Her scent wraps around me, and for a second I can’t think. Can’t breathe. She smells like everything I’ve ever wanted and afew things I didn’t know I needed. My cock stirs, and I have to take a breath and think about unsexy things. Tax returns. Engine sludge. Bea’s face when she caught me eating her leftover pizza.
Okay. Better.
I keep hold of her hand and grab a candle from the mantle on the way. The spare room doesn’t have a window—she’ll need the light.
“Where are we going?” she asks.
“You’ll see.”
The room is small, but perfect. I push open the door and hold up the candle.
She gasps.
The nest takes up almost the entire space. A proper nest—a deep mattress besides Elijah’s hand-carved mahogany frame, piled high with blankets and pillows and soft things. Everything an omega would need.
“Ben.” Her voice is barely a whisper. “What is this?”
“Elijah built the bench. That’s actually why he and Milo were here when the storm hit—they were delivering it, along with those chairs for my kitchen table.” I scratch the back of my neck, suddenly awkward. “I commissioned it a few months back. Told myself it was for someday. For the right omega. Whoever that turned out to be.”
She moves toward it like she’s in a trance. Her hand reaches out, touches the carved edge of the frame, trails over the plush blankets.
“But I kept adding to it,” I continue. “Blankets. Pillows. That stupid soft throw Bea gave me for Christmas. The fancy sheets my dads bought me that I said were too nice to use.” I watch her face in the candlelight. “I didn’t know why I couldn’t stop making it softer. More comfortable. More... ready.”
She turns to look at me. Her eyes are wet.
“And now you’re here,” I say quietly. “With your heat coming and the storm not letting up. And I’m really glad I built it, Tessa. Because you need a nest. And I have one. For you.”
“Ben...” She shakes her head. “You’re being so serious right now.”
“I know. It’s uncomfortable for everyone involved.” I try for a smile. “I could make a joke if it would help. Something about how I’m basically a very large, very awkward bird who built a?—”
“Don’t.” She crosses the space between us and puts her hand on my chest. “Don’t deflect. Not right now.”
My heart is pounding under her palm. She has to feel it.
“I’ve wanted you for two years,” I tell her. “Since the first time you walked into my garage with that clipboard and told me my filing system was a disaster. I’ve been running from it ever since. Making jokes. Keeping my distance. Telling myself you’d never want someone like me.”
“Someone like you?”
“Grease under my fingernails. Three unpaid invoices on my desk. No plan for anything beyond next Tuesday.” I laugh, but it comes out shaky. “You’re so put together, Tessa. So competent. I didn’t think I was enough.”
She’s quiet for a long moment. Then she reaches up and cups my face in her hands.
“You built me a nest,” she says softly. “You came out into a blizzard to find me. You gave me your bed, your clothes, your—” She gestures at the room around us. “This. All of this.”
“Tessa—”
“I’m not done.” Her eyes are fierce. “You make me laugh. You make me feel safe. You walked through a snowstorm because you were worried about me, and then you carried me through it when I couldn’t walk. That’s not ‘not enough,’ Ben. That’s everything.”
I don’t know what to say. Nobody’s ever said that to me.
She doesn’t give me time to figure it out.
She kisses me.
It’s not gentle. It’s not tentative. She grabs my face and pulls me down to her like she’s been waiting just as long as I have.
I kiss her back. One hand slides into her hair, the other wraps around her waist, and I pour two years of wanting into it. She makes a sound against my mouth—needy, desperate—and I pull her closer, angling her head so I can kiss her deeper.
