Chapter 3
Silver
So much for my house feeling like a home as soon as I had roommates. In fact, it feels more barren and sterile than it did before. If I were to step into the hallway right now, I’m sure I’d be able to hear a mouse sneeze, it’s so quiet.
As soon as pack Larsen were done unloading Juniper’s truck, they all disappeared into their respective rooms, nary to be seen for the remainder of the day. Juno and Geo only stuck around for half an hour more before they left for their sweet sunset date, and I’ve been left to amuse myself for the evening. I gave up the ghost with the cocktails, still sober and regretting it now that I’m by myself and bored.
Not even pizza lured pack Larsen from their new lairs, and I resent the loneliness that has swarmed around me after an hour of sitting in the breakfast nook alone, eating cooling pizza despite my attempts to knock on their doors and invite them to dinner. In my weak desperation for company, I even knocked on Munro’s door. It’s no surprise there that it went unanswered.
I’m a girl who can take the hint. I’m not their friend, and they’re not mine. They’re simply here for a place to stay, and nothing more. Thinking I could reach out for an olive branch with pizza was dumb.
Message received.
Cleaning up after myself, I stack the boxes on top of one another, four still containing untouched pizza. I place them in the fridge before finding a stack of pastel sticky notes in a nearby drawer, and scribble a note that declares, ‘Pizza in the fridge. Ordered plenty and couldn't eat it all. Help yourselves.’ before stamping it to the fridge. It’s the last nice thing I’m doing for those ungrateful asswads.
Shoulders slumped, I chew on my lip as I walk up the stairs on silent feet, feeling sorry for myself. It was stupid to think they’d want to have dinner with me, really. They’re only here out of desperation. They don’t even want to be here, and I blame the cocktails for blurring that tidbit of information from my mind. I mean, they don’t owe me anything just because I agreed to let them crash here. They’re going to pay their way, keep to themselves, and get on with life, apparently. Good for them, I guess.
Trudging to my studio on the third floor, the conversion spanning half the floor while the other half is occupied with a sunroom to die for, I mentally tattoo the word idiot to my brain with the decision that I simply won’t try again. Rejection for anyone stings in general. Rejection for a lone omega offering a formed pack a place to stay is a sucker. Not that our designations mean anything, but past trauma makes me a bit of a pussy bitch sometimes. I don’t take rejection well, even small rejections such as this. After spending most of my life being rejected by the pack that I’ve never been good enough for, it leaves scars. I have my own issues, but hell, it’s one dinner. Pizza and small talk. I now regret wanting to know the guys now living under my roof, thinking it would be a good way to break the ice now that the confident barrier Juno brought with her has been removed.
Shutting the door and wincing when the thud echoes through the silent house, I sigh and wander over to my piano. It’s different from my keyboard, the gorgeous, dark-stained, medium grand piano stationed in the corner of the room with my song book sitting open on the music desk.
Since it’s still early in the evening and I’m not in the slightest bit tired, I take a seat on the bench and flex my fingers with a sigh. Without much thought, I begin playing a song Meemaw would sing to me when I was a kid, humming under my breath along with the tune.
In a matter of seconds, I’m relaxing, loosening with every note played. Music has always been a source of happiness and contentment for me. It’s my passion, my soul, and the only good thing my parents ever forced me into. Classically trained in piano and violin, I was shoved into lessons as soon as I was able to read sheet music, forced to learn all throughout my childhood. It’s the only thing I’ve clung to since separating myself from my parents, my piano, guitar, and violin the only things in the world aside from my grandparents that provide me some sense of solace and peace.
Playing and creating music has been an outlet since I can remember, and it serves me well now, my fingers flying over the keys with a comforting familiarity. I have no idea how long I spend in my studio, but by the time the last note reverberates through the room, my fingers ache in the good way and I no longer feel stupidly dejected and ridiculous for my olive branch offering.
Closing the fallboard of the piano now that my spirits have lifted some, I check the clock that hangs on the wall to my right. My eyebrows raise when I find the arms claiming it to be just past one o’clock in the morning, and I sigh with relief that I had the forethought to soundproof the room when it was designed. They might not have left their rooms for pizza, but I’m sure pack Larsen would have a bone to pick with me for playing the piano all night and into the early hours of morning.
With a yawn, my mind now catching up with the hour, I opt for bed. So, with a pat to my piano, I leave my studio and navigate my house easily until I’m walking through the hallway that will lead me to my room on the left side of the house.
Unfortunately, one of the spare rooms is in that hallway, too, and just as I pass, I hear it. A faint whisper, a muted conversation being had behind the closed door I knocked on a few hours earlier, only to be left ignored and unanswered.
You know what, it’s fine. If that’s the kind of relationship they want while they live here, then I’ll grant it. I’m more than happy to act like they’re not here, go about my days and business, and live my fucking life. Whatever.
Sweeping away my wistful ideas of a warm home full of chatter, laughter, and all things that would make it homey, I walk the remainder of the hallway before entering my nest, slamming the door a little harder than necessary. Oh, well. It wouldn’t have been an issue if I were living alone, which is how I’m pretending now. A petty omega, I am, and I have no qualms treating them as I’ve been treated. This Bubblegum Batman takes no shit from any man. Not anymore.
Surrounded by the comforts of my nest, plush cream-and-beige blankets and the softest matching pillows all built into a cloud-like pile in the middle of the room, I take a deep breath, inhaling my scent that’s ingrained in everything in here. I fall at ease instantly, and whatever troubles ailed me before disappear.
Shucking my clothes and throwing them near the door, I expertly navigate my way through the overload of comfort, finding my favorite spot before dropping my body into the comfort cloud, groaning the moment my body is hugged by soft, fluffy blankets.
I sigh deeply as I throw several blankets over my body, cuddling into my nest with a yawn, and close my eyes as I wait for slumber to drag me into its dream realm. I wait, and I wait, and I wait.
When it feels like an hour passes and my subconsciousness isn’t dreaming of abs, food, or both, my eyes snap open and I frown. I’m tired enough that sleep shouldn’t be evading me so efficiently, and yet, here I lie, still awake, with abs on my mind, only they aren’t a figment of my imagination. The sight of Haze and Rage with their tatted torsos on display is etched into my mind like an engravement in stone. I can still picture the slope of their spines, the way their muscles would literally ripple when they picked up something heavy. I have rewound the single drop of sweat that slid over Haze’s left pectoral too many times to count, and before I know it, sleep is the last thing on my mind and I’m stinking up my nest with the sugary-sweet bubblegum of my perfume.
Groaning, I roll over and bury my face into the mountain of pillows, doing my very best to ignore the way a certain part of my body wakes up at the mere thought of the twins half naked and sweaty. I certainly try to ignore the way my betraying coochie leaps to life, clenching over nothing while a bolt of arousal hits me so right that my groan quickly turns into a moan.
Knowing my body well enough at the ripe age of twenty-one, I recognize that I won’t be sleeping until I take the edge off. I feel almost wired, like I’ve been suddenly dosed with five shots of adrenaline, and the only way I’m going to tire myself out is by a little self-love session. I mean, why not? Just because my house now has more occupants, doesn’t mean I’m suddenly a nun and can’t get myself off. I’m an omega, for fuck’s sake. I like sex as much as the next one, so I’ll be damned if I go without Merlin and his magic vibrations. Anyway, what better way to act like they’re not here than to go about my usual life?
And in my usual life, I allow myself several orgasms if I can’t sleep. So, fuck them, but more importantly, fuck me .
Retrieving the box from the back of my nest, hidden by several comfort items, I pull out Merlin the Magic Wand, thanking my past self for charging the battery only a couple of days ago. With my weapon of choice, I find a spot in my nest and grow comfortable before switching Merlin on.
Instantly, the room is filled with a rattling vibration from the wand, and since I’m already free from my clothing, I glide the wand over my already hardened nipples before leading it to the apex of my thighs.
I’m already wet, soaked really, slick pooling between my legs and bringing with it strong doses of my scent, and the thoughts that flare to life in my mind the moment the tingling vibrations hit my clit just right don’t help the situation at all. Oh, no. They only fuel the desire thrumming through my veins, flashes of tatted flesh, of sexy alphas working hard in the sun, of dark-blue eyes, honey eyes, pale-blue, and even dark, almost black, eyes all filtering through my thoughts as I press the wand a little harder against my clit.
“Oh, fuck,” I pant, my free hand going on adventure over my body until I’m wrapping my fingers around my breast and stroking my nipple with my thumb. Pleasure sparks through my body, a single pinch of my sensitive buds drawing a moan I can’t withhold.
As soon as that first moan slips free, it’s like a dam is broken, and I’ve completely forgotten that my house is no longer empty. Of course, my mind is filled with their god-sculptured bodies, the deep sound of their voices, and the flirty wink Aero sent me. I can still smell their scents, fainter outside but no less mouthwatering. Frosted plum, sweet and sugary for the omega, and a tangle of smoke and leather, wild mint, rhubarb, and even fainter pine and citrus, which I already know to be Munro. Hell, I could recognize his scent in my sleep at this rate.
Head filled with the pack that hates me, annoyed that it’s them I’ve conjured for tonight’s fantasies but not enough to fight it, I lose myself to the pleasure my thoughts and the vibration again my clit brings me. I notch the speed up a fraction, crying out shamelessly, pinching my nipple in tandem. I can feel the rush of liquid heat spilling from my pussy, slick coating my entrance and gliding down my asscheeks. Being a beta is fucking messy, but I’ve made peace with it. Especially when it feels so damned good.
Moaning loudly, a needy whimper slipping into the sound without my consent, I begin to rock my hips against the vibrator. My body is thrumming, already on the edge of my first release, and I chase it wantonly. I pleasure myself like I’ll die if I stop, crying out as arousal floods my body, my toes damn near curling into the blankets beneath me. And all the while, I’m thinking of muscled arms and large hands, how they’d feel on my feverish body, how they’d handle me, how they’d make me feel. My mind conjures several images of the five guys that now live with me, each one more salacious than the next, and I know right there and then that I’m fucked six ways to Sunday if they haven’t become my new spank-bank material.
My entire system comes alive, and I’m panting and mewling like a needy, little omega by the time I feel the first tickles of my release, images of each of their heads taking turns between my legs filtering through my mind like a highlight reel of things that never have and will never happen.
I chase that motherfucker like a fan girl gunning for her celebrity crush, notching the vibrator up another level, and I begin chanting like it’s my new mantra, “Oh, fuck. I’m gonna come, yes. Yes, yes, yes !”
It’s at the exact moment my orgasm hits me with all the force of a wrecking ball that there’s a knock on my door. The thunderous sound barely registers in my mind as my body quakes and trembles with my release, my cries turning into a silent scream as I lose my breath, and I turn the vibrator off while my body melts into the blankets and cushions around me.
“Either keep it down or knock it off. I’m already struggling to sleep without your sex sounds keeping me awake,” I only just hear snapped through the closed door, my heartbeat pounding hard enough to mute all other sounds for a brief moment.
Still fighting for air as my body slowly calms itself, aftershocks still shaking my body with lingering effects of an abnormally strong orgasm, I call back, “Try rubbing one out. That should help you get to sleep. It does wonders for me. As for the sound, might I suggest you invest in some ear plugs? I’m an omega who loves orgasms. Get the fuck over it, because I don’t plan on censoring myself in my own damned home. Now get lost. I still have several more orgasms to claim before I finally fall asleep.”
Instead of waiting for a reply or figuring out who it is disturbing my me time, I turn the vibrator back on, almost drowning out the irritated growl with the gasp that slips free of my mouth when the vibrations hit my oversensitive clit.
I waste absolutely zero time in diving back into my self-love bubble, my moans and mewls coming out to play with very little effort. Maybe I overexaggerate them if only to piss off the jackass at my door, being extra loud for shits and giggles, but all but my arousal is soon forgotten when Merlin the Magic Wand does its job splendidly and sends me hurtling straight into another orgasm. It’s so sudden that I yelp, my thighs slamming together tightly, trapping the vibrator to my pulsing clit and prolonging my release until I’m breathless once more and there’s a puddle of slick and cum beneath me.
I have very little reprieve from the second orgasm before another is torn out of me, and I half wonder if I have a kink I didn’t know about. I have no idea if the member of pack Larsen is gone or he’s decided to linger and listen to the show I’m putting on, but, apparently, I seem to enjoy the idea that he could still be there. That my sounds are affecting him in some way. That there’s only a door that separates us.
My next climax has my back bowing off the godsdamned nest, my head tilting backwards with a long moan filled with curses and more chanting, and I have to work on unclamping my legs from around the wand long enough to pull it away from my soaked and trembling body.
It’s just as my thighs part and I drop the vibrator to the nest that I feel it. The shifting of air, the wave of a clean scent muted and almost suffocated by my perfume. The chill that comes with an opened fucking door.
Oh my god. I didn’t lock my door.
Blinking my bleary eyes open, my head lazily rolls to the doorway, finding it slung open wide with a furious Munro Villin standing there in his naked torso glory with every drop of ink on his torso on display. His sleep pants are slung low, two deep divots that disappear beneath them drawing my attention for a brief moment before my eyes snap back to his angry, dark orbs.
Raising an eyebrow and acting like it’s not a big deal that the thunder-cunt just barged into my nest while I’m naked, sweaty, and still dripping slick and cum, I ask, “Is there a reason for why you’re loitering in my doorway and panting like an angry bull with tented pants?”
Oh, yeah. Because that didn’t escape my notice either, despite the way my head feels like it’s floating in a sea of clouds. He’s pitching a tent, and an impressive one at that, but in the spirit of ignoring things, I’m starting with that.
When Munro doesn’t answer, simply glares sharpened daggers at me, I shrug and gesture my hands loosely. “If you’re looking for more advice, you’ll have to give me a minute. I think I just made myself see alternate realities or something.”
“I didn’t ask for advice the last time. I asked for help,” he seethes through gritted teeth, and I shiver at the grit in his voice that mingles well with his anger. Damn, if I wasn’t completely wiped, I’d have another go with Merlin while I imagined that voice saying sweet, dirty things to me.
As it was, my body is slowly succumbing to the exhaustion that previously evaded me, so I sling my arm over my face in an attempt to block out the asshole, uncaring and confident enough that my nakedness in front of him isn’t bothering me. The way he watches me like he wants to kill me is a note for concern, but fuck it. He can kill me after I’ve slept, I don’t even care.
“I’m not helping you with whatever issues you have right now, or probably ever. Shut the door on your way out,” I mutter around a yawn, every drop of energy that had been simmering through my veins now finally still. If Munro wasn’t still standing there like a perverted gargoyle, I would find clean blankets and pillows and fall into a deep sleep that would hopefully carry me into the late morning.
I hear the deep, heated inhale, followed by his breath pouring out of him in a rush of mumbled curse words before he demands, “Keep it the fuck down. I’m tired and I need to sleep.”
“I’ll keep it down when you remove that stick from your ass,” I quip tiredly, my eyes already closing, my mind slowly but surely trickling away into slumber. “Until then, kindly fuck off.”
His only answer is a low, threatening growl, and I snort before I descend into silence. I’m almost asleep, too, until the door shuts with a muted thud and I take a steadying breath before heaving myself out of the nest. I know I’ll regret falling asleep in a soiled nest, almost as much as I’ll regret that entire encounter in the morning. What the fuck happened to ignoring them, Silver, you dense bitch?
Fucking A.