20. Meggie

20

Meggie

S weaty and slick with need, I wake up to my bedroom smelling of apple pie and an unsatisfied throbbing between my legs. I dreamed about Pack Hart for the tenth night in a row. During the day, I can control myself. It's hard, but I manage to keep my distance and maintain my cool. But at night… it's impossible.

No matter how many pep talks I give my brain, or how much I try to think about something else before bed, I dream about them every night. Sometimes it's just one of them. Other times, it's more than one. Occasionally, like last night, it's all of them together. It was beyond hot. We're talking panty-melting, sweat-inducing, nipple-aching level dreaming right there.

I can still taste Ellis's phantom kiss, feel the sting of Oz's palm on my ass, the euphoria of Dante's tongue between my legs while Nils and McQuinn sucked my nipples and Harrison watched, telling everyone what to do.

I rub my thighs together, seeking the release I've denied myself for years. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad if I just… let off some steam. The research on whether orgasms will bring on a heat more quickly is inconclusive and none of the guys ever come in my room.

Justifying my actions, I allow my hands to slide up to my breasts, imagining they're Ellis's hands instead. He hasn't been subtle about wanting me. He's never said anything or made a pass at me, but his scent… fuck, every time I'm around, it deepens, surrounding me, transporting me to a tropical island.

My body aches as I twist my nipples. I haven't touched myself like this in two years. Not since I first perfumed. I already feel like I might burst. Each twist of my nipples sends a bolt of pleasure straight down between my legs.

With my eyes closed, I picture Dante joining us. My hands roam downward to my thighs, up my sides, down my belly. Spreading my legs, I brush the tips of my fingers across my heated flesh, teasing myself with gentle touches. It's already too much. I'm swollen and ready, needing more than touch. I need a knot. A big, thick knot to fill me completely and lock inside me.

I've never taken a knot before. Daniel never tried to give me his knot, since we all thought I was a beta. So I don't know exactly what it feels like, but right now, I know my body needs it. Some long-dormant instinct screams that I need to be stretched to my limit.

Experimenting, I slip three fingers in all at once. It's enough for me to feel that tingle down my spin that lets me know I'm close. So close. A few strokes, and I come, pulling a pillow over my face to keep from making a noise.

It's good. So good. But ultimately unsatisfying. Ellis and Dante aren't really here. They never will be. It would be too much of a risk.

Alone, I sigh and get in the shower. I quickly clean up, then strip the sheets off my bed. Again. I've had to wash them every morning since I got here. Some mornings, the scent isn't that strong, but I still don't want to risk it. I need to be sure no one will smell anything if they ever come in my room.

Today, my scent is extra strong due to my lack of self control, so I take the blankets as well as the sheets. I shove them all into a giant trash bag to hide the smell until I get to the laundry room.

Once there, I waste no time. I cram it all into the washing machine and pour twice as much deodorizing detergent in as needed.

"You know you don't have to wash your sheets every day."

The washing machine lid slams down with a bang. Spinning, I find Nils standing in the doorway. Did he smell anything? Does he know?

His expression is neutral, but the slightest hint of a smile plays around one corner of his lips. "You're getting a late start today. Your sheets are usually into the dryer by now."

"Oh, um, yeah." I run my fingers through my hair, then decide to toss it up in a bun to avoid wafting around any possible lingering aroma. "Slept in."

"Hmm." He looks from me to the washer and back. "I'm a bit of a neat freak, too."

"It's not—"

"It's okay. I vacuum my bedroom floor every night before bed because I hate stepping on things with bare feet." He says it, looking over his shoulder, like he doesn't want the other guys to know and tease him about it.

Something swells in my chest at this quiet, reserved man, letting me in.

"I sometimes shower three times a day," I confide.

"I noticed." He leans against the dryer, studying me with those perspective eyes. "Mind if I ask you something a little inappropriate?"

Too curious to deny him, I say, "Go ahead."

"What do you smell like? Is it something really horrible? Like oatmeal raisin cookies?"

"Oatmeal raisin cookies aren't horrible." I laugh. "Although I definitely wouldn't want to smell them all the time."

"So what is it?"

The flavor of my scent won't give away that I'm an omega. He'd have to smell it and pick up on the undertones to know that. And I feel like sharing with him. There's something about Nils that makes me feel safe, makes me want to seek him out for advice. A steady, quiet strength to him.

"Apple pie," I say, nearly whispering. I've never told anyone what I smell like before. The only person who knows is Emily, and that's because she's smelled it herself. "I smell like green apple pie."

He wets his lips. "I wish you wouldn't hide that."

I'm not sure what to say in response, so I say nothing. He looks at me for a long beat, time speeding up and slowing down all at once. My chest rises and falls. His nostrils flare. His eyes dilate.

Then, just as suddenly as he came, he taps his knuckles against the top of the washing machine and leaves.

I can hear the others in the kitchen making breakfast, but I stay where I am for a long time, thinking about what Nils said and the way he looked at me like he can see right through me.

***

Ellis has taken up his sister's habit of surprise attacking me with water polo balls, so when I walk into the kitchen for lunch I shouldn't be shocked that one soars towards my face. I reach for it a second too late, but swerve my head to the side just in time to avoid being hit. It flies past me and hits McQuinn square in the nose.

"Asshat." McQuinn chucks the ball back at Ellis, who easily catches it, laughing. He tosses it at Oz, who's got his head in the refrigerator. It hits him in the ass, and he calls Ellis a fuckface without looking up.

"You wish you could fuck my pretty face," Ellis quips.

Oz barks out a laugh. "If I'm fucking anyone's pretty face, it ain't yours."

I know his attention is on me without looking, and I can't stop the little blush that warms my cheeks at his dirty words. I wish I didn't blush so easily around these men or that it wasn't as noticeable.

I offer to help make lunch, but Oz and Ellis insist on doing it themselves. Ellis washes and chops vegetables for salad, even though he won't eat it, while Oz makes the dressing. McQuinn goes to the cupboard and gets out glasses, then a bottle of lemonade.

I pull out a stool at the island and sit, uncertain of what I should be doing, where I fit, or if I even have a place here outside of the pool.

Pushing the thought from my mind, I focus on Ellis. His long fingers hold the knife with a skill and certainty that sets off a little flutter in my belly. Today, his nails are fuchsia. I've noticed he doesn't repaint them every day, but he changes them often—long before the polish chips or wears off. The only time I ever paint my nails is when Emily makes me. And then, I wear the same polish until it falls off on its own.

"Can I ask you something?" I say, directing my question at Ellis.

"Of course."

"Your nails." My voice comes out too high, the words too fast. I take a breath. "Do the colors mean anything?"

McQuinn laughs. "Good luck. He's refused to tell us what the colors mean for years."

"I've figured it out," Oz says.

Ellis gives him a skeptical look.

"A single color means you're focused on something. Multiple colors mean you're conflicted. Brighter colors when you're sad—to cheer you up, I guess. And darker colors when you're happy."

"So what's fuchsia mean?" McQuinn asks, clearly as impressed as I am.

Oz picks the ball up off the floor and throws it at Ellis. "He's horny."

"He's right," Dante says, walking into the room and grabbing the ball from his man. "Ellis always picks that color when he wants a good fuck."

My cheeks feel like I've been sitting in the sun for too long. It helps a little that I'm not the only one looking flushed. Ellis's cheeks are a light pink and he stares at the carrot he's chopping like it's a snake that will bite him if he looks away.

McQuinn slaps him on the back, his lips turned up in a wide mouthed grin. "Look, you're embarrassing him."

"I'm not embarrassed," Ellis says a little too defensively. "It's just not as systematic as that. It's intuitive. Not a mood ring. I don't have colors that go with certain feelings. I just… pick."

Dante gives his bonded a kiss on the cheek. "Doesn't mean you don't gravitate towards certain colors when you're feeling certain ways."

Ellis glances at me briefly before looking away and continuing to cut up the carrots.

"What about you Meggie? Do you have… um… things you do when you…" He flounders for a moment and then composes himself. "I mean, do you have any traditions or habits? My nail painting started when Emily wanted me to play salon with her when we were kids and it just kind of stuck. It reminds me of her and my family. Makes me feel close to them. Do you have things like that?"

His attention is so acute. I know this isn't just a random question. Ellis genuinely wants to know me. He's made that clear in every interaction we've had. And something about him makes me want to open up, even though I shouldn't. Getting close to these men isn't a good idea.

"I don't know. I guess not."

"How about superstitions?" Oz asks. "McQuinn carries a rabbit's foot everywhere like an old superstitious grandma."

"Hey don't dog on the rabbit's foot." McQuinn pulls it from his pocket and shakes it in Oz's face. "This baby got us to the top of the water polo league."

"Hard work, that's what got us to the top of the league," Dante says.

"Believe what you will." McQuinn shrugs and stuffs the rabbit's foot back in his pocket.

"So, got anything like that?" Oz asks, returning to his original question.

"When I'm swimming, like for a race, I always step onto the block with my left foot," I admit.

"Psh," McQuinn scoffs. "Everyone has race superstitions. I bet Ellis wanted to know the good stuff. What's your weird stuff, Meggie?"

Looking over the guys, Ellis snags my gaze. There's that hopeful look in his eyes. McQuinn is right. Ellis wants more than surface level. He wants to know me. To see me.

Taking a fortifying deep breath, I lay out my crazy. "I only like cinnamon toothpaste because my grandpa used that kind, and I hadn't had it before until I spent the summer with him, so I thought it was fancy when I was a kid and it stuck." When the guys don't immediately laugh, I go on. "I only eat pickles in numbers divisible by three, unless they're sweet pickles, and then I eat them in twos. When I cry, I want chocolate and a soda after all the tears are out because that's what my mom used to do when I was a teenager. I'm afraid of toilet frogs, so I always have a nightlight in the bathroom. My foot can never hang off the edge of the bed outside the blankets because then a monster from under the bed can get me, and I haven't had sex in two years."

I stop myself before I keep rambling and spill secrets that need to stay hidden.

The room is quiet. I don't think I've said that many words at once since I moved in. Ellis has completely stopped cutting the vegetables. His smile is so wholesome my heart gives a little ping.

Oz breaks the silence first. "Two years?" His gaze travels over me, up and down. "Have you seen yourself? That's a crime."

Dante chucks the ball at Oz's middle and it hits its mark, causing Oz to drop the bottle of olive oil and swear as it puddles on the counter.

"I like cinnamon." Ellis says, his focus shifting back to the vegetables, though his smile remains.

"What the hell is a toilet frog?" McQuinn chuckles, and the rest of the guys join in.

Huffing out a dramatic sign, I entertain the boys with what happened at summer camp when I was fourteen and why I worry about a frog being inside my toilet.