a fresh pair of socks, I pause.
Sitting on top of my pack is a crisp new uniform. It’s fresh, clean, and the same style of uniform I was supposed to be wearing from day one. It matches the uniform the team wears, camouflage and olive colors.
There’s a patch stitched into the shirt’s breast pocket. It’s a crest, simple but to the point. Two rifles crossed over each other, engulfed in a swirl of flames. Lettering swoops beneath the image. ‘Scorch Squad.’
And there, right above it in neat block letters, is my name, ‘Omega H. Sparks.’
It’s hand-stitched, the letters slightly wonky but carefully crafted.
My mouth parts in shock, and a little thrill goes through me. It’s not only adorned with the team’s crest, it’s personalized for me.
I lift the trousers, press them against my waist, and chuff in delight. The hem skims the floor, shortened to fit my diminutive height.
I slip on the shirt and am delighted to find it’s tailored to my Omega form perfectly. I run my hands over the fabric and pause.
There’s a small amount of pilling fabric under the arms. And the fabric feels soft, as if someone has worn it over time.
I inspect the hem and note the same neat but wonky hand stitching.
A machine did not create it. Someone on the squad took their own uniform and altered it to fit me.
The hand stitching must have taken hours upon hours to complete. It was done with care and precision.
My chest squeezes and a lump forms in my throat.
It feels like the first step towards acceptance. As if, despite the constant consternation from Prime Alpha Knox yesterday, I proved myself worthy of this uniform.
My eyes swim as my fingers trail over the crest, tracing each line with reverence. I pull my bottom lip between my teeth.
I look at the entrance of my tent. I can see Knox through the crack in the doorway. He basks in the morning sun, his face lifted to the sun with his hands on his hips.
Buoyed by the team’s faith in me, I swallow and grit my teeth. I’ll show them I’m worthy of wearing their crest.