9. Mara
Mara
The morning feels like a trap. I've been awake for hours, staring at the thin ceiling above my bed, watching faint lines of light slip through the old curtains.
The air in my apartment is cool and still.
Outside, snowmelt drips steadily from the roof, a slow rhythm that matches the thud of my pulse.
I haven't moved. Not because I can't, but because if I do, I'll have to face the day. I'll have to face him.
Daniel Hartwell.
Every time I close my eyes, I feel it all over again—the press of his palm against my throat, the rough warmth of his skin when he touched my neck, the soft rasp in his voice when he said my name.
It shouldn't have meant anything. It shouldn't have done what it did to me. But my body doesn't understand reason. It only remembers want.
I twist under the blanket, trying to shake the ache that's been blooming low and heavy inside me since last night. It's embarrassing, how easy it is for him to undo me—one touch and I'm falling apart.
I tell myself to stop thinking about it, but the memory just keeps playing. The dim café light, his hand brushing my lip, his eyes dark and uncertain, that quiet sound he made before stepping back.
Holy fuck, I'm a mess.
My fingers clutch at the sheets, and I bite my lip hard enough to taste copper. It's been months since anyone touched me, and my body is making up for lost time. All that careful restraint, the distance I've built brick by brick, collapsing the moment he looks at me.
I close my eyes and let the memory take over—his voice, low and unsteady; the cedar and sage in his scent; the way heat crawled through me when he whispered my name.
My hand slips under the worn cotton of my sleep shirt, fingers brushing the soft swell of my breast. The fabric is thin, clinging to my skin from the night's restless sweat, and I gasp at the first touch of my own palm against my nipple.
It's already hard, pebbled from the chill and the ache that's been building since yesterday.
I circle it slowly, thumb and forefinger pinching lightly, rolling the sensitive bud until a jolt of pleasure shoots straight to my core.
My pussy clenches emptily, a fresh wave of slick gathering between my thighs, soaking through the cotton of my panties.
Fuck, it's been so long—months of nothing but my own hands in stolen moments, never enough to satisfy the Omega heat simmering under my skin. Daniel's touch in the café was like a match to dry tinder; now, alone in my bed, it ignites everything.
I arch my back, pressing my breast into my hand, tweaking the nipple harder this time. The sting makes me whimper. The sound echoes too loud in the quiet apartment, and I freeze, heart pounding. The walls are thin; Tess would hear if I let go.
I grab the pillow beside me—the one that still smells faintly of lavender from the laundry—and press it over my face, muffling my next breath. It's soft against my lips, but I bite into it, tasting the clean cotton as I slide my other hand down my stomach, dipping under the waistband of my panties.
My skin is feverish, slick with need, and when my fingers reach my pussy, I moan into the pillow, the vibration humming through my teeth.
I'm drenched, folds swollen and slippery, clit throbbing under my fingertip as I trace it in lazy circles.
The sensation is electric, building fast, and I spread my legs wider, knees falling open against the rumpled sheets.
The shirt bunches around my hips, the fabric twisted at my waist, but I don't care.
I pinch my nipple again, twisting it sharply, and my hips buck involuntarily, chasing the pressure on my clit.
In my mind, it's not my hands—it's Daniel. His rough palms cupping my breasts, thumbs flicking my nipples while his mouth claims mine. I imagine his weight pinning me down, that cedar scent enveloping me as he growls my name.
My fingers press harder, two slipping inside my pussy with ease, the wet squelch obscene even muffled by the pillow. I pump them slowly at first, curling to hit that spot deep inside, the one that makes stars burst behind my eyelids.
But then, unbidden, the fantasy shifts. Gray's there too, his Alpha presence looming, eyes dark with hunger as he watches Daniel touch me. Gray, with his steady hands and quiet command. Daniel's packmate watching me get absolutely wrecked.
In my head, Gray's leaning against the wall, arms crossed, his cock hard in his jeans as he nods approval. "That's it, Mara," he murmurs, voice like gravel. "Let him make you come."
The surprise hits me like a slap—why Gray?
Why now? But it doesn't stop the rush; if anything, it amplifies it, my Omega instincts clawing to the surface, demanding submission to multiple Alphas, to be claimed and filled after so many barren months.
My pussy pulsates around my fingers, slick dripping down my ass to pool on the sheets.
I add a third finger, stretching myself, the burn delicious as I thrust faster, palm grinding against my clit.
Leo slips into the vision next, shocking me further.
The Beta, here in my fantasy, standing beside Gray, his gaze locked on where Daniel's fingers—my fingers—plunge into me.
Leo's watching, stroking himself slowly, that mischievous grin on his face as he whispers, "Look at her, so fucking wet for us. "
I cry out into the pillow, tears pricking my eyes from the intensity, the forbidden thrill of it all.
My body shakes, thighs trembling as I chase the edge, nipples aching from my relentless pinching.
One hand abandons my breast to grip the pillow tighter, smothering my sobs as the first orgasm crashes over me.
My pussy clamps down, gushing slick in a hot squirt that soaks my hand, my sheets, the mattress beneath. I pant raggedly, hips jerking, but I don't stop—can't stop. The Omega in me is unleashed, feral after months of denial, demanding more.
Tears stream down my cheeks now, wetting the pillow as I sob into it, the release bittersweet with the ache of loneliness. I fuck myself harder, fingers slick and relentless, circling my clit with my thumb until the oversensitivity makes me whine.
The fantasy blurs: Daniel's mouth on my nipple, sucking hard while Gray holds my wrists above my head, Leo's voice urging, "Come again, Mara. Soak the bed for us."
My body obeys, convulsing as another wave builds, faster this time.
I'm shaking uncontrollably, legs quivering, toes curling into the damp sheets. My breaths come in harsh gasps against the pillow, heart thundering in my ears. The squirt comes again, forceful, arcing out as my pussy pulses, drenching the shirt and the sheets beneath.
I cry harder, the tears mixing with sweat, the emotional floodgate opening alongside the physical. Why them? Why all three? But my Omega instincts don't question—they revel, my body arching off the bed in ecstasy, every nerve alight.
I ride it out, fingers slowing but not stopping, drawing out the aftershocks until a third climax sneaks up, smaller but no less intense. I squirt weakly this time, a trickle that leaves me boneless, panting into the pillow like I've run a marathon.
My hand slips free, coated in my release, and I press my thighs together, the friction sending tiny sparks through my oversensitive clit. Tears soak my face, my chest heaving as I finally lift the pillow, gulping air.
The room spins for a moment, the snowmelt outside a distant drip-drip that grounds me. I'm a wreck—sheets ruined, shirt askew, body humming with satisfaction but my mind reeling from the fantasy's audacity. Daniel started it, but Gray and Leo… a flush of shame and curiosity warms my cheeks.
By the time I drag myself out of bed, sunlight has fully broken through the windows, painting the room in pale gold.
My legs are unsteady when I stand, the floorboards cold under my bare feet.
I move through the motions on autopilot: throw everything into the washing machine, brush teeth, shower, towel-dry hair.
The hot water helps chase away the morning's desires, though it can't wash away the thoughts that cling like fog.
When I catch my reflection in the mirror, I almost don't recognize myself. My cheeks are flushed, eyes wide and bright, lips still swollen from biting them. I look… alive. Like someone who's been reminded what wanting feels like.
And that terrifies me.
I tie my damp hair into a low knot and throw on jeans and a sweater before forcing myself downstairs.
The café smells like cinnamon and espresso, and the hum of conversation hits me before I even reach the bottom step.
Laughter, clinking cups, the scrape of a chair—life moving on, even when mine feels like it's stalled.
I spot them right away.
Daniel and Gray are sitting near the counter with Margaret and Tess.
The sight hits me like a punch to the ribs.
Gray's wearing a soft flannel, sleeves rolled to his forearms, calm and composed as always.
Daniel's leaning back in his chair, grinning at something Tess said, that rare, easy grin of his softening everything about him.
He looks up the moment I step into view.
His gaze catches mine, sharp and unguarded. For a second, the whole room seems to tilt. I almost forget how to breathe.
"Mara!" Margaret's voice breaks the spell. She's standing near the counter, a gentle smile on her face as she holds out a steaming mug. "Good morning, dear. I made you some coffee. How are you feeling?"
"Better," I manage, taking the cup from her. My voice sounds steadier than I feel. "A lot better, thank you."
"Good." She pats my arm. "You worried me last night. I thought you were coming down with something."
"No, just a headache," I say quickly, focusing on the swirl of steam above the coffee. Anything to keep from looking at the man sitting a few feet away.
Daniel's voice cuts through anyway. "You sure you're okay?"
It's casual, friendly even, but my stomach flips. I force myself to nod without meeting his eyes. "I'm fine. Really."
Across the table, Daniel and Gray exchange a glance—one of those silent, wordless conversations men in tight-knit packs seem to have perfected.
Gray raises a brow, and I swear Daniel's shoulders tense ever so slightly.
I take the nearest empty chair beside Tess, who's already halfway through her pancakes, and try to focus on the smell of maple syrup instead of the way Daniel's presence feels like gravity.
Margaret sets a plate of toast down in front of me and pauses long enough to say, "The boys are heading out for a hike this afternoon. Tess is going with them, if you'd like to go along."
Tess beams. "Yeah, it'll be fun! Fresh air, sunshine, maybe we'll spot elk or something."
I manage a small smile. "Where's Leo?"
"Picking up the car from the Bluejay," Daniel says, his tone too even, too controlled. The sound of it makes warmth creep up my neck.
"Ah." I take a sip of coffee to hide it, but it doesn't help. Every nerve in my body seems hyper-aware—of his nearness, of his voice, of how the memory of last night still hums quietly under my skin.
"You should come," Tess says. "You've been working so much since you got here. A hike might help."
"I don't know…" I say, twirling the mug in my hands. "I bailed last night, remember? And I still have a bit of a headache."
"Then rest," Margaret says kindly. "No pressure at all. We'll handle things here."
Tess frowns. "I'll stay and help."
"No," I say immediately. "Go. Have fun."
She gives me a look—that sweet, stubborn look that's so purely Tess—and says, "Hush. You helped me enough yesterday. It's my turn."
Margaret chuckles softly. "I do love how the two of you take care of each other."
Conversation drifts to plans for the afternoon, talk of weather and trail conditions, but I barely follow any of it. My mind keeps slipping back to Daniel—to the way his thumb brushed my lips, to the quiet rasp of his breathing. I risk a glance across the table and find him already watching me.
It's not blatant, not obvious. Just a flicker of his gaze, steady and unreadable, but there's something charged beneath it. A tension that hums through the space between us. He looks away first, clearing his throat as Leo's voice comes in through the open door.
"Car's all good!" Leo announces, stepping inside with a blast of cold air and his usual unshakable grin. "Who's ready for a hike?"
"Not me," I mutter under my breath, though Tess hears and snickers.
Leo catches it too and shoots me a wink as he shakes the snow from his hair. "You sure? Fresh air might do you some good."
I lift a brow.
"Seriously," he says, and there's a flash of something flirtatious there, warm and teasing. "I bet the mountain views could cure any headache."
Before I can come up with a reply, Daniel stands, brushing a hand down his jacket. "Let her rest, Leo. She doesn't need us pestering her."
His voice is calm, but I can feel the undercurrent beneath it—the same pull that has haunted me since last night.
"Suit yourself," Leo says easily, turning to Tess. "You ready, sunshine?"
She nods eagerly, tugging on her gloves. Gray follows with a faint smile, muttering something about keeping Leo from getting them all lost. The three of them head for the door, their laughter spilling out into the cold air.
I set my mug down carefully, afraid my hands will shake if I hold it any longer. Daniel's still standing there, looking at me like there's something he wants to say but doesn't know how.
"Get some rest," he says finally.
"I will," I reply softly.
He hesitates for half a second, then nods once and turns to follow the others.
The moment the door closes behind him, I let out a heavy breath.
I spend the rest of the morning half-distracted, cleaning counters that don't need it, organizing mugs that are already perfectly aligned. Anything to keep busy. Anything to keep from thinking about Daniel Hartwell and how every time he's near, my body betrays me.
But the harder I try to ignore it, the louder the memory becomes—his scent, his voice, the warmth of his hand on my skin. It's like something I can't wash off.
I catch sight of my reflection in the café window again. The woman staring back looks composed, capable—the version of me I built after Denver. But beneath it, I can still see the cracks. The pieces of someone who once believed in bonds, love, and forever.
I thought I buried that part of myself.
But maybe I didn't bury her deep enough.
And now, with Daniel and his pack back in my life—with their scents in the hallways, their laughter echoing through the café—I'm afraid she's clawing her way back up.
I press a hand to my chest, willing the ache to quiet. It doesn't.
It only grows louder.