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Jonah clearly loves it. The grin on his face just gets wider and wider, until they’re both laughing, sloshing water onto our deck while they play with each other.
That’s what this is.
They’re playing. Having fun together.
Why does that make my stomach drop?
Finally, Jonah has enough. He opens his arms and sweeps Serena right up, carrying her to the pool steps and settling her over his lap. Totally naked and unbothered, he pulls her face to his and sinks his tongue into her mouth.
Damn it. Why doesn’t this seem messy and senseless to me, the way sex usually does? Why am I watching and throbbing and what the hell is this burn in my gut?
Envy, my mind supplies, factual as ever.
And it’s correct. That’s what this feeling is.
I’m jealous. Seething desire flares hotter and higher while Serena keens, rolling her hips against Jonah under the cool, blue water.
He lets her use him, groaning and grunting gentle, encouraging sounds even when he manhandles her ass, her breasts, her hips. Murmuring to her about how they need to go slow, let her practice before she tries to take him inside her.
It makes sense. I know he promised Tristan he wouldn’t try to fuck her until she’s better prepared for everything he has to give. Serena must agree to behave herself, because she nods and presses her mouth back over his, her hands grasping at his shoulders as he gentles her.
A sick sort of sadness joins the burn below my diaphragm.
Because—dear God—I want to kiss her.
By the time Serena starts to rub herself against Jonah’s length, I’ve accepted that I can’t walk away. So, instead, I watch even more carefully. Wanting to know what will please her. Trying to see how she might feel.
The way she falls into him, trusting him, letting him guide how fast she goes with his iron grip on her hips…
Fucking hell.
We really have a mate.
chapter
thirty-one
If shopping were Jonah’s idea—or even Avery’s—I would not be shocked.
But when Spencer issues three no-nonsense knocks to my bedroom door and announces that we’re going out to furnish the nest…
Well.
He does not seem like the sort of alpha I should argue with.
So I put on one of the simpler ensembles in my new Tristan-approved wardrobe and hope it isn’t too fancy or too slutty.
I didn’t pick the clothes, so I know I shouldn’t feel guilty about whatever they do or do not reveal… but some deep-seated part of me whispers that my scent is already alluring enough. I don’t need these black jeans to be so tight or the deep-V cut of this black blouse.
The fact that I actually like the sleek, sexy clothes only makes it worse, somehow. Because… of course I like them. These are exactly the sort of fancy clothes a silly little slut like me would like, aren’t they?
Not wanting the guys to tower over me any more than necessary, I strap on a pair of platform heels and pray I don’t look ridiculous. One glance in the mirror hanging beside the Omega Suite’s door tells me that my prayers have once again been forwarded to voicemail.
I cringe at my makeup-less face and limp hair. Tristan’s personal shopper may have been able to source all the clothes I could ever need, but I really do need to grab my usual beauty supplies if I don’t want to look like a hot mess.
For all his scowling, Spencer does seem like the only sane, rational person around here, sometimes. He informs all of us that we’re heading to a store that will have all the practical things I need. Namely, toiletries and “proper” nesting supplies.
It definitely doesn’t feel romantic or even emotional, but as we ride over, I begin to suspect this might be his unique brand of care-taking.
