A whimper escapes my throat. Pathetic and desperate and completely involuntary.
The door flies open.
Sergio stands in the doorway, backlit by the hall light, wearing nothing but grey sweatpants that hang low on his hips. His chest is bare, broad and muscled, a light dusting of dark hair trailing down his stomach and disappearing beneath the waistband. His grey eyes are alert despite the hour, and as he takes in the sight of me sprawled across my ruined nest, his nostrils flare.
"It started." His voice is rough. Lower than usual.
"I noticed." The words come out as a croak. "Felt like I should mention the whole being-on-fire thing."
He crosses to the bed in three strides. His hand presses against my forehead, and I nearly sob at the contact. His skin iscool compared to mine. Perfect. I want to wrap myself around him and never let go.
"You're burning up." He pulls his hand back, and I chase the contact, rising up on my elbows to follow.
"Please." The word falls out before I can stop it. “Don't stop touching me."
Something dark flickers in his eyes.
"The others are coming." He sits on the edge of the bed, and I immediately crawl toward him, drawn by his scent, his warmth, the magnetic pull that I've been fighting for weeks. "We talked about this. We have a plan."
"I don't care about plans." I press my face against his bare shoulder and inhale. Cedar and smoke fill my lungs, and the ache in my core intensifies to something almost unbearable. "I care about you touching me right now immediately."
"Jessica." His hand cups the back of my head, holding me against him. "Look at me."
I pull back. It takes physical effort. Every instinct screams at me to burrow closer, to climb into his lap, to beg for things I don't have names for.
His grey eyes are steady. Serious. The eyes of a man who's spent his whole life maintaining control and isn't about to lose it now.
"We've got you." His thumb strokes along my jaw. "Whatever you need."
"Yes." The word explodes out of me. "Yes, obviously yes, I've been saying yes for weeks, please, Sergio, I need..."
"Need what?"
"I don't know." Tears leak from the corners of my eyes. "It's like my body is speaking a language I don't understand."
Footsteps in the hallway. Three sets, approaching fast.
Carlos appears first, hair sleep-mussed, wearing boxers and an inside-out t-shirt. Nacho follows, already in jeans like he wasnever asleep at all, bare chest gleaming in the low light. Pedro brings up the rear, a small medical bag in his hand because of course he brought supplies.
They pile into the room, filling it with heat and testosterone and four distinct scents that crash over me like a wave.
The combination is overwhelming. Intoxicating. I breathe it in and feel something shift in my core, a lock clicking open, a door swinging wide.
"Oh." I sag against Sergio's chest. "Oh, that's... that's better."
"Pack scent." Pedro sets his bag on the nightstand and moves to sit on my other side. "Your omega recognizes us. It's trying to calm you down."
"It's not working very well." I press my thighs together, trying to ease the ache. "I still feel like I'm going to explode."
"You're not going to explode." Carlos drops onto the foot of the bed, and his hand wraps around my ankle. "Implode, maybe. Spontaneously combust, possibly. But exploding is off the table."
"Not helping." Nacho moves to stand beside the bed, arms crossed, watching me with those dark, intense eyes. "She needs physical contact. More of it."
"Then get over here." My voice comes out sharper than I intended. "All of you. Stop standing around like you're waiting for an invitation. I'm inviting you. Consider yourselves invited. Invitations have been issued and accepted, now please, somebody touch me before I lose my mind."
They move.
Carlos stretches out along my left side, his body warm and solid against mine. His hand slides under my shirt to rest on my stomach, and I arch into the contact with a sound that's half moan, half sob.
