Pale light lines the top and sides of the curtains. The bottom sways as warm air pours from the furnace thrumming below.
There’s no place we have to be. Nothing we have to do. The girls will be over for our usual Sunday brunch, all of them studying at schools within an easy travel circumference, but that’s not for hours, and our tradition is to all cook together or order in.
No Max leaping out of bed with a brilliant idea that he has to explainright now, or trying to sneak out of bed without disturbing us and failing, both of which happened often.
Just two tired people sharing the comfort and warmth of a good bed. Two bodies aligned almost as close as can be. For the first time since Max’s diagnosis, prickles of arousal seep into my body. A line of heat rolls down my back. Rivulets spread across my back and around to my front. My breasts plump, nipples tightening. The muscles between my legs flex and tense.
Closing my eyes, I choose to enjoy the luxury of arousal coursing through my body in low waves. There’s no build, just the pleasure of the edge, of seeing how long I can maintain tension without letting it rise too close to orgasm, of knowing that down the road, when I do let myself go, the peak will be all the higher for having been so long denied.
This is how I’ve lived the last thirty years loving a man who, much as he loved me, had no interest in sex outside of his heats.
Getting up to face the day is over-rated. I’d rather stay warm in Corin’s arms.
Chapter 6
Perfect Alpha Bait
CORIN
Johanna doesn’t realize I’m awake, perhaps because I roused before her. With my nose tucked against her neck, there’s no missing the hitch in her breathing when she realizes where she is and with whom. An edge of tension manifests in stillness of her hand next to mine, the way her toes brush my feet then retreat, and a stiffness where her buttocks cradle my cock.
Her cranberry scent holds a murky element, as of a bog in spring, a subtlety most wouldn’t detect. After moving in with her and Max—or rather Max moving us all in together with little mind to let anyone argue—I made a point of researching the notes in her scent. I’d done the same for his orange and rum, my not-missed ex-wife’s violets, and later, each of my daughters, as they presented.
I hunger to learn everything I can about those who matter to me, down to the nuances of their fragrances, the better to know them.
The better to care for them.
For her.
Since Caity presented as an alpha, I’ve tried to share with her the importance of focusing on caring, hoping to help balance any shortcomings in the official training she received as a new alpha. Though things have gotten better since I presented, to this day, too many alphas get eaten alive by their new strength, senses, and instincts.
The most visible changes for new alphas tend to get the most attention: increased muscle strength and stamina, a tendency toward dominance and aggression, and of course, the sexual changes, the development of knots at the base of penises that swell and prevent withdrawal during coitus or extra vaginal muscles capable of locking penises and, likewise, delaying withdrawal. Both biological features prolong sexual intercourse and increase the odds of our genes perpetuating for another generation.
We get warnings about how, too often, alphas choose action over caution. Some training addresses the uncertainty over one’s place with respect to other alphas and the slippery slope toward the use of threats, physical intimidation, and outright violence as the simplest way of sorting things out. Alphas have a reputation for defaulting to fucking or fighting—or fuckingandfighting—as the solution to just about any interaction involving omegas or other alphas.
That’s on the heads of the worst of us. Some hide it better than others, unless they don’t have to, with those they can crush beneath their feet: my unlamented uncles, Max’s fathers, were prime examples.
Yet there are subtler changes to becoming an alpha beneath the rest. Most alphasneedto be needed. The recipient of our care doesn’t actually have to be human. Some of the alphas I most respect devote their lives to fostering animals, the environment, or other noble causes. Then there are those alphas who shepherd businesses instead, sometimes losing themselvesin the pursuit of profit—which I’ve avoided by the skin of my teeth, thanks to Max, Johanna, and my daughters.
Above all, caring lies at the heart.
But cherishing people, or anything really, requires knowledge, study, and consideration. Caring doesn’t mean giving people whatIthink they need, an error too many alphas make.
True investment requires learning what others need or want and finding ways to provide that.
I never quite managed with Max, beyond the simplest of supports, but he didn’t want me to, either. His experience with his fathers tainted our relationship, no matter how deeply he came to trust me.
Much as I miss him, every day without him is a little more peaceful and less chaotic.
Sometimes I wonder at how I put up with his fits and starts for so many decades, and more at Johanna’s stamina for a longer term. He demanded a great deal.
Then again, he gave a lot in return.
Johanna tugs at every ounce of my desire to cherish, in no small part because of her many contradictory needs in the wake of Max’s passing, and the trouble she’s having balancing them. Learning what she wants and what she’s willing to do to get it, without having to allow for Max, will take time—for her, and for me.
Until then, I putter around the fringe, providing for smaller, clearer needs. Make her smoothies to ensure she gets sufficient nutrition. Let her rest in my bed, in the compass of my arms.
That last is no hardship. Her skin is smooth to the touch. Her fingers twitch, then settle still entwined with mine. The aroma of cranberries strengthens, sweetens, though that hint of mustiness, ever since Max died, hasn’t gone away.
