“Agreed,” Cole says, already pulling out his phone. “I’ve got some ambient playlists. Rain sounds, ocean waves, that kind of thing.”
“Nothing too distracting,” Malik adds. “We still need to be able to hear emergency whistles.”
Leave it to Malik to think three steps ahead even when his hands are shaking.
We spend the next twenty minutes setting up speakers throughout the house. Cole’s Bluetooth system in the living room; Malik’s smaller speaker positioned in the hallway.
The whole time, I can smell her. That honeycomb sweetness mixed with slick. Complicated and intriguing, and absolutely devastating to my self-control.
Every time I walk past her door, my alpha practically roars.
“This is going to be the longest week of my life,” Cole says, echoing my thoughts exactly.
“Longest week,” I agree.
But we’ll survive it. We have to.
Because the alternative of losing control, crossing boundaries, or doing something Sierra doesn’t want is unthinkable.
Even if my alpha is convinced she wants us just as much as we want her. Even if I saw the way she looked at us, the heat in her eyes, the way her scent spiked with arousal.
Even if every fiber of my being is screaming that we need to break down that door and soothe her.
I look down the hallway toward her closed door and make myself a promise.
We’re going to get through this with boundaries intact and dignity somewhat preserved.
Even if it kills me.
Which it just might.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Sierra
My nest has never felt this good.
Or this inadequate.
I’m surrounded by pillows and blankets I’ve arranged at least six times in the last hour, trying to find the perfect configuration. Extra soft sheets stolen from the linen closet. My own comforter, the one that smells like home and laundry detergent and me.
But it’s not enough.
My omega knows what’s missing. She knows exactly what would make this nest perfect, and it’s currently on the other side of the house, being very respectful and maintaining boundaries.
Four somethings, to be precise.
I burrow deeper into the pillows and try to ignore the ache that’s building low in my belly. Another wave is coming. I can feel it gathering like a storm.
The shower helped. Sort of. I stood under the cold spray for twenty minutes earlier, trying to cool down the fire under my skin. It worked temporarily. Just long enough for me to stumbleback to my nest and collapse into the pillows before the heat came roaring back with a vengeance.
My ‘heat’ bag is sitting at the edge of the nest, half-unpacked. I can see the corner of familiar purple silicone peeking out from between my spare clothes, and I determinedly look away.
Not yet. I’m not there yet.
Even though my body is screaming that I’m absolutely there.
I shift in the nest and immediately regret it. Everything is too sensitive. The slide of fabric against my thighs. The brush of my shirt against my nipples. The slick that’s been steadily pooling between my legs for the past hour.
