Chapter 42
Chapter Forty-Two
EMILY
T here’s movement from the main room. I run the towel over my hair one more time, not bothering to try and blow-dry it.
If he’s stirring, the noise will just agitate him, and that won’t help either of us.
I open the connecting door as quietly as possible, dropping the towel into one of the hampers before stepping deeper into the main room.
Triston’s twisted in the sheets, one of the soft, dusty blue blankets clutched to his name the same way Penny holds onto her bunny lovey.
Another thing they share I’d never noticed before.
That same affection swells under my sternum, making it difficult to breathe in a good way.
Certainly much better than the dread I felt a few days ago when I first got into Caleb’s plane.
Triston shifts, rolling onto his back, groaning.
Clove pulses out from him, that neediness of the heat still edging it as strongly as when I first locked him here.
It won’t be long before that need grows enough to force him awake.
Like the escort said, he’s only managing about three hours between waves.
It feels like when Penny was a newborn. My entire body aches, and my mind lags a bit from the exhaustion that’s slowly building, weighing down my bones.
Another wave of his clove hits me, and I swallow down the groan that tries to rise. I don’t want to wake him before his heat drives him from his sleep.
Not that it matters.
A soft knock on the door has his eyes flying open.
He twists toward the sound, but his gaze is unseeing.
It’s probably blurry. It’s one of the common side effects of the trigger medication.
The haze of his heat will only make it worse.
With a sigh, I cross to the main door of the heat suite and open it just enough to wedge myself into the opening.
The hallway light is leagues brighter than the small lamp turned to its lowest setting on the dresser.
“Em?” Triston’s voice is hoarse. There’s a low groan, and then, “V-vanilla?”
I twist to look at him. He’s eased onto an elbow, the blanket still clutched in his other hand. His eyes are glassy, but I think he might be able to see me now. I keep my voice a calm whisper while pushing some of my Alpha croon into the words. “I’m here. Give me just a minute, Omega.”
He drops back onto the pillows.
I turn my attention to the employee standing on the threshold. She gives a small smile and holds out a large tray. Right. I’d forgotten I’d ordered food for us before taking a shower.
“Thank you,” I say with true gratitude as I take the tray from her. I slide it onto the dresser.
“We saw your request for more linens as well. They should be ready in another hour or two. If you have any linens you’d like us to pick up then, just set the laundry bag outside the door. We’ll trade them out without disturbing you.”
“Great,” I breathe.
All things considered, the Haven is a pretty slick organization, especially when there’s only one of me to get Triston through the heat.
No worrying about food or dishes or laundry.
No keeping Penny out of his nest or our bedroom, too.
Even as I miss her and Beau both, I can appreciate how much simpler it is to not have to worry about her hearing or seeing something that might panic her.
And no snide remarks or smirks from my brother, either. Also a bonus.
The woman nods and then turns from the door.
I let it ease back closed, twisting the nob so it doesn’t make any noise.
I don’t bother to organize the food. Instead, I cross to the bed and climb onto it, stripping out of the slip I’d put on after the shower.
I hadn’t bothered with panties, knowing it would just slow everything down when Triston woke in need.
Two pairs I’d packed have already ended up torn and tossed to the floor. It was best to not risk any more.
Triston reaches for me, his eyes still glazed over. I run my nose down his throat, giving him my scent even as I straddle him, easing him back onto the mattress. I move the blanket he’s still holding so it won’t get messy in the next half hour. He twists, catching my ear between his teeth.
“Vanilla,” he gasps.
“I know,” I murmur into the crook of his shoulder.
I run my lips over the yellowing bruises that ring his throat.
They still fill me rage, so much so my hands shake for a moment as I palm his cock.
He presses up into me, his stomach muscles rippling.
I tighten my hold until he whines and his clove scent drowns us.
Then, without a word, I guide him inside me.
He thrusts up into me, all the way the hilt, before I can even lower onto him.
He grunts, and his breath shudders out of him.
His scent edges with the heat-induced desire, stealing my own thoughts.
My vanilla [lashes] out, mixing with his scent into a combination that smells of sex and need.
I don’t dare drop my head into his shoulder, no matter how much I want to taste his skin.
Instead, I run my hands up his chest, flicking my thumbs over his nipples.
He sucks in a harsh breath, and he thrusts harder, faster.
He tilts his pelvis, and suddenly he’s that spot that has me seeing stars.
“Fuck, Triston,” I mutter. I rock into him, rubbing my clit against his pelvis with each of his fevered thrusts.
His hold tightens, right over top the bruises he’s already left.
The bite of pain sends me right over the edge, dropping me into the pleasure without any warning at all.
I gasp, electricity racing through my limbs, stealing my ability to move, to respond at all.
My mind splinters, and I fall onto Triston.
His arms wrap around me just as my lock tightens down around his dick.
He cries out, the desperate edge to the noise sending an aftershock blistering through my veins.
“Fuck,” I gasp. The desire to bite him, to break his skin and claim him rips through me. I press my forehead into his sternum, keeping my mouth away from any of his skin. “Fuck. Fuck.”
He relaxes under me before my lock releases, dropping back into sleep.
His arms loosen and then fall to his sides.
I trace shapes on his hip and twist a curl around my finger, soaking in his warmth and scent.
My own eyes flutter closed, the stress of the last few days catching up to me.
When my lock finally does release, instead of moving, I lay atop him, the food completely forgotten.