Chapter Five

CHAPTER FIVE

NOW PLAYING: MAKE Me Feel- Elvis Drew;

Alkaline- Sleep Token

Pleasure slithers up my spine as consciousness finds me. Wet warmth wraps around my cock. A tongue flicks across my tip before slowly pulling me further into their mouth. The small hint of metal sliding down my length tells me who it is before I even attempt to open my eyes.

My back arches off the bed as my mate hollows his cheeks, his fingers lightly pulling my balls on their journey lower. “Neb,” I rasp, my voice thick with sleep and pleasure.

“Good morning, Beta,” he replies before taking me deep once more. His finger drops to circle around my hole, teasing me with barely there pressure.

“More,” I plead. “I want to feel you.” My eyes finally flutter open and I watch my alpha grin around my length. We’ve been together long enough for me to know we will go at his pace no matter how much I beg.

Nebula’s short, dark blonde hair is messy from sleep. His dark blue eyes sparkle with desire and love as he watches my every reaction to the pleasure he’s giving me.

My cock throbs in his mouth as my eyes roam over what I can see of his body. He’s so handsome. Rugged and huge with broad shoulders and a body sculpted by his time at the gym. Pure alpha in every sense.

He quickens his pace, bobbing his head deep and bringing me to the edge before popping off. His tongue follows the veins running along my cock, circling the tip before starting the process all over again. One finger presses into me, pumping shallowly before another joins.

With much more patience than I’ve ever had, Nebula stretches me. Letting me get close, but never allowing me to fall over the precipice.

It feels like hours later when he pops off and pushes to his knees. He crawls over top of me, every muscled inch of him flexing as he moves. A low moan slips from my lips before he swallows it. His kiss hungry.

He devours me, tongue slipping in to tease along the roof of my mouth. Fingers dig into my hair, tugging the longer strands so he can angle my head the way he wants.

I’m drowning in the euphoria his touch brings.

Lost to the pleasure he offers.

“You gonna be a good boy and take my cock, Cal?” Nebula growls against my lips. His length brushes against the back of my thighs as he settles around me.

My body wiggles restlessly trying to urge him to give in to what we both want. A dark chuckle is his only response as he lines himself up and pushes inside, not allowing me a moment's reprieve until his hips are flush against my ass. The stretch burns in an addicting pleasure-pain mix.

One of his palms digs into the bed beside me to keep his full weight off my body. The other stays in my hair, pulling my head back far enough to arch my neck so he can tease my scent glands with his tongue.

Electricity arcs down my spine with each slow glide of his cock. His pace neither falters nor increases. It’s torturous the way he slowly brings us both back to the edge of ecstasy.

“That’s right, Beta, take what your Alpha gives you.”

Sweat soaks his skin, sliding down his back. His warm tobacco and smoked vanilla scent mixes with my slightly floral cedar, soaking the room in our desire. It's a heady combination heightening my need for release. To feel his cum coat my insides and know he has marked me as his.

“Please, Alpha,” I sob. Every thrust brings my pleasure higher. Like Icarus, I’m flying too close to the sun. The feeling is too intense. I’m going to fall. To shatter into a million pieces. Never to be put back together again.

“Let go, Baby, I’ve got you.” Nebula breathes the words into my ear. His hand wraps around my length, his pace finally increasing until he’s nearly rutting into me.

I can’t hold back. Can’t escape the release barreling through me. A mix between a moan and a sob fills the air as I come, soaking our stomachs.

“You did so good. My good boy,” he praises. His hand falls to grip my hip as he slams into me harder. “That’s right Baby, keep squeezing me. Just like that. Gonna flood this tight ass with my cum. Watch you walk around all day with it leaking out of you.”

He stills, his knot pressed against me but not pushing inside. I can feel him pulsing. The warmth of his cum coating my insides is the glue piecing me back together.

We’re both panting when he pulls out. Sitting back on his heels, his eyes fill with a possessive look as he watches his release drip down to the bed beneath me. “Should have brought a plug,” he murmurs, using his fingers to push the mess back inside of me.

My head falls back against the pillow, a breathless laugh slipping out. This truly is the best way to wake up. It would only be better if my other mates were here too.

“Okay, time's up!” Nexus shouts as he slams the bedroom door open. If I wasn’t so madly in love with the alpha, I’d question his fashion sense more. He’s dressed in a silky black and white checkered button-up with only the bottom few buttons done leaving his chest and abs exposed. He’s paired the shirt with sparkly magenta skinny jeans. An outfit that screams ‘Nexus’, but would never work on any of the rest of us.

“Fuck off, Nex,” Nebula grumbles from where he collapsed face-first onto the bed beside me. His upper back and biceps flex as he throws a pillow toward our packmate.

My eyes trail over the tattoos covering both his arms and his back. The elegant female angel reaching toward the sun at the base of his neck reminds me why we need to get up. A memorial tattoo he had done shortly after his sister Elizabeth passed away. She was an omega who was rejected by her Fated mate.

A cruel act usually ending with the omega’s death. The depression caused by the denial of their bond is too painful; it cuts too deep for most of them to survive. While rejections are rare, they still happen. There are too many people in the world who still believe designations are a disease despite abundant scientific evidence proving otherwise.

“We need to get going or we won’t make it in time for the protest,” Nexus warns as he rifles through the closet. Clothes come flying toward us seconds later, barely missing the mess starting to dry on my stomach. Nebula grumbles under his breath when I push to my feet, but he accepts my hand when I pull him from the bed.

Nexus pulls me into a heated kiss when he steps out of the closet. “You’re stunning when you’re freshly fucked and leaking our Alpha’s cum, songbird,” he whispers against my lips. My cock twitches as I watch him adjust his very noticeable erection before walking out of the room.

“Those jeans should come with a content warning,” I mutter beneath my breath as I walk into the bathroom. My mate is one mishap away from a public indecency charge.

I rush through a shower despite my shaking legs, knowing Nebula will feel awful later if we miss the protest. Activist events became a regular occurrence for my alpha mate shortly after Elizabeth passed. Her death was the catalyst igniting his desire to fight, but we each have personal reasons behind our drive for equality.

We fight for the freedom of others who are stuck in similar situations to those we grew up in. Living in states where their freedom to be themselves is often taken away or suppressed. Where they may feel forced to reject their Fated connections in order to survive.

Everyone deserves to live without hiding their designation. To find their pack or mate without fear of persecution. To be free to follow the path Fate sets before them.

My mind whirls relentlessly during our drive. Notes and lyrics driven by the image of frigid winter waters and the vibrant scent of honeysuckle. A sense of urgency fills me, much like the moments before my release this morning. Pen must be put to paper to relieve this building intensity.

Inspiration sometimes strikes at the most inopportune moments. Luckily, I’ve adjusted to the need to put my words to ink in any situation. Including a bumpy car ride.

The music fades from my mind what feels like moments later. Sound slowly filters back in. I shake my hands out to fight the cramps I get from spending so long writing, wincing when a sharp pain shoots along my wrist.

Titan’s large palms wrap around them. Calloused fingers dig into the skin with enough pressure to alleviate the ache. Leaning back in my seat, I offer my packmate a thankful smile. He doesn’t reply as he focuses on working the tension out of my hands, but I can feel his love through our pack bond.

“How long was I working?” I question. My eyes fall to the window seeing we are in the city somewhere, but with the loss of time I experience when writing, I can’t be sure which city it is.

“A little under an hour. We’re almost there now.” Titan releases my hand now that the pain is fading.

Towering over me by nearly half a foot, I watch as he pulls his long hair into a tight bun at the back of his head. He prefers to leave the dark strands down, but we learned long ago having it pulled up during a protest is the best option. One too many times things turned heated and his hair wound up taking the most damage after it got caught in other protestors' signs or thrown hands.

Hopefully, the protest today doesn’t follow the same path, but given the Senator from New Hampshire, Adam Pierson, recently announced his intention to run in the upcoming presidential election, I have a feeling things may be even more intense than usual. New Hampshire is one of the more savage states regarding anti-pack policies. A crusade spearheaded by one of the state’s most popular figureheads, Pastor Grant Montgomery.

Nausea churns in my stomach thinking about the Pastor. If even a small portion of the rumors we’ve heard through friends at the DAU are accurate, the Pastor deserves much worse than a lifetime in prison.

The plaza where the protest is being held is already full by the time we arrive. Police barriers block the front of the capitol building where several Senators from anti-pack states are meeting this week to discuss yet another attempt to overrule the previous law put in place to protect pack rights across the nation. They are calling for each state to have the right to determine pack rights based on internal voting and not national popular opinion.

Even with ample scientific evidence proving the necessity of packs, too many states refuse to admit non-monogamous pairings have any benefit in our world. Knowing there are packs out there who have to hide their relationships to stay safe saddens me. Everyone should have a chance to find the same love I have with my own mates.

I keep my hand tightly wrapped around Nexus and Titan as Nebula leads us through the crowd toward the front. We have a small group of DAU friends we often meet up with at these events.

The Designation Activist Underground–DAU–is publicly known for its many faces. Namely funding scientific research for easily accessible suppressants and designation-friendly birth control. Privately, they work to infiltrate and dismantle extremist organizations as well as rescuing at-risk citizens in anti-pack states. They also organize protests like this one.

I let out a sigh of relief when I see our friends Shepherd and Foster through the crowd of bodies in front of us. Shepherd has his arms wrapped protectively around his omega’s shoulder preventing him from being swallowed by the crowd.

The alpha is close to Nebula’s height, but bulkier. Short, strawberry blonde hair and neatly trimmed facial hair give him a much more rugged look than any of my packmates. Foster is only an inch or two shorter than I am with dark wavy black hair. He waves enthusiastically when his mate points us out before turning back to whomever he is talking to.

We’d met the pair shortly after moving to New York, at a protest, and had quickly grown attached. After we learned about what happened to Foster’s brother, an alpha who was murdered by anti-designation extremists when traveling for work, he and Nebula found solidarity between them. Both lost someone they loved deeply to the cruel, disparaged viewpoints of those who actively argue against designations.

Stepping into the crowd at their side, my breath catches in my throat when I see our new tour photographer, Omen, speaking animatedly with the male omega. I don’t have to look to my side to know my packmates are as keenly aware of her as I am.

From the moment we met, she’s consumed my thoughts. At first, it was curiosity, wanting to know more about the person we’d be spending so much time with over the next two months. After browsing her portfolio, curiosity quickly turned to obsession. Her photos are true works of art. Captured in a way that highlights the intense emotion of each scene.

I relate to Omen’s creativity like I have no other. Each picture, whether a solo or a series, speaks with the same passion as my lyrics often do. I’ve been counting down the days until the start of the tour, excitement filling me at the thought of watching her in action. Curious to see if she gets as lost behind the lens as I do in composition.

“Long time no see, gorgeous,” Nexus greets her with a wink. His lips are stretched into a broad smile, so full of sunshine and playfulness.

Omen’s icy blue eyes turn to us and I’m caught in a sea of crashing waves, unable to catch my breath as I get lost in their depths. I’m drowning, but I can’t find the will to try to find the surface. My soul is content to spend eternity adrift in her presence.

“It has only been a few days, Nexus,” she replies, fidgeting with the strap of her bag, “but it’s nice to see you too.”

“We haven’t seen you at a protest before,” Nebula scowls.

I can sense his suspicion through our bond, and I’m speaking before I have time to think it through. “She does photojournalism for the DAU’s public front.” My cheeks burn as everyone's attention turns to me. “I, um, looked at her portfolio after Brady introduced us,” I explain, one hand rubbing the back of my neck awkwardly. So much for not admitting to my packmates how deeply she’s caught my interest.

“That is true. Though I usually stick to the edges of the crowd or gain a higher vantage point for a better view,” Omen explains. Her cheeks are as pink as I imagine my own to be. Seeing her embarrassment under our attention eases my own anxiety.

“How did you get involved with the DAU?” Nexus asks as he inches closer to her, not even attempting to fight the pull we all feel to the omega.

“The Powells play a big role in DAU activity in New York and along the East Coast,” Shepherd answers. He gives Omen a look I can’t decipher, and she gives him a tight smile. I can’t help but wonder how the two of them met. Unfortunately, it isn’t my place to dig further.

The dull roar of the crowd turns to a cacophony of screamed objections and calls for action. Peeking through the sea of people and signs, I watch as a spokesperson works their way through the capitol steps to the front of the building, microphone in hand to address the crowd.

Omen scrambles to stand on a nearby bench, camera in hand. I bite back a laugh when both Nebula and Titan reach out a hand to steady her, matching frowns on their faces as they eye her precarious perch. Their instincts are probably screaming how unsafe the omega’s position is, but they’re fighting the urge to scold her for it.

I tug on the back of both of their shirts and shake my head, wordlessly reminding them she isn’t theirs to take care of.

My mind refuses to focus on the man’s speech, still drawn to the north star beside us. She watches the crowd with rapt attention, giving me a chance to study her. A long, narrow nose. Lips painted a deep burgundy and begging to be kissed. Her eyes remind me of water running off a snowy mountain. Waves of white amongst the lightest shades of blue-gray.

Something the government advocate says has her gaze flicking to Shepherd and I swear I can see the outline of a contact, but I blink and it’s gone. A trick of the light, I imagine.

Omen gets lost behind the lens of her camera. Her focus narrowed to the images she is capturing. I watch with rapt fascination, studying each group she turns her focus to and trying to anticipate which emotions she is trying to convey in each shot.

It is captivating to watch her work. Her teeth dig into her bottom lip, and she holds her breath as she waits for the perfect moment. The peak of the individual's passion immortalized with a click of a button.

I cannot wait to be the object of her focus. To have those icy eyes fixed on me. What will she see when she looks at me? The beta who will do anything he can to keep the peace, even to his own detriment?

Or will she see the artist who speaks through his music in a way he’s never managed in conversation? Who gets so lost in his creative process, the world around him ceases to exist?

Regardless of the answer, I know my pack will be irrevocably changed in two months on the road with Omen.