33. Alexander
Chapter 33
Alexander
I 've been trying to focus on the same page for the past twenty minutes, with little success. The words blur before my eyes as my mind wanders, distracted by the subtle shift of scents within the house. Two omegas approaching heat, their pheromones gradually intensifying. It’s enough to make concentration impossible for any alpha.
Fox's is coming early, triggered by Storm's, no doubt. This two-omega thing is new territory for us all, and we didn’t know what to expect. His honey-chamomile scent has taken on the sweeter, headier notes that signal the approach of his heat.
But it's Storm's dark chocolate perfume, growing richer by the hour, that has the entire house on edge. Reed has been prowling like a caged predator, while Jonathan has buried himself in his study, emerging only for meals with carefully controlled expressions that don't quite hide his awareness of her scent. Even Rook hovers protectively near Storm while trying to maintain the appearance of normalcy.
I've been painfully hard for days now. No matter how many times I've tried to relieve the pressure myself. I'm beginning to worry I might slip into rut. Something that hasn't happened to me before. But the combination of two omegas approaching heat is doing something to me.
I turn another page, not registering a single word, when a flurry of movement catches my attention. Storm appears in the doorway, her wild auburn curls more untamed than usual, her cheeks flushed with the beginnings of heat fever. She's wearing one of Rook's oversized t-shirts and a pair of shorts that reveal long stretches of bare leg.
Her stormy gray eyes lock on me with an intensity that makes my breath catch.
"Alex," she says, my name almost a purr on her lips.
Before I can respond, she's crossing the room and I barely have time to set my book aside before she reaches me, climbing onto the armchair with surprising grace to straddle my lap.
"Storm, what?—"
My question is cut off as she buries her face in my neck, inhaling deeply. Her hands find my hair, fingers threading through the dark strands.
"You smell so good," she murmurs against my skin, her words filled with pre-heat haze. "Vanilla and sandalwood. Soft. Sweet."
Her weight settles more firmly on my lap, her thighs on either side of mine, her core pressed against me in a way that makes it impossible to ignore her heat. My body responds instantly, a rush of desire flooding through me despite my best efforts at control.
"Storm," I try again, my voice rougher than intended. "You're in pre-heat."
She pulls back just enough to meet my eyes, her pupils dilated, leaving only a thin ring of gray. "I know," she says, a lazy smile curving her lips. "That's why I'm sitting here in your lap."
Her dark chocolate scent envelops me completely now, rich and intoxicating. My hands settling on her hips to steady her as she shifts restlessly against me.
Her wild curls bounce with the movement. "The cramps are bad.” She rocks against me and I hold in a groan. "I need something."
My thumb traces small circles on her hip bone, a soothing gesture that draws a contented sigh from her. "Have you talked to Fox about what to expect? A heat can be intense, especially since yours has been suppressed for so long."
"A little." Her fingers still play with my hair, sending pleasant shivers down my spine. She nuzzles into my neck again, apparently finding comfort in my scent. My arms tighten around her automatically, holding her closer as she relaxes against me.
"Is Fox feeling it too?" she murmurs against my skin, her breath warm and her voice taking on the husky quality of heat.
"Yes," I agree, unable to deny the obvious. "Your heat cycles are synchronizing." She pulls back, curiosity brightening her fever-glazed eyes.
"Is that good?" she asks, her tone genuinely intrigued despite the way her body moves, like she's in a daze. "Having two omegas in heat at once?"
"It would be challenging," I admit with a chuckle. "If you didn’t like each other. But the fact you do, it’s going to be very interesting." Her hands leave my hair, trailing down to my shoulders, my chest, her touch exploratory and almost innocent despite our compromising position.
"You smell different today," she observes. "Warmer. Spicier." Her head tilts expectantly, like she’s waiting for a confession.
It’s impossible to hide my reaction to her nearness, the way my body responds to the heat and scent pouring off her. I tighten my grip on her hips, both to hold her steady and to keep myself from losing all semblance of control.
"Is it because of me?" she asks, blinking down at me with those wide, stormy eyes that never fail to undo me. Her words convey a sense of marvel and mischief that makes my heart skip. She shifts again, her movement sending another bolt of heat straight through me.
"Storm," I begin, my voice tight, "with both you and Fox?—"
Her lazy smile returns, and she interrupts with a teasing lilt, "And you thought you could handle two omegas in heat."
"It's the pheromones, they’re messing with me a little." I say, my voice steady despite the effort it takes to maintain my composure under her wandering hands.
Her eyes widen slightly, intrigue mingling with amusement on her face. "Are you going into rut?" There’s a teasing smile.
"No," I say, trying to sound more confident than I feel. "Just everything is… heightened." I don’t let on that I’m half out of my mind already, that I’m worried about exactly what she is suggesting. Slipping into rut after days of constant arousal would be more than challenging. Two omegas that haven’t been claimed, pheromones crashing like waves from every corner of the house. I don’t know how much longer I can hold out in this state. I’m surprised that Jonathan hasn’t mentioned anything to me. He takes care of Fox during his heats, so I know this must be affecting him as much as it is me.
The truth is, there is no bonding claim with Fox, and this has made everything that much more intense. We couldn’t with my fathers so close by. They would have scented it immediately. So here we are, all of us raw and unbound, and I know this will be an epic heat for us all.
Storm shifts again, and I catch the way her breath hitches, the small sound of discomfort escaping as another pre-heat cramp makes her tense against me. My hands move instinctively to her lower back, applying a firm but gentle pressure where I can feel the pain seems centered beneath the heat of my fingers.
"Better?" I ask, feeling her relax slightly under my touch.
"Mm," she hums, her voice a throaty purr that travels straight through me. Then she looks up through her lashes, mischief dancing in her stormy gaze. "But I know something that would help more."
Before I can ask what she means, she rolls her hips deliberately against mine. The friction draws a startled groan from me. Her smile turns triumphant at the sound.
"Storm," I warn, my deep and rough. I grit my teeth, struggling against instincts that scream to take her and knot her here. Claim her.
"I want you, Alex." Her words are a plea filled with heat. "Your scent, your touch. It helps with the cramps."
The rawness in her voice and the way her eyes fix on mine stir a fierce protectiveness in me, mingled with the desire that rages just beneath the surface. I swallow hard, knowing I am on the edge of giving her exactly what she's asking for and tipping over into a rut.
"We have to be careful," I say, though even I can hear the strain and reluctance in my voice. It's a weak protest, overpowered by the way my hands have a mind of their own. They slip beneath the hem of her t-shirt, gliding over the warm skin of her back. I hear her soft intake of breath and feel her arch against me.
"Elena could walk in anytime," I attempt again, though now my touch is sure and possessive, spanning her waist then tracing up her spine. Anywhere she needs me, anywhere she wants.
Storm shakes her head, her wild auburn curls brushing soft as feathers against my face. The sensation sends a shiver through me and I clutch her tighter, feeling my resolve weaken with every heartbeat.
"She's been spending more time at her cabin," she argues, her determination as vivid as the auburn curls that tumble around us both. "Fox told me she always retreats there when heats are coming. She’s giving us privacy."
It's true. Elena makes herself scarce, respecting the pack's need for space and privacy during heat. Still, the living room isn't exactly the most private location in the house to be knot deep in her.
As if reading my thoughts, Storm leans in, her body pressing closer, her lips brushing against my ear. The contact is electric, sending a jolt straight through me. "Just your hands," she whispers, her breath warm and her voice soft but firm. "Please, Alex. I need some relief."
The plea in her voice stirs me, breaking down the last of my resistance. I've never been able to deny an omega who needs me, and it goes against everything in my nature as an alpha to even attempt it. And Storm, with her fiercely defiant independence, so rarely asks for help, let alone in a way so open and raw.
"Okay, Storm," I finally relent, my words rough with surrender. My hands slide from her back to her hips, bracing her for what’s coming, preparing myself too.
I feel her body relax slightly, relief mingling with anticipation in her fevered expression. Her response is eager, insistent, and I guide her to shift, adjusting our position carefully so that she is more securely in my lap. Her back meets my chest, and I trap her against me with my arms enveloping her, feeling her so close and so real. This way, I can hold her tight and still give her what she needs, give us both what we want.
With a renewed sense of purpose, my hands slip beneath the oversized t-shirt, skimming possessively across the soft skin of her stomach before venturing higher. Her breath catches as I cup her breasts, and a nearly feral sound escapes me at the way she arches into my touch. I take my time teasing her, my thumbs brushing across the tight peaks of her nipples.
"Yes," she breathes, her head falling back to rest against my shoulder. Her voice is breathless, desperate. "That feels good."
I nearly lose myself in the sound of her satisfaction, focus narrowing to her reactions, to the way her body moves against mine. I savor the exploration, wanting to learn what makes her gasp, what makes her moan, what makes her cry out for more. One hand lingers at her breast, caressing and toying, while the other travels lower, tracing languid patterns on her inner thigh before finally venturing beneath the hem of her shorts.
She's not wearing underwear. The realization sends a jolt through me, and my fingers encounter slick heat without any barrier. The discovery draws a deep growl from my chest, alpha instincts flaring to life at the evidence of her arousal, the bare vulnerability and desire laid open to me. She whimpers in response, her hips lifting, needy and urgent, to press more firmly against my hand.
The sound is almost my undoing, and I curl my fingers against her, feeling another rush of heat and slickness that has my vision going white at the edges. I try to hold on to some semblance of control, knowing how fragile it is.
"Alpha," she gasps, the designation slipping out in her haze of pleasure. "Please."
My fingers glide against her folds, softly at first, feeling her warmth and wetness, teasing the sensitive bundle of nerves. She cries out when I begin, a sharp sound of surprise and ecstasy. Her body tenses before melting completely against me. Her head falls back onto my shoulder, and I watch her expression shift through those first frantic moments. It's all desperate hunger and relief as I set a steady rhythm she seems to like, her hips moving in time with the motion of my hand.
"That's it," I murmur into her ear, feeling the tremors that ripple through her. I keep my other hand on her breast, making sure she knows I'm everywhere she needs me to be. "Let go, Storm. I've got you."
She turns suddenly, seeking my lips, and I lean in to meet her in a kiss. It's surprisingly gentle given the urgency of her body's demands. The clash of need and tenderness makes my head spin. My fingers continue their exploration, adjusting to the cues she gives with every breathless gasp and the flood of slickness that coats my hand.
When she breaks the kiss just to cry out, hot breath against my cheek, I know she's getting close. Her scent spikes, dark chocolate turning caramel-sweet with pleasure, her whole body trembling as if caught in a storm of sensation.
"Alex," she pants, reaching for me blindly, her fingers tangling in my hair in a grip that matches the tightness everywhere else. "I'm going to?—"
"I know," I soothe, increasing both the pressure and speed of my touch so she can’t possibly hold back. "Come for me, Little Storm. Let me feel you."
Her release is a violent, beautiful thing, cresting over her like a tidal wave. She trembles against my chest, her inner walls clenching around the fingers I've slipped inside, making me grit my teeth to keep from losing control. I work her through it in slow, deliberate motions, prolonging every second of her pleasure until she goes limp and boneless against me, breathing hard and sweet against my neck.
My cock throbs painfully under her weight, straining against my jeans, but I force myself to ignore it. She needed this, needed the relief from the relentless symptoms of pre-heat. My own need can wait. We’ll both get there soon enough, when her heat properly begins.
"I want to knot you," I murmur the confession into her temple, the words slipping out raw and unguarded before I can stop them. "When you're in heat. Claim you. Bond you."
I feel her stiffen slightly at my sudden admission, then relax even more completely in my arms. Her breathing evens out into something that sounds like contentment as the purr vibrates in my chest.
She makes a small, pleased sound, shifting in my lap to face me. "Promise?"
"Promise," I assure her, murmuring the word against her skin, feeling the truth of it in my bones. I pull her closer, pressing a lingering kiss to her forehead. "It'll be worth the wait."
We stay together like that, tangled and warm, her weight a familiar, comforting presence in my lap. Her breathing is even against my chest, a soft rhythm that matches the slow beat of her pulse where my fingers rest. My hands linger, sliding to less intimate places now, cradling her with a tenderness that makes my heart clench. I feel her relax even more, melting into the cocoon of my arms, and I let my eyes drift shut, savoring the closeness.
Her scent, that heady dark chocolate sweetness, gradually shifts. It's still overpowering, still laced with the promise of her approaching heat, but the most urgent notes have settled into something softer.
"Better?" I ask again, my lips brushing against her temple, knowing the answer but needing to hear it, anyway.
She makes a sleepy sound, a lazy smile curving her lips. "Much better," she says, her voice dreamy and light. "Thank you."
I help her shift around, adjusting her carefully so she’s perched more comfortably. This time, she sits sideways across my lap, her head tucked snugly beneath my chin. I tighten my hold, feeling her settle even more completely as she nestles against me.
My own body is still acutely aware of her—the heat of her skin, the scent that clings to the air around us, the way she presses so trustingly into me. The ache she’s stirred hasn’t disappeared, and the throb of need is a constant reminder of just how much I want her. But for now, the urgency has simmered down to a manageable pulse in the background. I can wait. We can wait.
A comfortable silence stretches between us, the calm after a storm. I think she's on the verge of drifting off, her breathing so slow and even that it lulls me too.
"Have you thought more about what Jonathan mentioned?" I ask, keeping my voice casual. "About protection. Or the lack of it."
Storm tenses slightly in my arms, then relaxes with a sigh. "I've been thinking about it," she admits. "It's just... I never thought it would be a possibility for me, you know? Having kids."
A memory surfaces—my mother's cold rejection when I, at six years old, sought comfort after a nightmare. "Stop being so needy, Alexander," she had snapped, pushing me away. "Jonathan doesn't cling like this. Go back to bed." I had slunk back to my room, tears streaming silently down my face, while Jonathan watched from his own doorway, his expression carefully blank.
That was our childhood—Jonathan hardening himself against rejection, me desperate for any scrap of affection. The rare moments my mother showed me tenderness were always tinged with the cruelty of watching her simultaneously push Jonathan away. "At least one of my sons has a gentle heart," she would say, stroking my hair while pointedly ignoring Jonathan. It had driven a wedge between us for years, one we'd only begun to heal when we found Fox.
I push the memory away, focusing on Storm's face. "I want children," I tell her honestly. "I want a house full of them. Little ones to love and protect, to raise in a home where they know they're wanted, where they never have to earn affection."
Something in my tone must betray the emotion behind the words, because Storm's eyes soften as she studies my face. "You didn't have that," she says, not a question but a statement.
I shake my head. "My parents... they weren't capable of that kind of love. My mother played favorites, using her affection as a weapon to manipulate us. My fathers saw us only as extensions of themselves, investments to be molded into their image." I pause, the words difficult to voice even after all these years. "Jonathan got the worst of it. She would hug me while pushing him away, calling him needy, weak. It was cruel to both of us, in different ways."
Storm's hand comes up to cup my cheek, her touch gentle. "That explains a lot about you two," she says softly. "Why Jonathan keeps everyone at a distance. Why you're so careful with how you show affection."
I lean into her touch, something tight in my chest easing at her understanding. "I promised myself that if I ever had children, they would never doubt for a moment that they were loved. Completely, unconditionally, for exactly who they are."
"You'll be an amazing father," Storm says with such certainty that my heart squeezes in my chest.
"Do you want them?" I ask, unable to keep the hope from my voice. "Children, I mean."
She's quiet for a moment, considering. "I think I do," she says finally. "Not because it's expected of me as an omega, but because... I want to." Her eyes meet mine, clear and determined despite the heat haze. "I want to build a family with all of you. A real one."
Joy surges through me at her words. "You have time to decide about the protection," I tell her, though it's difficult to keep the excitement from my voice. "But not much, if you want it before your heat hits fully."
"I know," she says, a small smile playing at her lips. "I just need a little longer to think."
"Take the time you need," I assure her, though my heart races at the possibility—Storm carrying our child, perhaps even now from her encounters with Rook, Reed, or Fox.
She studies my face, then laughs softly. "You really want this, don't you? Kids running around the house, making messes, waking us up at all hours."
"More than anything," I admit freely. "A home full of laughter and chaos and love. Children growing up together, protected and cherished."
"It's a beautiful vision, one I also want." She murmurs, settling against my chest again.
My purr the only sound in the room, the afternoon sunlight painting the room gold. Storm's breathing grows deeper, more even, her body relaxing as she drifts toward sleep.
I hold her close, watching the light play across her wild curls, my thoughts drifting to the future she's considering. A future with children. Two loving omegas, a household of devoted alphas and a beta to guide them.
It's everything I've wanted, everything I promised myself when I was too young to understand why my mother's love hurt as much as it healed. A chance to break the cycle, to create something pure and good from the broken pieces of our pasts.
As Storm sleeps in my arms, I send up a silent prayer to whatever forces might be listening—let this be real. Let this be our future. Let us build something beautiful together, something that defies the cold, broken system we've all escaped.
Something worthy of the fierce, wild-hearted omega trusting enough to sleep in my arms.