24. Mara
Mara
My skin is slick with a sheen of sweat, the thin cotton of my sleep shirt clinging to my breasts and stomach. The sheets are a tangled mess around my legs, damp and hot.
A dull ache still throbs low in my belly, a ghost of the cramps that woke me up, but it's different now. It's a needy ache, an empty, demanding pulse that has nothing to do with pain and everything to do with a void that desperately needs to be filled.
I've always thought I had a low sex drive. With Jonathan's pack, sex was a chore, an obligation I endured, a performance I gave to keep the peace. It was about their pleasure, their claiming, their needs. My own responses were muted, distant, something I disassociated from to survive.
But now… now my body is a traitor. Between Daniel pressing me against the sink, the hard, grinding pressure of his body sending me into a panicked, breathless spiral of pleasure, and Leo's kiss last night, soft and searching and sweet, I'm a needy little mess.
A wanton, desperate, needy mess, and the shame of it wars with the overwhelming, primal urge for more.
My fingers are tired. They're cramped and sore from their futile attempts between my thighs, trying to chase the relief that keeps dancing just out of reach.
I've brought myself to the edge twice, only to have Jonathan's cold voice cut through the fog—"Needy.
Ungrateful."—and the pleasure would vanish, replaced by a cold wash of anxiety.
Not this time.
I grab my pillow, the one my head was just resting on, and bunch it up.
It's firm, covered in a soft, worn cotton case.
I shift onto my stomach, pressing the thick pillow between my legs, the fabric directly against the thin, damp cotton of my panties.
The pressure is immediate, a perfect, targeted friction against my clit.
A soft gasp escapes my lips. Yes. This is better.
I start to move, rocking my hips. The motion is awkward at first, but then my body remembers, and a rhythm takes over. I bury my face in the mattress, muffling the sounds I can't seem to stop making. My mind drifts, the sensations pulling me under.
It's Daniel I think of first. The memory is sharp, overwhelming. The cold, hard edge of the sink against my back. The possessive grip of his hands on my ass. The way he'd ground into me, the thick seam of his jeans a perfect, torturous ridge against my most sensitive flesh.
I remember the feeling of his own bulge, hard and thick, pressing back, the raw, desperate need in his voice when he'd said, "Your scent…
it's getting thicker." The memory is a fire, too hot, almost painful.
It's the fire of a cage door closing, of being owned, and a part of me thrills to it even as another part screams in terror.
My hips rock faster, the friction building heat in my core. The pillow is soaked through now, my slickness soaking the fabric, making each slide slicker, more intense. I can feel the orgasm starting to build, a wave gathering strength in the distance.
Then the image shifts. It's Leo. His hand cupping my cheek, his thumb stroking my skin.
The taste of salt and bacon on his lips.
His words, a low, confident rumble: "Because I can't get a different girl out of my mind.
" The memory is a warm, gentle current, a safe harbor.
It's the feeling of being wanted, not just taken. It's an invitation, not a demand.
I press down harder, chasing the feeling, my breath coming in ragged pants.
I want both. I want the fire and the harbor.
I want Daniel's overwhelming intensity and Leo's gentle certainty.
The thought is so scandalous, so wrong, that it sends a fresh jolt of electricity through me. My clit pulses, a hard, insistent beat.
I'm so close. So fucking close.
My phone buzzes from across the room. The sound is a faint, annoying drone, muffled by the jeans I discarded last night. I ignore it. I'll get it as soon as… as soon as…
I squeeze my eyes shut, focusing all my energy on the sensation.
The pressure, the friction, the images in my mind—Daniel's hands on my ass, Leo's lips on my neck.
The two memories blur together, a confusing, intoxicating cocktail of desire.
I rock faster, the bed creaking softly in time with my movements.
The heat in my belly is a roaring fire now, threatening to consume me whole.
My thighs start to tremble, the muscles straining.
"Fuck," I whimper into the mattress, the word muffled by the pillow. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."
The phone buzzes again, insistently. Who is it? Tess? Daniel? Leo? It doesn't matter. Nothing matters except this. This chase, this need. I am a creature of pure sensation, a being defined by the ache between my legs and the frantic beat of my heart.
I shift, changing the angle slightly, and the new pressure is exquisite. It's a sharp, pinpointed pleasure that makes my toes curl. I can feel the orgasm right there, just within reach. I'm teetering on the edge of a cliff, the wind whipping around me, the fall both terrifying and exhilarating.
I grind down, one last, hard circle of my hips, and the wave breaks.
It crashes over me with the force of a tsunami, a white-hot explosion of pleasure that steals my breath and seizes my body. I cry out, a high, keening sound that I'm grateful the mattress muffles.
My back arches, my body going rigid as the pleasure pulses through me in long, shuddering waves.
It starts in my clit and radiates outward, a blissful, all-consuming heat that washes away everything else—the pain, the fear, the shame.
For a few perfect, infinite seconds, there is only this. Only the release.
I collapse onto the bed, my limbs shaking, my body limp and spent. The pillow is a wet, ruined thing between my legs. I'm gasping for air, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. Sweat drips from my temples, and my hair is plastered to my face.
Slowly, the world comes back into focus. The dull ache in my stomach is gone, soothed by the force of the orgasm. A pleasant, sated warmth has spread through my veins, replacing the frantic, needy energy. I feel… calm. For the first time in days, I feel truly calm.
The phone buzzes again, a final, insistent demand.
I roll over, my muscles protesting, and stare at it across the room. The reality of my situation comes rushing back in. Tess in the hospital. Whatever Daniel isn't telling me. Leo's confession. And me, in this room, chasing orgasms like some kind of sex-crazed addict.
A wave of shame washes over me, but it's weaker now, easily pushed aside by the lingering glow of my release. I was a needy little mess. And maybe that's okay. Maybe I'm finally allowing myself to feel what I need to feel, to want what I want to want.
I take a deep breath and swing my legs over the side of the bed.
I pad across the cool wooden floor and dig the phone out of my jeans. The screen is lit up with a barrage of notifications. A dozen missed calls. Three from Daniel, four from Gray, five from Leo.
A cold dread, sharp and sudden, pierces through my post-orgasmic bliss.
Something happened. Something happened to Tess.
My blood runs cold, the pleasant warmth vanishing as if it never was.
My fingers shake as I scroll through the notifications, but there are no texts, no voicemails.
Just the silent, damning list of missed calls.
I dial Daniel's number, my heart hammering against my ribs with a frantic, terrified rhythm. He picks up on the first ring.
"Mara?" His voice is low, calm, but I can hear an undercurrent of something else, something strained.
"Daniel? What's wrong? Is it Tess? Just tell me," I babble, the words tumbling over each other in my rush to get them out.
"Hey, hey, calm down," he says, his voice immediately softening, taking on that soothing, lawyerly tone he uses to de-escalate a situation. "Everything is fine. Tess is fine. She's stable, our parents are with her. Nothing's changed."
I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding, my knees feeling weak with relief. "Then… why all the calls?"
There's a pause on the other end, a weighted silence that makes my stomach clench again. "Can you come downstairs? We need to talk to you about something."
"Now?" I ask, glancing at the clock. It's still early, the light outside just beginning to gray.
"Now. Please."
"Okay," I say, my voice small. "I'll be there in a minute."
I hang up and stand there for a second, my mind racing. What could they possibly need to talk about? The fear for Tess is gone, but a new, more insidious anxiety takes its place.
They know. They know something. I can feel it in my bones.
I head to the bathroom, turning the shower on as hot as I can tolerate.
I step under the spray, letting the scalding water beat down on my skin, trying to wash away the scent of my own arousal and the creeping dread that's coiling in my gut.
I scrub myself clean, the motions harsh and frantic, as if I can physically scrub away the secrets I'm keeping.
I dress warmly, pulling on a thick pair of leggings and an oversized wool sweater, anything to feel protected. I pull my hair back into a tight braid, a soldier preparing for battle.
When I descend the stairs, the café is warm and quiet. The three of them are sitting at the large table near the fireplace, three mugs of coffee in front of them. They look up as one, a unified front, and the weight of their collective gaze is almost enough to send me running back up the stairs.
Leo is the first to move. He stands up and meets me at the bottom of the stairs, his expression gentle. He leans in and presses a soft, warm kiss to the side of my head.
"Hey," he says softly. Then he hands me a mug of cocoa, the ceramic warm against my cold fingers. The sweet, chocolatey scent is a small comfort.
I take a sip, the liquid warming me from the inside out. "What's going on?" I whisper.
Gray is watching me, his gaze steady and clinical, like a doctor assessing a patient. He leans forward, his elbows on the table. "Mara," his voice is calm and measured. "Are you taking your heat suppressants?"
The question is so unexpected, so out of left field, that it throws me off balance. "Yes," I reply, my brow furrowed in confusion. "Every morning. Why?"
He clears his throat, his eyes not leaving mine. "It's nothing. Just… making sure you're taking care of yourself."
I don't believe him. Not for a second. There's a subtext here I'm not getting. "What is going on?" I ask again, a little stronger this time, a little more insistent. I look from Gray's serious face to Daniel's grim one to Leo's worried one. "Just tell me."
Daniel takes a deep breath. "It's about your former pack, Mara."
And there it is. The words hit me like a physical blow, a punch to the gut that steals the air from my lungs. The fear and shame I've been trying so hard to suppress come flooding back, a toxic, suffocating wave.
They know. Oh god, they know. They know what I went through, what I allowed to happen. They know about the mansion, about the other women, about the way I let them break me, piece by piece.
A hot, defensive anger surges up, a shield to protect myself from the unbearable weight of their pity. "What about them?"
"We need you to tell us the truth about what happened," Leo says. "Daniel found out some pretty concerning things, and we wanted to talk to you about it."
"You had no fucking right," I say, my voice shaking with rage. "You had no fucking right to look into my private life."
"We were worried about you," Leo says, taking a step toward me, his hand outstretched.
"Don't," I snap, flinching away from him. "You don't get to do that. You don't get to waltz into my life and start digging around in my past."
"We can help you, Mara," Daniel says, his voice low and intense. "We can get you out of it for good. The contract isn't even legal yet."
"I don't need your help," I spit out, the words a lie, a desperate attempt to regain some semblance of control. "I don't need anyone's help."
I turn and flee, running back up the stairs before they can say another word, before they can see the tears that are already burning in my eyes. I slam the door to my room, the sound echoing in the small space, and then I sink to the floor, sobs tearing from my throat.
I'm alone. I'm so utterly alone, and they've seen the ugliest, most broken parts of me, and I can never take it back.
My spiral is interrupted by the ringing of my phone. I think it's Margaret, calling to check on me, to ask why I'm not downstairs. I wipe my eyes, sniffling, and answer without looking at the caller ID. "Hello?"
"Mara?" The voice on the other end is weak, but it's the most beautiful sound I've ever heard.
"Tess!" I cry, a fresh wave of tears welling up, but these are tears of relief. "Oh my god, Tess. I'm so happy to hear from you. Are you okay? How are you feeling?"
"I'm okay," she says, sounding a little stronger. "Tired and gross, but okay. They're taking good care of me here. But… are you okay? Daniel said you seemed… upset."
I force a laugh, trying to sound normal. "I'm fine. Just a bit tired. It was a long day yesterday, and I was worried about you."
"Yeah," she says, and I can hear the smile in her voice. "About that… could you do me a huge favor? Could you bring me some stuff from the apartment? Fresh underwear, my fuzzy socks, the ones with the little clouds on them? The hospital ones are like paper."
The request is so normal, so wonderfully, mundanely Tess, that it grounds me. It gives me something to hold on to. "Of course," I say, a real smile touching my lips. "Of course I will. I'll pack a bag for you. I'll come by today."
"Thank you, Mara," she says, her voice filled with gratitude. "You're the best."
"No, you are," I say, and I mean it. "Get some rest. I'll see you soon."
After I hang up, I sit there for a long moment, the phone clutched in my hand. The fear and shame are still there, a heavy cloak on my shoulders, but they're lighter now, pushed aside by the simple, powerful force of friendship.
I have to see my best friend.