Helena giggles. I close my eyes and let myself completely unwind.
And definitely don’t think of how Helena’s scent only keeps spiking.
CHAPTER 20
Helena
Thunder gnawsthe bones of our rented flat. I peel myself from a tangle of sheets and sweat, mindlessly groping for a patch of cool fabric but finding only sticky warmth and Zane’s arm draped heavy and sure across my waist.
He’s dead asleep. Or pretends to be. With Zane, it’s difficult to tell—his discipline for stillness rivals most statues, but I catch the careful way his breathing falters as soon as I stir. Every muscle in his body is tension, even at rest.
The storm outside simmers into a lull that presses hot air down against the world, lidding it like a steamer basket. The ceiling fan overhead struggles. Each revolution is a drunken lurch that does nothing but recirculate the wet heat. My skin crawls with it, like every pore is trying to wring itself out.
My head pounds. My mouth tastes sour. A slow fever radiates out from between my legs and turns the world around me into a fuzzy, slow-motion dream.
I roll onto my back. Zane’s fingers curl against my hip. He mumbles my name.
He’s as drenched as I am, black hair pasted to his temple. His jaw is shadowed in stubble and his pale arms shine with sweat. I blink hard, but there’s no blinking away the scent he throws off.Flint and the electric blue before a storm as mouthwatering and familiar as my own pulse.
I hate how good it smells.
I hate how easy it is to fall apart for him.
My thighs are slicked, pressed together tight enough to trap a fistful of the heat pouring out of me. When I shift, it squelches under me, gross and humiliating. Yet my hand drifts down, helpless, seeking some kind of friction. My body is on autopilot, completely derailed from the prim, controlled Helena who was voted “most likely to die a spinster” at Omega Finishing School.
I know what this is. Heat. The “blessing” that’s supposed to be the pride of every omega. But it feels like my insides are melting and every part of me aches and throbs andneeds. I bite the inside of my cheek, but the pain is nothing compared to the pulse between my legs.
Zane stirs. “Are you awake?”
I squeeze my eyes shut, mortified, but manage a, “Yeah.” It comes out more of a gasp than a word.
He props himself up on one elbow. The way he looks at me is so different from any alpha I’ve ever known. It’s not hunger or ownership. It’s feral concern.
“You should have woken me.” His voice is roughened by sleep but already tensed to act. He touches my cheek, hand cold from the pillow, and I almost sob at the relief. “How bad?”
My answer is another half-whimper. “I can’t think straight.” It hurts to talk. “I can’t—Zane, I need—” The sentence falls apart as I try to squeeze my thighs together, but there’s too much slick for friction. I am so far gone, my dignity’s the first casualty. “I’ve not had a heat in so long.”
Years.
Literalyears.
Zane leans closer. The air between us is oven-hot and dense with pheromones. His and mine are braided together until it’simpossible to tell where one ends and the other begins. I catch his scent and nearly faint. My fingers slip down to my clit, circling frantically. I moan from deep in my throat.
He’s already moving, lifting the covers and seeing the mess I’ve made of myself. I expect him to smirk and tease. Instead, his jaw ticks once and a growl rumbles in his chest. “I’ll take care of you. You know that, right?”
My answer is an embarrassingly loud moan as his hand replaces mine, long fingers gentle but impossibly sure on my clit. I cry out and grab his wrist as I try to grind my hips against him. “Please,” I gasp. “Please, I?—”
He hushes me. “I’ve got you, angel.” His thumb strokes over my clit, slow but relentless. His other hand splays across my belly, pinning me in place.
My entire body tries to climb the walls of sensation. The scent of him spikes every time he shifts closer. And each time I breathe it in, I get a little dizzier, a little closer to the edge.
“I need your cock. I need it. I need?—”
“I know what you need.” His voice has changed. More commanding now. The blunt pressure of his thumb is enough to make me see stars.
He shoves his sleep shorts down and pushes my knees apart. The heat in the room is nothing compared to the furnace between my thighs. He slides in a finger, then two. My hips buck as he stretches me. Slick pours out in fresh waves as Zane rolls on a condom.
“Fuck. You’re soaked, Helena.” The sound of it is obscene, but my body clamps down, desperate for more. “Are you sure about this?”
