Page 34 of Worthy or Knot (Serendipity Omegaverse #3)

Thirty-Four

CHARLOTTE

M arcus keeps his hands over Cole’s eyes as Megan carefully guides him up the front steps of our home.

Each step is careful but without fear, Cole’s trust in them both to keep him safe obvious in every movement of his body.

It makes me want to climb him like a tree and mark up his neck so everyone knows he’s mine.

I swallow down the sudden, nearly violent, desire and press my thighs together.

Apparently a wild foursome is exactly the key to unlock every potential inhibition I have around sex and gratuitous public displays of affection.

Not that Marcus and I aren’t touchy. And Cole is openly affection, too. This is just… a whole new level.

Marcus raises an eyebrow as I just stand there, blocking the door.

“Whoops, sorry,” I mutter. Then, louder, “No peeking!”

Cole laughs. “I don’t know why you think Marcus would ever let me cheat at this, Lottie.”

My chest flushes. The way his voice just wrapped around that nickname? Divine, I swear. God, I need him under me again, need him inside me until I manage to dig into his bones so I know I’m always with him. Cole groans, and Megan laughs.

“You all are impossible,” she jokes in a warm, happy voice. “We literally just got done having a foursome twice on a stranger’s yacht.”

Her hand tightens around Cole’s, her knuckles whitening, and I know it’s only a joke. Especially when she focuses on me, and I see the heat in her gaze. I’m not the only one feeling even more aroused now than when we started fucking Cole at the same time out on the ocean.

Marcus groans. “You have to at least let him get inside before you pounce again. I don’t really want the neighbors to see us fuck him in broad daylight.”

Right. Inside first. Plus, there’s the surprise from his dads.

He should see that before I take him to his nest and insist we recreate the foursome a third time.

I unlock the front door and hold it open so Marcus can guide Cole through it and to the living room.

I press into his side as Marcus drops his hands away, letting Cole see the gift.

It’s nestled in the far corner, the sofas rearranged just enough to give space around it.

It’s an upright piano, the only kind we could manage to fit in our home.

It blends in, really, the old walnut stain a perfect blend of the cool grey and warm red of the bricks.

The gold script of the brand—Blüthner—shines.

They left the cover up, so the ivory keys reflect the warm light of the lamp in the corner.

Cole stops breathing for a moment, his shock a living thing in the room with us. I grab his elbow and press my cheek into his arm.

“Do you like it?” I ask.

Cole doesn’t immediately answer, and worry gnaws at my stomach in a heartbeat.

“Cole?” Marcus whispers. “What’s wrong?”

“You didn’t need to get me something like this. It’s…” He swallows. “I don’t need anything this extravagant.”

Megan hums. “Your dads did. They said they got your sisters a present when they finalized their matches, and they wanted to do the same for you.”

“My dads got me it?” His voice is breathy now, like he can’t believe this is happening.

“They did.” Then, quieter, I ask, “Will you play for us? Your dads said you’re really, really good.”

He kisses the top of my head in answer, and I can’t help but grin.

He crosses the room and pulls out the new piano bench, easing onto it.

He pauses, looking over the entire piano again, awe still evident in the set of his shoulders.

And then he plays. It’s a song I know well, that any ballet dancer would know even without the full orchestra.

“ Swan Lake’s Intermezzo ,” I murmur. I cross the room, settling on the sofa nearest him, enraptured by the way his long fingers curve over the keys, pulling sound from them. The piano is exquisite, the harmonics near-perfect. “This song is so beautiful. Haunting, but beautiful.”

He looks up from the keys and smiles. “It’s one of my favorites.”

“I’ll go make dinner,” Megan murmurs.

Arousal burns in my body. I’m ready to jump him again, to hear the desperate noise he makes when my lock tightens down on him. But Marcus squeezes my hand as he passes me to stand behind Cole, and I know he wants a minute alone. So instead, I follow Megan into the kitchen.

“I’ll help,” I tell her when she looks over her shoulder.

The next afternoon, Cole and I stand on the curb just in front of the townhouse, waiting for the car he’s ordered to take us to Broadway up north.

Marcus and Megan are both out, catching up on chores and shopping that’s been brushed to the back burner the last week that Cole’s been out here with us.

“You’re stunning,” Cole murmurs in my ear before kissing just below it.

A pulse of heat settles low in my belly, and my scent explodes around us.

His doesn’t in response, though, carefully hidden under his scent blockers that are almost as fancy as the navy slacks and off-white silk shirt he wears with the top three buttons left undone.

My gaze catches on the hollow of his throat, and then the very edge of Marcus’s scar, just visible.

Between his hair that’s grown out a bit—the waves more prominent now—the smooth skin of his chest, the luxurious luster and feel of his shirt, and the gold watch that adorns his left wrist that perfectly coordinates with his new rings, he’s the literal definition of wealthy heartthrob.

And he’s mine.

He tucks me closer into him, plasters my body against his without a care in the world who might be watching, and then kisses me.

His lips are a salvation, warm and inviting.

And his taste? It’s heaven. He’s never been this relaxed anywhere outside except on the yachts where he feels unseen. I revel in it.

The sound of a car pulling to the curb breaks us apart.

His eyes trace over me again, over the light purple satin that brings out the golden honey of my skin and eyes and small diamond necklace that sits in the hollow of my throat.

I’ve pulled my hair back, twisting it into an updo that keeps my neck bare.

I’m probably way too formal for a matinee performance, but I’ll take any excuse to dress up with him, my Omega.

A man steps out of the car, a polite smile on his lips.

“Mr. Harper?” he asks.

Another thrill goes down my spine. Harper .

“Good afternoon,” Cole says, offering the man the hand that isn’t twisted in the back of my dress.

The sun winks off the rings, and I have to clench my thighs. Shit, I should have locked him before we got ready in our nice clothes. Because now? Now I might just end up ruining all of them before we get to the show.

Cole laces our hands together as the man opens the back door. And then he kisses my knuckles once we’re settled and the driver is easing the car back onto the crowded street. He runs his nose down my throat, breathing deeply. Scenting me.

I eye the barrier between us and the driver. That’s dark enough, right? Thick enough?

“I love how you smell,” Cole whispers before kissing the slope of my shoulder. “It’s such a good balance to mine.”

That heat unfurls, and my control snaps. I need to feel him, need to taste him, need to have him inside me during this entire musical we’re about to see, need to have my scent all over him so when everyone else sees him, they know he’s mine.

Before I can talk sense back into myself, I twist, lifting my dress so I can straddle him. His eyes are half-closed, and his lips are parted, like he knew exactly what he was doing to me.

“Have you been trying to get in my pants this entire time?” I narrow my eyes, and he flushes.

“You’re not wearing pants.” He runs his hands up my bare legs to prove his point. The gold of his watch disappearing under the fabric does incredible things to my heart rate. My scent pulses out from me again.

“Omega…” I drawl.

He mutters a curse, something rare enough I appreciate it for the loss of control that it is.

“It’s not my fault. You’ve been touching me all damn morning,” he mutters, his eyes fluttering closed for a heartbeat. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. “I… I can’t help it that you made me need you so bad and didn’t do anything about it until right this minute.”

I can’t help but laugh. And then I’m scrabbling at his belt as he kisses up my neck and across my jaw.

I shove his pants down, and he lifts his hips to help.

I shove them all the way to his ankles. If we’re actually going to manage to walk into the theatre and see the musical, we can’t get his pants dirty.

Apple explodes around us, so strong I lose my breath for a moment. It’s so think I can practically taste it. The thought niggles in my mind, like trying to pull up a memory, but it flies right back into the recesses of everything as I stroke his cock and he grunts at the sudden touch.

“Fuck, Lottie,” he gasps. “You’re always so bold.”

I smirk. And then I moan as his long, graceful fingers trace all the way up my thighs and then move my panties to the side. His touch is so featherlight, I can’t help but jerk when he traces my opening and then slips a single finger inside. I clench down around him, and he groans.

“I want to taste you so damn bad,” he whispers. “But there’s no way we have time for that if you want to lock me.”

No, there isn’t.

Even if traffic is awful, there’s no more than half an hour between us and the theatre.

“Next time,” I promise him. “You can taste me next time.”

He lets his touch fall away with a nod, then holds my hips. With a steady hold on the base of his cock, I guide him into me and slide down, flattening my hands against his shoulders for leverage and stability. He tilts his head back as I take every last inch of him.

“Holy hell, it’s better every single time,” he says, desperate and breathless. The ragged gasp of breath goes straight to my stomach, to the heat building between my thighs. “And seeing you in this dress? It’s so perfect.”

I tilt my hips, trying to get him even deeper. There’s a different burn between us this time, the need for deep and intimate, not really for hard and fast. I press closer to him and this kiss him, coaxing his tongue out to play. He cups my cheek, the warm metal of his rings a jolt to my system.

The need to mark him, to burrow into his bones, gets even stronger. Its intensity is overwhelming, impossible to think around. My release builds, fluttering though my veins.

“You’re so beautiful,” Cole whispers against my lips. And then he pulls away. “Especially when you come. I love watching it happen.”

I grab his wrist as I slip over the edge, my lock tightening down on him as unadulterated pleasure races through my body and steals my vision.

I don’t mean to bite down, don’t even realize it’s what I’m doing as I try to process the aftershocks of the orgasm.

Cole cries out, practically screams, and then he’s pulsing inside me, coming with me.

The pleasure gets even stronger. I collapse against him, unable to stay upright under the onslaught of stimulation and sensation. He shakes under me.

Eventually, the pleasure slowly ebbs, and I cuddle closer into him, rubbing my cheek against the palm of his hand. He runs his hand up my back, tracing each knob of my spine with a feather-light caress. Amusement unfurls just under my sternum.

“What’s so funny?” I ask him.

“Just you,” he whispers. “How you cuddle like a cat after locking me. It’s adorable. I love it.”

I press tighter into him, breathing in his scent, soaking in the bliss that always comes after we lock.

And then the reality of what I did, what it’s caused, sinks into me like shards of ice.

I stiffen in his hold, but he doesn’t drop his arms. He only holds me tighter, keeping me pressed against him.

“Don’t,” he whispers against the crown of my head.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” I say. “I don’t know?—”

“Charlotte, stop.” His voice is hard, brooking no argument. “I could have pulled my hand away when I realized what you were going to do.”

“But bonds are something that should be talked about, not decided in the heat of the moment.”

Damn, I might actually be getting hysterical. He runs a thumb over my jaw and down my throat.

“The way birth control should be?” His voice is dry and full of humor. I sigh against his chest. “Really, Charlotte. Don’t panic. You can feel me now. You can feel how happy I am.”

I let my eyes flutter closed and focus on the foreign sensations in my chest. He’s right. He is happy. Happy and amused and sated. Tension releases from my body, and I cuddle closer into him.

“This dress is beautiful, by the way.”

“I wore it to the gala,” I admit.

“Jesus, I’m lucky the Council actually picked me, then. Because you’re a goddess in this, Lottie.”

Warmth spreads in my chest from his compliment. I try to soak up all the touch, all the sensations that are in my chest that aren’t actually mine, like I’m an Omega starved for touch. The car slows just as my lock releases him.

He kisses my temple, and then helps adjust my dress. I ease his pants and scent blockers back into place, watching with hungry eyes as he redoes his belt and fixes his shirt. The watch and shirt nearly cover the new bite mark. He twines his fingers with mine just as the door unlocks.

“Let’s go see this musical,” he whispers.