Chapter 38
Chapter Thirty-Eight
O wen
“Hold still,” Harper snaps for at least the tenth time in the last thirty minutes.
“You try holding still for this long,” Daxton mutters.
“You offered,” Harper says, a sly smile on her face, paint brush twizzling in her fingers.
I turn my head to glance at my packmates. “Remind me why we did offer,” I say.
“Owen!” Harper cries in frustration, “eyes on me.”
“Jeez, for an omega you can be damn bossy, Harper.”
“Because you’re going to ruin this painting otherwise. Do you want three heads in this picture?”
“ We didn’t offer,” Wyatt says through gritted teeth, trying his best not to move his lips. “ You did.”
We’re in one of the spare rooms Harper has claimed for painting and the three of us are spread out on the bed in the buff.
Harper’s sketched us a few times now. But those weren’t popular with Sylvie and they didn’t involve us posing properly for a picture. She’s never actually painted us like this.
“If I’m honest,” I sigh, “I had visions of something like that scene in Titanic .”
“ Titanic ?” Daxton says.
“Yeah, it’s my favorite film.”
Daxton can’t help but turn his head to stare at me in astonishment, something that earns him another rebuke from Harper.
“I thought it was Top Gun .”
“No, Titanic .”
“Shit, I thought I knew you, man.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen that movie–” Wyatt starts.
“–you’re not missing anything,” Daxton mumbles.
“What happens in that scene?” Wyatt asks.
“Jack is an artist,” Harper says, “and the heroine, Rose, poses for him nude, wearing a very expensive necklace.”
“Sounds pretty similar,” Wyatt observes, his eyes flicking down to our bare forms.
“Yeah, but in the film, the drawing ended pretty quickly and they moved on to some pretty hot sex.”
“Is that the only reason you offered to pose for me?” Harper says with a raised eyebrow.
“Yep,” I confess happily, “I’d do just about anything to fuck you, Harper.”
“Good things come to those who wait.” She chews on the end of her paint brush, her lips curling in a smile.
“And how much longer do you think we’ll have to wait?”
“I’m tackling a very important part of this picture. Trust me, you don’t want me to rush.”
“What part?” Wyatt asks, his nose twitching. “Our faces?”
“No, your cocks.”
“You spend a lot of time up, close and personal with our cocks,” Daxton growls, his own cock hardening, “you’d think you’d have them committed to memory.”
“I do,” she sighs, “I even dream about your cocks, but it’s good to be reminded.”
She presses her paintbrush to the canvas, making short brush strokes.
“Hey!” I say. “I don’t like the look of that. We’re all pretty reasonably sized, Omega.”
“You’re enormous,” she says, “but I don’t want to scare my customers.”
“It needs to be realistic,” Daxton says.
“Yeah, do not sell us short.” I wink at her. “Besides, don’t you want everyone to know how lucky you are?”
“Everyone will think I’m exaggerating.”
“Yeah, but you’ll leave them wondering.”
She increases her brush strokes and then pauses. “There,” she says, “I think I'm done–”
“Thank Christ!” I collapse backwards flat out on my back as Wyatt scratches his nose and Daxton rolls his shoulders.
“Until tomorrow,” Harper adds.
I groan, roll up off the bed and stalk towards Harper as she begins to clean her brushes and pack them away.
She has a streak of red paint in her hair and blue specks of paint on her face as well as smudges of all sorts of colors over her top. It’s how we find her most often these days and I fucking love it.
“You have a little bit of something on your cheek,” I say, dipping my thumb into a pot of yellow paint and smearing it along her cheek bone as she peers up at me.
“Hey!” she yelps.
“I’m just making sure it matches. You’ve got another smear on your right cheek. It looks adorable.”
Harper scowls at me, then mischief twinkles in her eyes and she flicks a load of red paint directly at me.
“What the hell?” I say, looking down at my now speckled torso. “I look like I have the pox.”
“It’s adorable,” she teases.
“Right,” I growl, grabbing a paint brush myself and flinging a load of green paint her way. She ducks just in time and the shower of paint soars over her head and smacks Wyatt right in the face.
He removes his glasses, making him look like a green panda, and spits out paint.
“Who did that?” he asks.
Harper points my way.
“I was aiming for her,” I explain.
Wyatt narrows his eyes and charges my way, grabbing a tin of paint as he does.
“Now, Wyatt,” I say, backing away with my hands raised. “You really don’t want to do that.”
“Do it!” Harper urges. “He started it.”
Wyatt lunges for me but I dodge to the side, a large drop of paint splattering on the floor. It’s lucky the carpet in this room is already thoroughly ruined. He chases after me and Harper squeals, grabs ahold of her painting, and leaps up onto the bed, holding the canvas above her head.
“Do not ruin my picture. I will actually kill you.”
Wyatt backs me into a corner and as I dive for him, hoping to tackle him to the ground; he pours the entire pot of paint over my head. The blue paint slides down my face, neck, chest and torso and now I look like one of those artistic performers.
I smear paint over Wyatt as we wrestle on the ground.
Daxton stands over us, with his arms folded over his chest.
“What the hell are you doing? We’re having two babies in a few weeks’ time and you’re acting like kids.”
I grab ahold of his left ankle, Wyatt grabs his right and we tug him onto the ground. Wyatt sits on his chest, holding his arms down as I smear paint over him too. Daxton puts up a good fight and soon the three of us are wrestling on the floor.
“This would actually make an even better picture than the one I’ve just painted,” Harper says, and I hear the camera on her cell snapping as the three of us tussle on the ground.
“Delete those!” Daxton calls from the floor.
“Uh uh, no way. It’s kind of sexy. I’m keeping those.”
“Sexy?” I say, rolling off Wyatt and peering her way.
“Yeah,” she says, biting her lip.
“Delete the photos,” Daxton barks.
Harper wrestles against the command. Then grins at Daxton and shakes her head.
He stumbles to his feet, paint running down his body, and stalks towards her.
She squeals and, still clutching her canvas, scurries up to the far end of the bed. Daxton climbs up after her.
“You’re going to get paint on the bed!” she protests.
“This entire room is trashed, Harper,” Daxton observes, walking across the mattress.
Harper meets his eyes, then drops her phone down behind the head board, somewhere Daxton can’t reach without moving the bed.
“You really do like that photo, huh?” he says, stalking closer.
“I really really do.”
He reaches out and slides his blue hand around her neck, covering her in paint, then tugs her towards him and kisses her, more blue paint smudging over her face.
When he releases her, she laughs, looking down at the two of them and then over at Wyatt and me.
“We all look like we caught hypothermia,” she says. She drags her hands down Daxton’s chest, swimming her fingers through the paint. “It’s also sort of sexy.”
“Our little omega is getting frisky again,” Daxton tells us over his shoulder.
“We’d better get her cleaned up then,” I say, “just so we can get her all dirty again.”
Daxton doesn’t need any persuading. He sweeps her up into his arms and carries her through to the adjoining ensuite, leaving a trail of blue footprints behind him. We follow them and the four of us squeeze into the shower cubicle. A moment later we’re a tangle of hot water, bubbles and limbs.
Harper attempts to scrub paint off me, Wyatt and then Daxton, but as usual our focus is concentrated on her and we spend more time washing her body than we do our own. Soon, she gives up completely, succumbing to our hands, gliding over her rounded belly, squeezing at her ass, massaging her tits and sliding between her thighs. She moans as I slide two fingers inside her, Wyatt rubbing at her clit. The two of us work together in a special rhythm of our own we’ve devised, her body responding.
“That feel good?” I whisper into her ear as she sinks her nails into my chest.
“Hmmm,” she moans as her cunt convulses around my fingers, milking them as if they were my cock.
“I love the way your pussy feels,” I whisper. “I love it so much.”
I can’t fuck her face-to-face any more – not with her pregnant belly in the way – so I spin her around and holding her by the hips, enter her from behind, Wyatt still ringing her clit with his fingers. Daxton leans against the shower cubicle, rubbing his fist up and down his cock, enjoying the view.
I fuck her right through two back-to-back orgasms, but when my own hits me, I bite down hard on my lip and withdraw, squeezing my expanding knot in my hands as my seed pumps down the plughole.
She peers over her shoulder, a crease between her brows.
“Why didn’t you knot me?”
I laugh. “It’s just not practical, Harper.” I kiss her shoulder. “Not when you’re this pregnant. Not when we’re all squeezed into the shower cubicle. We’d be stuck here for a long time.” I growl and nibble at her bite marks. “You know my knot lasts for fucking ever – I can’t get enough of you.”
She harrumphs loudly. “Pregnancy sucks. I don’t even get to be knotted properly.”
Wyatt hooks his finger under her chin and lifts her face to his.
“Once the babies come, once you’ve recovered, we promise to have you knotted to our cocks every minute of every day.”
That probably won’t be practical with two mini-humans in our care, but damn, I do like the sound of that.