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I can’t honestly say what I’d have said to my mother if she was there waiting. Gerald, without looking up, hands me a cookie, and I almost cry, snatching it out of his hands, mumbling a heartfelt thank you. Then I’m off.
The guys weren’t expecting me for hours. They gave me a house key, and aside from requesting I not to look at the nest until it’s finished, they’ve encouraged me to treat their home like it’s mine.
I want that. I want it to be mine. Ours.
The kitchen is quiet, and I drop my purse on the table, then nearly jump out of my skin when a buzz saw shrills.
Someone’s working on the nest. Someone in my pack is doing something for me.
I carry my luggage to the other small pile of my things, now occupying an embarrassing amount of space in their living room, and settle on the couch. Breathing in their scents, feeling at home, surrounded by their things, soothes my omega. We feel sad. Disappointed. Never good enough. I let the tears I held back earlier roll down my cheeks. I let the mask slip off.
I must have fallen asleep because the next thing I know, I’m gently rocking in Iggy’s arms while he carries me to Cass’s bedroom.
When he sets me down, I grip his arms and hold him close, and he relents easily, wrapping me up in his strong embrace, lying down beside me. He smells like paint and other chemicals, fresh sawdust mixed with his warm mulled wine and cinnamon scent.
I whimper, shaking against him, and then Iggy purrs and nothing in this moment could be better.
Stroking my hair, pulling it away from my face, wiping the tears, he continues to purr, holding me tight.
Eventually, he sighs, his breath warm at my temple. "You okay, love?"
Love. So simple, the words slipping out so easily, yet they wrap my heart in a tight fist, and I tense, wondering if he means it. After everything today, my mother, who is supposed to love me, the shame and guilt erupt once more, and I sob.
Through soggy tears, I cry, "I’m sorry, I’m getting you all wet." Iggy chuckles, and I laugh, too. "I'm okay. Just… frustrated. Hurt. I hate that I still let her opinion matter. When I was younger, I tried so hard to be perfect for her. I lost myself along the way, but after we moved here, after she tried to make me marry Stevens, I've come to realize I'll never be perfect for her. I'll never be enough. And I know it's stupid, but a small part of me… feels shame that I'm not capable of being enough."
"Can I tell you something?" Iggy asks gruffly.
"Of course."
"You're not perfect. Your mother isn't perfect, and everyone at the OFA is very fucking imperfect. There's no such thing as perfection. It's all perception. You couldn't live up to your mother's expectations because her expectations aren't yours. Thank fuck for that. I'm so fuckin' sorry she makes you feel less than, but baby, you are your version of perfect, my version of perfect—just the way you are. You haven't done anything wrong."
My breath hitches, but rather than succumb to more tears, I grip the sides of Iggy's head with shaking hands and press my lips to his, and he lets me ride the wave of emotion until any lingering sadness I felt is nothing but a thin tendril, our mingling scents, cherry and cinnamon wine, flooding between us. My tears wet our cheeks, but he kisses them away lovingly.
Iggy's fingers grip my thigh tightly, and when I pull back, he follows, straddling me, knees on either side of my waist.
"Want some help getting out of your head?" He asks. I couldn't lie if I wanted to; my scent, my slick, responds so quick and fast he actually laughs. He's a miscreant, my Iggy.
We're such a contrast, he and I. He's thin, defined in his own way, and I trail up his chest, discovering the tight planes of his body, feeling the shape of his hip bones. I know what I'd find in the light; so many tattoos, barely a scrap of blank space from his neck all the way down to his feet. Swooping birds shape at his pelvis, disappearing beneath a trail of hair, and a perfect, velvety cock adorned with rows of piercings and a thick set of metal barbells at the base of his knot.
Iggy is everything my mother would hate. But he's everything I love. Maybe he's right. We're perfect for each other and no one else. And that's just fine by me.
I pull at his shirt, and he assists, stripping down, taking my clothes away one scrap at a time. He disappears from the bedroom, returning with my gift from Red, the small velvet chest, and a mischievous smile.
Propped on one elbow, I watch curiously while he ceremoniously opens the box, setting it on the nightstand beside the bed, removing one item at a time. My pussy clenches in anticipation, but I'm a little nervous, too. Especially when I see the ball gag.
"Umm… Iggy?" I ask innocently.
He tilts his head and sits beside me on the bed. "How did you feel when we were together in the backroom at Queenie's?"
"The four of us? I mean, I felt great. Amazing."
He nods, then turns to face me, his dark gaze calculating. "And Cass knotting your mouth?"
"Is that what the gag is for?"
"I took away some of your senses. But locking him down your throat meant you could only breathe through your nose."
He looks at me pensively, waiting for deeper answers, so I dig for them. "I… I was scared at first. Not scared, exactly, more… nervous. I've never done that before. But you kept encouraging me to breathe, and Cass did, too. His fresh cotton scent helped, it was reassuring."
