Chapter 33 Ryder #2
I followed, feeling the guys at my back, but we all made a point to stay out of the way.
I wondered if Dixon, Mac, and Tray were feeling as weird as I was.
This shit had never felt embarrassing in the past. It was part of the rock star lifestyle.
We fucked when and who and how we wanted, though it never filled the void.
Now I was kicking myself—and all of us—for not thinking about clearing this shit out before her arrival.
Tessa was leaning over, examining a leather recliner for spicy features.
I thought about telling her it was just a comfy chair, one with a seat at just the right height, perfect for giving and receiving, but I kept my mouth shut.
I tried to see everything through her eyes, wondering if she thought we were insane.
A huge wall of sex toys, lined straight up to the ceiling and arranged according to size and color.
That made us look neurotic as fuck. The double humped bench in the corner, one peak higher than the other, with its strategically placed O-rings ready to bind someone down and hold them there.
Hello, pack of sadists. The swing dangling from the ceiling, just begging to be tested, probably looked like another torture device.
Then there was the padded wall on the far side.
It boasted chain link handcuffs suspended high with leg cuffs curled low against the floor.
All it needed was a body to fill the gap.
After making one awkward comment, this girl bolted from the pack suite. Yet faced with our sexual depravity, she couldn't stop exploring, examining every little detail. Was she captivated in a positive way, or was it morbid fascination like witnessing a bad car crash which kept her in thrall?
Eons later, Tessa turned around to face us.
She stood in front of the padded wall. For a split second, I imagined her tethered to it, wrists and ankles locked in the cuffs.
My dick throbbed, and I had to imagine something less erotic in an attempt to fight back a raging hard-on.
That would really be the icing on this fucking cake.
Her seeing all this and then witnessing my utter lack of control.
Her eyes roved over our faces, but her expression didn’t betray whatever she was thinking behind her bright blue gaze. This was not part of the first impression we’d planned. Our new Omega was going to think her scent-matched pack were a group of degenerates.
Finally, when I thought I’d whither up and die, she walked forward purposefully. She came to a stop only a foot away from us all.
“I’m starving.” She quipped. “Can someone please take me to the food.”
A few minutes later, we were all in the kitchen.
Why the hell hadn’t she said anything about our... our sex den? A sane person wouldn’t have seen that and just moved on the way she had.
“This is… a lot of food.” Tessa took a deep breath; her hand moved methodically, stroking Josie’s fur. The cat’s eyes were huge, as if she too were overwhelmed by the feast.
"Help yourself to anything," Tray told her, gesturing to the spread of takeout containers covering our massive kitchen island. "We've got Thai, Greek, sushi, classic burgers from this place on Sunset that has the best truffle fries—"
"And dessert," Dixon cut in, opening the oversized refrigerator to reveal a shelf of bakery boxes. "We’ve got ultimate chocolate brownies, cherry cheesecake.” He paused, thinking. “And whatever the fancy French things are that Mac likes."
"Macarons," Mac supplied.
"Right,” Dixon nodded, “Those taste like shit if you ask me. Think you only like them because of their name."
“Mac likes to mack on Macarons,” Tray sang, shimmying over to a cabinet and pulling down thick paper plates. He turned; a pile clutched in his hands. “Wait, should we use the good stuff? I feel like we should. This is a momentous meal.”
“Yeah, but the cleaner doesn’t come for a few days. I’ve no desire to wash.” This from Mac, who, admittedly, always ended up on kitchen duty.
“I vote for the nice shit. Tessa deserves it.” Dixon lumbered over to a different cabinet, yanking it open and appraising the contents.
Stacks of gleaming white dishes trimmed in thin gold lines stood beside faceted crystal cups.
We hadn’t picked those out. They were better suited for an upscale wedding than a bunch of clumsy, constantly drunk rockers.
“Please don’t,” Tessa whispered. Though quiet, her voice cut through our noise.
We all turned to look at her. She’d made herself small again, backing into a corner.
Josie wiggled in her arms, apparently sensing her owner's apprehension. Tessa glanced down at the struggling animal and bent her knees, lowering closer to the floor before allowing the cat to jump down. She straightened back up slowly. Her movements were achingly forced, as if it took all her willpower to rise back up again. Without her security blanket, she stood there like a lost soul; all the vibrancy we’d momentarily seen before entering the kitchen had vanished.
“What can we do? How can we help?” I wanted to rush forward, but I knew sudden moments were the wrong move right now. The air shifted, the scent blooming for each of us responding to the different emotions now swirling through the room.
She didn’t respond. She just stared at us unblinking.
Her sweet Omega scent was poisoned by apprehension and sensory overload.
As if someone had thrown witch hazel and yarrow into the mix, the jasmine and cedar which normally clouded around her became mildly astringent.
Tessa was constricting, folding in on herself.
Why had I thought this was going to be easy?
When she’d responded so calmly to our pleasure room, I’d imagined she’d make herself at home in no time.
Looking at her now, I knew that was never going to be the case.
She was undeniably tough as nails. We’d all seen the way she’d held her ground with the Eros delivery agents.
But she was also delicate. We had to take things slow, instead of overwhelming her with a thousand food choices and fancy dishes.
Around me, Dixon, Mac, and Tray were poised for action.
Their aromas were feverish, laced with notes of protective rosemary and rue.
Herbaceous, mildly citrus. Our kitchen bloomed with a garden, different responses to the situation colliding.
Even though we weren’t bonded to her yet, it was obvious that our pack was already prepared to defend our Omega, no matter what.
“Tessa,” Mac’s calm, rational voice broke the silence with careful precision, “tell us exactly what you need right now. Forget about everything except for what you want.”
Leave it to him to talk a jumper off the ledge.
He hated his childhood, often saying his strict, religious parents made life suffocating, but he couldn’t deny that something in his upbringing had molded him into a levelheaded, nurturing man.
I’d caught him once or twice praying, one hand clutching the cross he always kept hidden beneath his shirt.
He was the best of us, and I don’t think Dixon or Tray would fight me on that fact.
"This is..." Tessa tried to speak, but her voice trailed off.
"Too much?" Mac asked quietly.
She nodded, mouth trembling. God, if she cried again, we were all going to lose it.
Dixon moved suddenly, snagging a paper plate and piling it with sushi. He snagged disposable chopsticks next, snapping them apart with one hand using his index and thumb before rolling them expertly to loosen any slivers. As he walked towards her with the offering, Tessa seemed to turn green.
“Oh, God, not sushi,” she groaned. “I’m so sorry.
I know I said I’d eat anything, but not seafood.
” She clapped a hand over her mouth before pointed animatedly at the floor.
Dixon turned to look down, finding Josie trying to nose a cabinet open to explore.
He glanced back at Tessa, realizing she literally might be sick if he kept the plate near her, and then he quickly padded over to the cat.
He squatted down, giant thighs stressing out the tight black jeans, and he placed the plate on the floor.
“Guess you don’t need chopsticks,” he said, giving her a quick pat before standing up.
He faced Tessa again, holding the utensils with both hands.
“I thought—” he snapped the chopsticks in agitation, then looked down at them apologetically.
He sighed, dropping the broken sticks onto the island before restarting his sentence.
“I thought if I just picked for you, it might take the pressure off. Leave it to me to pick the one thing you’d hate.
Stupid.” He hit his thigh to make amends.
“Oh, no. That was sweet,” she assured him.
Seeing Dixon beat himself up seemed to pull Tessa back out of her shell. He looked at her hopefully.
“So, you don’t like seafood?” I asked, using the opportunity to learn more while trying to distract her enough that she wouldn’t shrink inward again. Her scent was normalizing, softly floating towards us and calming our Alpha instincts.
She turned those stunning blues towards me.
“I know I shouldn’t be picky,” she gave a sad little laugh.
“What right do I have? You guys didn’t have to go out of your way like this.
I was told my needs would be met here, not my preferences.
” She looked over at the takeout variety.
“All of the food is amazing. For more than twenty months, I’ve survived on discards or charity.
” She hesitated when she said ‘discards’, choosing the word carefully to avoid mentioning the unfiltered truth.
Dixon didn’t let her sugarcoat. “I don’t understand how you ended up eating out of dumpsters, Tessa.” His voice was pitched low. I knew that tone. A wave of ferality was threatening. “You’re a goddamn Fortune.”