“I’ll still be taking a maintenance dose on my deathbed.” Dan sighs again. “Even if … I’ll never not need that.”
“If what?”
“There’s a chance, if I had pack bonds, mate bonds, I wouldn’t need as strong a dose, or at least not supplements.” He gives me another side-glance as we wait for a tram to cross, then looks down and away. “I would’ve told you before bonds came up regardless.”
“Considering you told me and Nathan about taking suppressors first thing the other day, I believe you.”
I’ve daydreamed of bonding with Johanna for years, yet mostly ignored the potential for bonding with other pack members when Dan, Nathan, and I agreed to explore giving herwhat she’d always wanted—but now, the idea of more than one bond warms my belly despite the cold.
“Have you shared this with Nathan?”
“About bonds? Yes.” Dan smiles, a gentle thing, even as he wrenches the wheel to make another sharp turn as the buildings grow ever more familiar. “He said if we pack up, he’d be happy to exchange bites.”
“If two is better than one, put me down as well.” I stopped paying attention to a lot of lore about packs when it became clear I wasn’t headed for one. As with ruts, I don’t know enough about truth versus legend. One saying, however, comes readily to mind:some packs form quickly packs, because when you know, you know.
I wasn’t looking for a pack for me, but for Johanna, yet Dan’s strengths overlap some of my weak points. I hope to offer similar value in return.
“Thank you.” The zipzap slows enough for Dan to glance over with a sweet, almost shy smile, and the chill in his fragrance eases. “We’re close to your home—where’s the best place to park?”
The actual process of parking is a blur. We leave the zipzap somewhere down the block—all I know is it’s legal and there’s just enough space—then race back to the house.Dan’s several feet behind me because I leaped out the instant the zipzap came to enough of a standstill.
My shoesthunkagainst the pavement, but no louder than my heart beats in my ears. The cold air makes my lungs hurt as snow drifts down. Only a few flakes stick on bushes, but in the distance, dark gray clouds loom over the lake, suggesting a lake-effect storm is on the way.
At least the bleak weather means the sidewalks are mostly empty, even though it’s early afternoon.
I stumble up the walk—was it just last night Johanna and I stood on the porch kissing? Pulling off my glove I fumble my first try at entering the code to unlock the door. Usually, that’s Johanna’s issue, she almost always requires two or three tries. I’m the calm, cool, capable enterer of codes the first time—except in this instance. Luckily, my second attempt works.
“Johanna!” I call as soon as I enter. No answer—only heavy breathing from the phone cradled in my hand; that, and crackling as the storm winds affect reception.
No sign of her in the living room or down the hall. I race through the first floor, still dressed for the cold. I’m steaming up, sweat dripping down my face. No living, breathing beings in the dining room, kitchen, or bath, though there’s evidence Johanna and Nathan did meet here for lunch, as planned—good, because I hadn’t even considered she might be elsewhere—half-eaten food left cooling on the table.
Nathan’s and Johanna’s scents permeate the house, apart from a faint hint of Anamaria. My daughter was definitely in the last hours before heat when she left, but at least she’s safe. The text confirming her arrival at the Omega Center came through while we were driving. My other daughters reported being snug in their dorms studying—or, more likely, partying.
Returning to the foyer, I find Dan stomping a few flakes off his feet as he closes the door behind him.
“Johanna?” he asks, panting.
Before I can respond, we stiffen as a distant moan echoes from upstairs.
It’s a race of sorts, each of us tossing off pieces of outerwear as we lurch up the stairs.
The higher we rise, the thicker the scents: heavy lust and alpha musk mingle with Nathan’s wax and snuffed wick, almost completely overpowering Johanna’s tangy cranberry.
Impossible not to notice that the door to Max’s room is open, as it’s never been since his death. Johanna’s bunny slippers lie abandoned nearby, but I don’t head that way.
The smell is stronger straight ahead, flowing from the guest room Johanna had been using until she started sleeping with me. This close, I detect a particular sweetness to Nathan’s scent—a luscious note that arises from repeated sexual satisfaction. The edge sets my blood heating and pounding in my veins.
Dashing in, Dan hot on my heels, we come to a stop right inside the door.
If not for the underlying cause, this scene could fuel personal fantasies in the future. Nathan lies splayed out on the bed, mostly clothed, his back arched, and shirt and undershirt sticking to his chest. Long, dragging moans emerge from the taut muscles of his throat. Sweat glistens along the smooth expanse of his head, and his beard is darker along his cheeks and jaw.
His pants hang open at the crotch. Johanna nestles between his legs in an almost classic omega presentation pose: kneeling, back rounded and head down—though instead of offering herself for fucking, she’s sucking Nathan’s cock with long slurps.
She pulled off her shirt at some point, so her bared back gleams with sweat, pink bra straps bright against her skin. Jeans stretch tight over her ass, but shadows at her crotch and inner thighs suggest damp fabric—and not due to sweat. The scent of her arousal is weaker than Nathan’s, but unmistakable.
Her back heaves with pants as she pulls off Nathan’s cock, cum dripping from the corners of her mouth.
“About time.” Johanna’s eyes are wide and dark as she licks her lips and glares at Dan and me. One hand wraps around Nathan’s cock, the other his heavy knot, as she turns back to Nathan. In husky tones, she asks, “What’s my name?”
