Page 33 of When She Needs Them Most

Letting myself in through the garage door, I disarm and reset the system. On the way through the kitchen, I set my bag on the table and go searching.

Chelsea’s door is closed, but I don’t knock. I’ll ask for forgiveness rather than permission in this case.

The little omega is snoozing on the bed with her dark blonde hair falling all over her pretty face. She’s right in the middle of the queen-size mattress, so I could climb behind her, but I’d have to start at the bottom because the mattress is pushed into the corner of the room. She’s facing toward the door as she sleeps, so I can either face her or I could face the door and scoot back until I’m the little spoon.

Little spoon, it is.

Kicking off my shoes, I make my way across the room. I tug off my long-sleeve T-shirt, tossing it aside, and handle my belt as quietly as possible. I would lose the jeans, too, because they’re annoying as hell to try to sleep in, but I don’t want to risk making her uncomfortable. Climbing onto the edge of the mattress is a slow process as I cover us up and wiggle backward until I hit her knees.

We’re basically sharing half of a queen-size bed, but I don’t mind. It makes snuggling a necessity. My hand stretches back until I find hers resting on her thigh. Giving it a gentle tug, I wrap her arm over mine and intertwine our fingers.

There’s no doubt in my mind that I fall somewhere on the ACE spectrum, but I’ve never cared to assign myself a specific label describing where I fall on that spectrum. It changes occasionally, anyway. I consider myself mostly sex ambivalent, but thinking about Chelsea, I find myself leaning slightly more toward sex favorable.

Although, there’s no guarantee how long that will last.

I’m much more likely to crave physical affection and comfort than the act of sex itself, and Lincoln has never made a fuss if I crawl onto the couch to ask for a cuddle. He’s actually the first person who suggested I might want to do a little research about asexuality.

And I have, but I seem to ebb and flow in and out of each description I’ve studied. I’ve had periods during my life when I considered acting on sexual desire. I’ve just never worked up the level of commitment necessary to follow through.

Women are beautiful and smart and ridiculously intimidating.

That’s a whole lot of pressure to manage, but that’s the thing…

I want Chelsea to want me.

Arden may view our jobs as too dangerous to risk bonding an omega or having a family, but I want children. I always assumed I’d rely on one of my packmates to do the consummation part, while I focused on snuggles and emotional support, but Chelsea comes with a built-in future already in her stomach.

And the thought doesn’t scare me at all. There’s no doubt in my mind that I would be a good dad. All three of us would be, and with how drawn to Chelsea we are, we just need to declare our intent to court her.

Then maybe persuade her to like us. Oh, and convince her to not be terrified when she finds out about the other half of what makes up our job.

My nose twitches with Chelsea’s sugary sweet scent. It’s everywhere and way more potent than normal. There’s an enticing under layer that appeals to my system on some baserlevel I’ve never experienced. We relocated while we slept, and Chelsea’s head now rests on my bare chest. The baby belly lies half on my stomach and half on the bed, with her thigh tossed over my pelvis.

It’s a very intimate position, made even more precarious by the way her thigh brushes my hard cock. Several additional seconds pass as I try to determine how I feel about this new development. It’s not unpleasant. If anything, the friction is enjoyable…like when I jerk off.

She seems to be asleep, and that could be lessening the pressure.

Performance anxiety is no fucking joke. A low groan escapes Chelsea’s lips, vibrating against my chest as she jolts. My hand tightens on her lower back to keep her in place, and I bring the other to her chin.

Her skin scalds mine, and my jaw falls. Her big blue eyes are red and glassy, and it only ratchets my panic higher.

“Hi,” she says, licking her lips.

“God, Chelsea, you’re burning up. Are you okay?” I tease a finger over her pink cheek.

She uses her arm to push up a little as she leans over me. My heart pounds at the weight of her breasts pushing against my chest.

“I don’t know.” Her free hand comes to rest on my shoulder. “Nutty blueberries…” The rest disappears into a whine as she marks my cheeks one by one.

I’m so busy trying to figure out what the whine means that I end up palming her head while her nose buries in my throat. Warm flicks of her tongue over my skin make my dick jolt against the baby belly.

I think that’s what it is, anyway. It’s impossible to focus with how heavy her pheromones are in the air. She moves more on top of me, but I don’t mind.

A gasping breath escapes her lips, and the warm air puffing over my skin makes me shiver.

“I’m not in heat,” she mumbles, nipping at my earlobe. “Right? No, that’s impossible, but God, Kase. I’m so hot, like the burning alive feeling that comes in the days right before I go into heat.” She grinds her hips, and my hand flattens on her back.

Chelsea kisses up my jaw and over my cheek before pushing her lips to mine. I growl, locking my muscles tight to keep from rolling her. My instincts are screaming to cage her in, so she can’t escape, and then I’m supposed to…

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