When his hand lands on the center of my back, I nearly shiver at the comforting touch. I shouldn’t crave it, it shouldn’t be him who brings me comfort. How can it feel so right and so wrong at the same time?
“Fuck,” he mumbles before standing up. I whine like a needy little bitch when his touch leaves me, and he sighs. “Just give me a second,” he whispers. I listen and swallow down the desperate noise that’s trying to escape my throat.
I hear the sound of boots being slid off and something else hitting the floor before he lifts my blanket and crawls into bed with me. His body isn’t close to mine as he just lies there, breathing but otherwise quiet.
A cramp hits me so hard I feel like I’m going to throw up, and I curl in on myself, taking a deep inhale through my nose. Tate’s scent floods my system, giving me a sense of peace I’ve never felt before.
Without speaking, he wraps his body around mine, while still keeping his hands safely to himself.
“Is it always this bad?” he whispers in my ear.
I shake my head no, instead of opening my mouth. I know the second I speak I’ll break down into tears and, to be honest, my ego can’t take that hit. I don’t want Tate to see me as some fragile little girl. I’m not sure how I want him to see me, or if I’m just disassociating from what I want from him because the reality ofwhat I want from Tate is too forbidden for me to wrap my head around.
His hand finally touches my skin, his palm resting against the clammy skin of my forehead.
“What do you need?” he asks. His tone is probably the softest I’ve ever heard it, a gentle whisper just for me. A tear leaks out, and I wipe it away quickly with the back of my wrist.
How do I tell him that his scent and presence are the only relief I’ve felt all day?I can’t. It would be like opening Pandora's box to dissect what’s between us. We’re not dumb or blind. Clearly, we both find each other physically attractive to some degree. I’ve caught the way he looks at me, and there’s no doubt he’s caught the way I respond to his scent.
But having feelings for Tate? It would make his relationship with Kurt even worse than it already is. To be honest, I wouldn’t care about any other public outrage than Kurt’s and my mother’s. I think Tate might even feel the same way when it comes to not giving a shit what people think. But the two people’s opinions I care about most wouldn’t approve.
Hell, Kurt wants me far away from the club; he definitely doesn’t want me with his son whom he holds extreme resentment towards. With that decided, I need to tell Tate to leave.
But then something happens… something I’ve never experienced before.
Tate’s chest rumbles and a purr emanates from his chest. He doesn’t stop it, and it vibrates against my back. I feel like I’m finally able to breathe without pain radiating throughout every nerve of my body. He doesn’t speak as his hand slides across my side, holding my lower abdomen.
“Just go to sleep, darlin’,” he murmurs against my hair. His voice is deep and husky, and his purr gets even louder.
He just lies there, bringing me the comfort of an Alpha that I desperately need. The true reality of why my period is so bad slaps me in the face. My birthday is nearly here; I’ll be twenty-one soon and every fiber of my being knows I need a pack to take care of me.
What I can’t wrap my head around is how badly my body seems to want Tate to be a part of said pack.
I shake my anxieties away and just let myself have this moment because I know I’ll never have it again. If this is the only time Tate holds me like this, then I need to take advantage of every single second.
“It’s okay, darlin’. I’ve got you,” is the first phrase I hear in my dreams, and it helps me fall into a peaceful slumber.
I spendthe next few days lounging around the house. Tate has wordlessly climbed through my window every night. He takes off his boots, cut, and jeans before lying down next to me, all without saying a word every time.
He leaves after I fall asleep, and all I’m left with is his scent haunting my room like a ghost.
I swear I’ve almost gaslit myself into thinking it’s a figment of my imagination, and that he truly hasn’t come in to visit me every night. But when I wake up to his scent, I know it’s real, and I don’t know how to deal with this information.
How am I supposed to grapple with the fact that I’m attracted to my stepbrother, that he cares for me when I’m in pain, and that I’m never going to wash my sheets again? I needhis scent like I need to breathe, and I’m not sure how to look past that. Will I always have this ache and need for a man that I can’t have?
I haven’t had a chance to see Cash and Axel yet, but I need to see them badly. I need to know that they’re still all in. Even if it now brings me some pain knowing I won’t be complete with just the two of them. If we make a pack without Tate, is this longing going to follow me around forever, or is it something I can get over?
I’m sitting on the porch, enjoying the sun for the first time in a few days, when Axel walks up, looking like some sort of model.How did I forget how beautiful he is?
He grins at me and sits down on the step; he keeps plenty of room for Jesus between us, and I groan in disapproval.
“I’m workin’ on it, darlin’,” he reassures me.
I rest my head on my knee and look at him. I’m still not feeling great, and I’m not sure how to manage all my feelings. This is the shit no one tells you about when you designate as an Omega, all these pesky emotions. Emotions that sometimes make absolutely no sense.
I logically know we’re on the compound and Axel can’t be affectionate to me right now, but with the distance between us, all I want to do is cry because I feel rejected. This is all so incredibly fucked. I just want to feel like me again, and I’m not sure if that will ever happen.Will I feel better after my heat, after I bond?Even thinking about it makes me anxious because both factors are so unknown, and all I want is to be me again.
“The dog guy is comin’ soon. You want to say goodbye to the puppies?” he asks, and I nod my head. He looks at me like he wants to take my hand and lead me over to the body shop, but he doesn’t, much to my distaste.
