Chapter 18 #2
“I haven’t had anyone in my room before. I know that’s silly, right?”
“Not at all. I can stand in the hallway if that’s better?” he asks. “I don’t want to fuck up the scents in your room, Isolde.”
“That’s not it,” I growl. “I want you here, I just think I’m nervous.”
“I’m still me. I can control myself. Though, you smell delicious.”
“I…” Taking a deep breath, I make a face. “You smell different, Lucas.”
“I’ve been in the labs,” he says, making a face. “I scrubbed myself down with antibacterial soap and it can throw off my scent.”
“Oh,” I say, eyes widening. “That makes sense. What you’ve been working on is more complicated than we thought, huh? If it was easy, I don’t think you’d look so tired.”
“I haven’t been sleeping much,” he admits. “I’m having a lab set up behind the house so I can discreetly work and be closer to my girls.”
There it is again…
Lucas reaches out for the baby, and I help him take her, making sure his hands are where they need to be. He’s so big, she fits perfectly into the crook of his arm. Smiling, I gaze at her.
“You can stare at her some more after your shower,” he prompts gently. “I’m banking on her not noticing that a stranger is holding her.”
“You’re not a stranger,” I say, turning away as I walk to the bathroom.
“She doesn’t know that yet,” he says, sounding closer than he should be.
Pulling my hoodie over my head, I hope that he doesn’t follow me inside the bathroom. I really don’t want to talk about my cutting scars yet. Maybe that’s why I haven’t been naked around any of them.
I’m worried they’ll see me as broken instead of strong. They all gaze at me with such reverence and adoration when they look at me.
I don’t want that to change.
Lucas
The water turns on, and I listen to it as I rock back and forth on my feet ever so slightly. I don’t know why, it feels right and Leila is lightly snoring.
A dad. I love it. Isolde is trying to wrap her mind around why I’m so okay with this all, but I imagine that it’s for the same reasons that the rest of the guys are.
I protect people who are mine. Whether it be through my money, skills, or brute force, I take care of them. My company, my employees, and my pack. It’s really just that simple.
“Hi, baby girl,” I whisper. “You’re beautiful, aren’t you. All this pretty blonde hair, I bet you’re going to have it streaming behind you as soon as you get your sea legs and we’ll be chasing after you.”
How could anyone decide that a biker club was a good place for a baby? I am side-eyeing that mom real hard right now, whoever she might be.
Moving closer to the bathroom as I hear the sound of water change as it runs off a beautiful omega, I glance up to see her wringing out her long hair through the glass. Her breasts are perky, her nipples pebbled, and I swallow as I gaze at her.
The glass is slowly glazing over with condensation, but my mouth is watering from what I can see. My dick is also very interested, and I try to think of very unsexy things as I watch her.
I am obsessed with Isolde, to the point of insanity. If she wanted to, I’d let her run her knives over me while she dragged her tongue over the divots and grooves of my body. I would absolutely let her fuck me, simply so she could feel the power of control.
I need to tell her this so she understands what she means to me.
My soul is angry at the information she shared with me, the pieces falling into place slowly as to how deeply she’s been hurt.
Even the bumbling, sad attempts to make her come by a boyfriend she might have had before she was taken would have been better than this.
Solely so she’d know that sex doesn’t have to happen the way it did for her.
Rape isn’t consensual, it’s power and devastation.
But, instead, here we are. I’m watching her like a creeper, but I can’t help myself. It’s been too long since I’ve seen her, and I want to soak in every moment.
I’m glad that I’ll be able to work from home again very soon and still fulfill my promises to her. I don’t want to let her down.
Glancing back down at Leila, my expression hardens. I don’t want to let either of them down.
The shower shuts off, and my eyes shoot up to see that Isolde is finished. Moving forward into the cloudy air due to the temperature of water she was washing with, I lift a towel to hand her as the stall door opens. It’s a decent sized bathroom, and I have to admit that this house fits her.
Every exit is viewable, the windows are large enough to climb out of, and it’s defendable. This was a great find for her.
And still, I want her with me.
Isolde pops her head out and takes the towel from me with a timid smile, and I wonder what she’s so worried about. I’ve seen her through the glass, at least until it filled with too much condensation, and I think she’s gorgeous.
Clothed or not, she’s perfect.
What is she hiding?
Stepping back, I watch as she climbs out of the stall to begin drying herself off. Isolde is careful to hide her body, and it’s on the tip of my tongue to ask, to push.
There are so many things I don’t know, but I also don’t know that I have the right to ask yet.
Instead, I watch her dry herself, and then I blink slowly as I see something I’m hoping I imagined. She moved her leg in just the right position for the light to shine down on it.
There are little white scars on her inner thighs.
Dropping to my knees in front of her, my arm carefully still holding Leila, I gaze up at her.
“Don’t hide from me,” I whisper. “What is that on your thighs?”
Isolde tortures her bottom lip as she stares down at the floor, her hand clamped over the towel covering her lower body.
“I don’t…do it anymore.”
“That’s good,” I say, struggling to keep my voice from cracking. “The thing about hurting yourself is that it’s easy to get carried away.”
“What do you know about it?” she asks, her bottle green eyes burning as she looks at me.
“Am I right?”
I answer her question with a question because I don’t actually know firsthand what it feels like to self harm.
“It was how I found control,” she says, swallowing hard. “It quieted the voices of screaming, dirty alphas yelling prices at me while I stood on stage. They dehumanized me until I was nothing more than holes to come inside of, Lucas.”
Unfortunately, I have a fair idea of how terribly omegas can be treated, but I keep my peace.
“Auctions have a way of doing that. I’ve never been to one,” I say. “How long have you been cutting?”
“I’ve lost track of the time,” she admits. “One day, I stopped needing it because killing people gives me the same freedom from my memories. Every day, I get distance from my past, but at night, they seem to sneak back in.”
“All the more reason for us to help keep them away,” I say, tugging the towel away from her.
All the while, the sweet baby in the crook of my arm continues to sleep quietly there.
My hand covers her thigh, my thumb feeling the unevenness in her skin. The scars are heavy, and she’s done this enough for her body not to be able to heal it. I also believe that her body isn’t healing because of the suppressants that she’s taken over the years.
There’s too many variables for me to be able to know for sure.
“There’s strength in survival,” I growl softly. “Growth, finding new coping mechanisms, and most importantly, regularly telling your past to fuck off.”
Tears run down her face as she crosses her arms over her chest. There’s shame in the hunch of her shoulders, and that simply won’t do. My omega is a goddamned goddess, and I need her to remember that.
Frowning, I lean forward and kiss her thigh before standing.
“Isolde,” I murmur, my fingers moving to her chin to push her face up so her sparkling eyes will meet mine.
“Ye…s?” she gasps.
“Your tears are misplaced, darlin’. I hate that you hurt yourself, but I don’t see you any differently. If pain helped you center yourself, then I’m grateful for it,” I say.
Her face crumples in confusion, and I struggle to explain myself. My heart hurts for her grief of who she’s been and the path she’s walked. A scar or two isn’t going to run me off.
“Isolde, you are standing here whole and gaining strength every day. There is courage in letting people in, and your scars remind you of the hell you’ve survived. I don’t think you should be ashamed, but I can see that you are.”
“They’re…ugly,” she sobs. “I ruined myself. I kept thinking that it was fine, I could dig into my skin to watch myself bleed since my body is supposed to heal. It’s done it before, but now it won’t.”
I nod because my thoughts that her suppressant use was affecting her healing process tracks.
“If you hate them so much, do something about it,” I encourage.
“Think about an image you love and maybe get it tattooed over. Grant is covered in ink. I bet he would recommend his tattoo artist to you. Change how you feel about it, baby. None of us will judge you for what you’ve done. Don’t do that to yourself.”
Leaning down, I kiss her lips, and she relaxes slowly as I do.
“Okay?” I ask.
“Just like that?” she asks. “I’ve been hiding this since the warehouse.”
“Is that why you wore the tights under your shorts?” I ask.
I actually don’t know what the hole covered material is called, but they made me wild while hanging from the ceiling, unable to touch her.
“They weren’t tights, but yes,” she says, lips twitching in slight amusement.
“I wanted to rip them off your body just so I could eat your cunt until you screamed,” I murmur.
Her face flushes at my words, and I inhale sharply as she perfumes for me.
“Such a good girl for me,” I praise. “I love how responsive you are. I’ll do that one day. Let’s get you dressed.”
Just like that, I’m bustling her out of the bathroom, watching as she pulls on another hooded sweatshirt and panties.
“Do you need any more clothes than that?” I tease her.
“Only if I need to go out,” she says.
“I plan to keep you inside with me,” I promise. “I have to ask you something.”
Moving to the bed, I lay Leila down only long enough to fix the bed so that there are pillows down on my right side. Looking down at my sweatshirt, I pull it off and toss it to the side before taking off my shoes as well.
“What do you want to ask?” Isolde asks, walking back toward me as Leila wiggles uncomfortably on the bed.
“I know, I’m terrible,” I croon to the baby, climbing onto the bed and picking her up. Rubbing her back, I fix the pillows so that I’m almost sitting upright as I lay back. “Come to bed and I'll tell you.”
“Like this?” she asks, climbing onto the mattress to crawl over to me.
I swear everything she does is purely sexual. My poor blue knot. May it rest in peace.
“Mmhmm. We’re going to attempt co-sleeping together.
I vaguely remember my mother telling me that she did this with me.
If I’m upright, I’m not moving around where I could hurt her,” I explain.
“With you on the other side of me, there’s nowhere to go.
Leila is laying on top of me, and we’ll be good until she’s hungry. ”
“This is true,” she says. “I recently fed her. Leila, please don’t blow up your diaper until we’ve gotten some shut eye.”
It sounds like the most mother-like prayer I’ve ever heard, and I smirk as I feel this little girl breathe in and out. My hand is firmly on her back, and she’s not going anywhere.
Lifting my other arm, I wait for Isolde to take it for the invitation that it is as she slides under to snuggle against me.
“Now my life is perfect,” I say, yawning. “My question. Shit, what was it?”
Isolde smiles against my skin, her eyes beginning to close. “I don’t know, Mr. CEO. Is your mind going?”
“That’s not funny, darlin’. Oh, I remember. If I bought you a strap on, would you fuck me with it? I may have mentioned it in passing at one point, but this is a serious question.”
I ruin the moment by yawning again, while Isolde twists her neck to look up at me.
“You want me to strap on a dick and fuck you? Is there a knot? What color is it?” she asks.
The questions are ridiculous, and I grin at the absurdity of them. This is what I want. More silliness, more Isolde. God, I love her.
That should scare me, but it doesn’t. Since a few days ago when Oliver said it to her, I’ve started thinking about it more and more.
“We can shop for one, and it can be black, pink, or even blue for all I care,” I mumble. “If you want to fuck my ass, I volunteer my virgin never before pegged asshole to you.”
“Wow,” she replies. “That’s a proposal.”
“If you need a ring, it’s yours,” I say, not really paying attention to my words as I begin to get pulled under into sleep.
“A… I’ll start with a strap on and then go from here,” she says as I nod. Yes, this makes all the sense to my sleep deprived brain.
“Okay, darlin’.”
“Good night, baby,” she says, and I sigh as I drift off to sleep.
I’ll pull up strap ons on my phone later. She can pick the color.