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It feels like an anchor is hooked on my lungs. I carry that heaviness in the middle of my chest, moving slow. Shuffling to the other side of the house, my mind spins with images of what my life would look like without the guys, the pack, the team.
The second I hit the living room, a scent strikes me like a paddle to the face. It hits me so hard, I rear back, rocking to my sock-covered heels, nearly slipping on the glossy marble floor.
Holy motherfucking?—
I’m sniffing the air like a blood hound, clutching my pec like I might be able to rip my own heart out.
Oh God. Shit. Fuck.
I’m ripping my suit pants off and vaulting over the couch. I’m on my knees. I’m pressing my face into a cushion.
Groaning. Hard as granite. Mouth-watering. Canines pulsing with the need to bite.
So I do. I bite the fucking couch cushion like an animal, my hands fumbling to get to my aching dick and swelling knot. I grip both, jacking myself hard and fast while I lick the slick-soaked leather between my teeth. Over and over.
Fuuuuuuuuuuck.
It’s so good. Too good. Within seconds, I’m massaging my knot, milking it, pumping cum all over the cushion.
Because I have to. My scent must be mingled with this one. It just has to be.
I fall backward, gasping. Horrified. Staring at my cum-covered hands and still-hard cock. Feeling like I want to laugh and cry and rage and rut.
A sudden, terrifying clarity washes over me, landing low in my abdomen.
Scent-sensitive.
Scent-matched.
Mate.
Mate. Mate. Mate.
chapter
thirty-one
“Are you sure about this?”
I smile, hiding the happy expression behind my stainless steel coffee mug. “Yes.”
Outside the double doors to my office, my secretary shoots an alarmed look my way. She’s been doing that all morning, ever since I waltzed in here in joggers—why put on a suit when these sweats smell like my perfect baby girl?—and left my doors open.
I’ll own that it’s a rarity. Theo and Declan even had the doors put on hydraulics—their idea of a gag gift, since I am notorious for slamming the door in people’s faces. Now I can do it with the push of a button.
But today? Let them look. Let them all see what this girl is doing to me.
I picture Meg’s face as her bratty little snort comes through the phone line. “Like, really sure? Or really, really sure? Or just kind-of, mostly sh?—”
“Omega.” The soft bark instantly calms her rambling. My secretary leaps to her feet and flees, no doubt troubled by the rumble in my tone. “I am entirely certain. And so are the others.”
We all decided while she napped on my chest on Sunday night—she’s ours. We want her to stay. And if we have to use her heat spikes as an excuse to show how good life in our pack will be? Bring it on.
Even if Meg didn’t need easing, our new arrangement isn’t uncommon where scent-sensitive courting is concerned. Typically, there would be a few more chaperoned outings, maybe a couple weeks of dating before the public courting became private.
But I saw the way Archer watched her every move while we all shared his bed—he’s worried about the heat breakthroughs.
None of us will ever forgive ourselves if she needs us and we aren’t there. So, since we’re already courting, until we can get her body’s needs sorted, it just makes sense for her to move into the pack house.
