Page 26 of Worthy or Knot (Serendipity Omegaverse #3)

Twenty-Six

COLE

“ T his is the last one.”

Marcus sets the box at the foot of my bed and then straightens, looking around the room.

It feels borderline asinine to have purchased brand new items for this room, but I wasn’t attached to most of the furnishings in my dads’ Seattle house—not enough to move them to the other side of the country, at least. The few items that made the cut traveled with me in the duffels yesterday.

They’re dropped just to the side of the French doors on the exterior wall that leads to the sunken patio, waiting to be unpacked along with all of the items that were delivered today.

Megan glances up from where she’s pulling the plastic wrap from the new dresser and armoire filling up most of the wall across from the windows.

I refused to let my dads pay for the white glove delivery despite their insistence.

Instead, the company had delivered everything to the middle of the room, and the four of us have spent the last hour or so rearranging all the pieces until the room felt comfortable.

Now, my bed takes up most of the wall with the stairs, the dark walnut nightstands blending with the minimalist frame of the same wood.

Both are three or so shades darker than the light oak floors.

On the far wall, the largest size Luvsac available takes up most of the open floor, flanked by bookcases that reach nearly to the ceiling.

Megan walks across the plush gray rug that defines my bed from the other half of the basement.

“What’s in that one?” she asks.

Marcus looks at the label on the last box.

“A sound system,” he says.

She nods. “I imagine you want it on the play half of the room?” She gestures toward the far wall and the still-empty bookshelves.

Marcus chuckles. “Hey, beds can be for play, too.”

My blush is fierce, but I don’t try to contradict him.

I can feel his interest in making any part of this room for play like a spreading warmth under my sternum.

He grunts as my own primitive response echoes through his blood, and then he grabs my arm and pulls me into him, wrapping a hand around my neck and pulling me close enough his lips touch mine.

This kiss isn’t soft or hesitant like the one he gave me yesterday in front of the girls.

No, this is hard and demanding like when he’d pressed me up against the wall last night.

My own apple scent swirls around us, blending with his nutmeg in a matter of seconds. It smells like fall in the best damn way.

“Not to be the cockblock of the century,” Megan says dryly, “but we’re on dinner duty tonight, and I just got the text that our order’s just about ready for pick-up down the street.”

Marcus sighs and pulls away. His cheeks are flushed, and his eyes are bright. The hard line of his dick presses into my hip. His lips slowly curve, showing off that single dimple. My scent grows stronger in a new wave.

With a shake of her head and roll of her eyes, Megan grabs Marcus’s elbow and pulls him away from me. I can’t help but laugh at his disgruntled huff. She winks as she leads him toward the stairs.

“We’ll be back in a bit,” she says.

Before she can get too far away, though, I grab her hand and press a kiss to her palm, remembering Marcus assuring me that no amount of time will be enough and letting it calm my nerves over doing all of this the wrong way. Her breath catches, and then her raspberry scent bleeds out from her.

She takes a half-step closer to me.

“If I don’t get him, neither do you, Megs,” Marcus says with feigned exasperation.

Megan sighs and pulls out of my light hold, following Marcus up the stairs.

“Guess I deserve that,” she says as she disappears.

A surge of happiness flows through the bond, and I laugh at them both.

Holy hell, I’m actually… happy. And hopeful. I turn away from the stairs, soaking in my new room—new nest.

Marcus’s sweatshirt lays in a heap near the foot of my bed where it must have fallen after he’d taken it off about ten minutes into moving all the furniture.

Without thinking, I grab it and press it to my nose, inhaling his scent.

It flows over me, washing through me like its own wave of refreshment.

Instinct has me tucking it under one of my new pillows, hoarding it like I’m some kind of raccoon desperate for scents instead of food.

“You can have my shirt, too, if you want,” Charlotte says, a smile in her voice.

I twist toward her, my cheeks heating. The room blurs for a minute, and I drop onto my bed to keep from falling over.

By the time my eyes can focus again, Charlotte’s already taken the curtains and assembled them, adjusting the fabric until it drapes just the way she wants it over the large windows and patio doors.

The sheer curtains cover most of the windows while the dark blue velvet panels stand as sentinels on either edge, effectively turning the entire exterior wall into a curtained accent piece.

She grins, a knowing gleam in her eyes, and walks toward me, her hips swaying with each step.

“Or I could roll around in your sheets for a bit,” she says. “That might be more effective than just leaving my hoodie down here when we go up for dinner.”

“You didn’t wear a hoodie down here,” I manage to say, my mouth suddenly dry.

She glances down at the plain black tee she wears. “True. Guess that only leaves me rolling, then.”

My breath catches in my throat as need rips through my body like a wildfire in the middle of a dead forest. Apple explodes around us, consuming every other scent that might have been lingering. The laundry detergent, the wood, the styrofoam, all gone under the weight of my own scent.

Charlotte’s eyes widen, and then she’s practically running, falling into me with way more grace than I could ever manage. Her legs are lean as they straddle me, her hands are confident as they twist into my hair. She’s gorgeous.

“Just roll?” I ask breathlessly, trying to make her laugh.

Her eyes sparkle as she grins. “I might be persuaded to do more than that. I could maybe flounce once or twice, too.”

“Hmmm,” I murmur before kissing her once. “I might need a demonstration. Just to make sure I know which one to pick.”

She grins, and then sage cocoons us, blending with my apple until I’m not sure I remember what they felt like separately.

Here, in my room, there aren’t any cameras, aren’t people who are obsessed with rich people who don’t even want their money.

Here, there’s just us. So I kiss her, cutting off her reply.

I kiss her like I wish I could have on that bench in Seattle, how I would have if I were anybody other than Sienna’s disappointment of an only son.

She settles more fully on top of me, her hips cradling against mine. When I finally pull away, she licks her lips, her eyes half-lidded and her chest flushed.

“What if I want something more than rolling or flouncing?” I ask, amusement gone from my voice. Instead, I push up into her, letting her feel the hard line of my dick. Her sage strengthens again.

“I could be persuaded,” she whispers.

I spread my hands along the waistband of her leggings before twisting my fingers into the hem of her shirt.

Instead of pulling it off, though, I let my thumbs trace her skin, slowly bringing the hem of the shirt up with my movements.

Her breath shudders out of her, an erratic rhythm, and sage emanates from her in steady, near-torturous waves.

“Fuck, you smell so good,” I admit.

Her cheeks flush with sudden embarrassment. I press my lips to the hollow of her throat. She tips her head back, giving me more room. My hands are to her breasts now, her shirt bunched in my grip.

“May I?”

She nods frantically. “Please,” she mutters.

I guide the shirt off her and then drop it behind me, right near my pillows.

Her bra is a light brown that nearly matches her skin.

I open the front closure without asking and then push the straps off her shoulders.

Her brown nipples are peaked, her chest flushed.

A strand of her hair falls between the swells as she tilts her chin back down, focusing on where I cup her and let my thumbs run along her sensitive nipples.

Eyes on hers, I lean forward and let my tongue trace one nipple and then the other, keeping my touch feather light, trying to remember what it’s like to be with a woman. It’s been years—before Marcus—since I’ve touched anyone like this.

“Cole,” she whispers.

Her hands twist into my hair, pulling me closer as she arches into me, silently asking for more.

I give it to her, taking her nipple fully into my mouth, sucking slightly before letting my teeth graze the sensitive flesh.

She jerks in my lap with a curse. I ease away, giving the same attention to her other breast, scraping the nipple just a bit harder than before.

“Are you persuaded?” I ask, my own voice hoarse with need.

She nods. “Yes,” she says in a rush, “but I’ve never locked before.”

Of course she hasn’t. She hasn’t been with anyone but Marcus since she designated, and he wouldn’t trigger her lock.

“That’s all right,” I say, quickly stripping out of my shirt while she’s still straddling me. “Neither have I.”