Page 18 of Heat Clickbait
"Later," she breathed, pulling me down. "Everything else is for later."
She was right. The internet, the drama, the business opportunities? All of it could wait.
We had an Omega to take care of.
And somewhere in the back of my mind, as I lost myself in her scent again, I made a mental note to thank Zia properly. Anyone who cared enough to threaten us over Callie's wellbeing was good people in my book.
The rest of the world could wait.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Callie
The nest had become something more than the sum of its carefully designed parts. Three days into my heat, I'd stopped seeing the walls as boundaries and started recognizing them as extensions of the men who'd built this space with their bare hands and desperate hope. Every surface, every texture, every carefully calibrated environmental control spoke of months of planning, not just for any Omega, but for the possibility of us.
"Temperature zone three needs adjusting," Ghost said from his tablet, not looking up from whatever biometric data he was monitoring. His voice, which was rough from general disuse, had taken on an even more gravelly tone and I couldn't help but wonder if it was from the sounds I'd pulled from him an hour ago when his knot had locked us together in the center of the nest, his usual whispered communications replaced by growls that resonated in my bones. The geometric patterns on his arm seemed to pulse in the adjustable lighting, and I traced them with my eyes, remembering how they'd looked pressed against my thighs, how the black ink had stood out stark against my flushed skin.
His fingers moved across the tablet with practiced precision, adjusting variables I couldn't even comprehend through the pleasant fog of post-orgasmic satisfaction. The man who barely spoke during streams was conducting an orchestra of environmental controls, each micro-adjustment based on data points he'd been collecting since the moment I'd entered the nest.
"She's not cold," Milo countered from the kitchen annex, where he was doing something that smelled like cinnamon and butter and made my mouth water despite the fact I'd barely been able to keep down water between waves. His golden skin glistened with a fine sheen of sweat, the sleeve tattoo of wildflowers on his right arm seeming to bloom in the warm light as he moved. "Her temperature's been stable for the past forty minutes. Look at the readout?—"
He gestured toward one of the discrete monitoring displays embedded in the kitchen's backsplash, and I marveled again at how thoroughly they'd thought this through. Every surface in the nest served multiple purposes, every detail considered from the perspective of care rather than just function.
"It's the humidity differential," Nova interrupted, that crisp accent making even technical discussions sound like poetry. He sat cross-legged near my head, fingers carding through my sweat-damp pink hair with methodical precision that belied the way his breathing had only just returned to normal. Each stroke sent little sparks down my spine, my body so hypersensitive that even gentle touch felt electric. "The zone boundaries need recalibration based on her pheromone concentration. The air circulation system is designed to distribute scent evenly, but her output has increased exponentially since yesterday."
His business casual facade had long since crumbled, designer shirt long since discarded, perfectly groomed hair mussed from my fingers, that family signet ring on his right pinky catchingthe light as he touched me with reverent care. The small burn scar on his left palm, earned during their pack bonding ritual, pressed warm against my scalp.
I wanted to tell them I didn't care about humidity differentials or zone boundaries, but another wave was building, making coherent thought impossible. The sensation started low in my belly, a familiar heat that had nothing to do with the room's temperature controls and everything to do with the five Alphas who'd spent days learning the rhythm of my body's demands.
My back arched as it crashed over me, and all of them moved at once, a synchronized response that should have been impossible without practice but felt as natural as breathing. It was like watching a dance they'd choreographed in dreams, each knowing instinctively where the others would be, what I'd need before I knew it myself.
Crash was there first, his compact body sliding behind me to support my weight, his electric scent making my skin prickle everywhere we touched. The energy drink and rain combination that should have been harsh instead grounded me, his usually chaotic energy channeled into something steady and sure. "I've got you," he murmured against my temple, and for once his usual manic intensity was banked to a steady flame that warmed rather than burned. "Ride it out, babe. We're here."
His hands settled on my waist with surprising gentleness, those stick-and-poke tattoos done during streams now mapping territories of care across my overheated skin. The slight gap between his front teeth showed when he smiled down at me, that bright expression softer than anything his streaming persona ever displayed.
The wave peaked, and I heard myself making sounds that would have mortified me days ago but now felt like the most honest communication I'd ever managed. No carefully craftedstreaming persona, no witty comebacks or savage observations. Just pure need, transmitted directly through vocal cords that had forgotten how to lie, had never learned to hide from these men who seemed to understand my body's language better than I did.
"Water," Blitz said, already moving with that fluid grace that made his workout streams mesmerizing. His golden brown skin gleamed under the nest's adjusted lighting, those dimples appearing as he focused entirely on my needs. The bottle appeared at my lips before I could even process wanting it, and he supported my head while I drank, his massive frame making me feel delicate in a way that should have been threatening but wasn't. "Good girl. Just like that."
The praise did something to my hindbrain that I didn't want to examine too closely. Not yet. Not while my body was still reorganizing itself around their presence, learning to expect care instead of performance, comfort instead of content.
His green eyes, inherited from his grandmother, he'd told me during a quiet moment between waves, tracked every micro-expression on my face, reading my needs like he'd spent years studying the manual of me instead of days.
"The walls," I managed between sips, my voice hoarse from sounds I hadn't known I could make. "Tell me again about the walls."
It was easier to focus on the room than on what was happening to me, how my body had betrayed every principle I'd built my brand on, how these five strangers had become essential to my survival in the span of days. How my carefully constructed independence had dissolved the moment their combined scents hit my nervous system.
"Micro-textured for sensory variation," Ghost supplied, and I turned my head to find him closer than I'd expected, close enough that his midnight scent wrapped around me likearmor. Winter pine and black coffee with hints of leather, complex and comforting in ways that made my hindbrain purr with satisfaction. "Nova researched optimal patterns for... stimulation."
His pale skin made the geometric tattoos on his left arm stand out in stark relief, and I found myself wanting to trace each line with my tongue, to taste the stories inked into his skin. The pack symbol on his right wrist seemed to pulse with significance I was only beginning to understand.
Nova's fingers stilled in my hair for just a moment, and I felt his embarrassment like a physical thing, his usual polished composure cracking to reveal something more vulnerable underneath. "It was purely theoretical research."
"You read academic papers about heat nest construction for fun," Crash accused, but his tone held affection rather than mockery. "For months. I caught you at 3 AM with highlighters and everything. Color-coded notes in that fancy handwriting of yours."
"We all had our methods," Milo said, emerging from the kitchen with something that smelled impossibly good. His wavy dark brown hair flopped into his hazel eyes as he moved, that megawatt smile appearing as he approached us. "Ghost ran simulations. Crash tested every weighted blanket in existence. Blitz researched, uh, equipment that could be sanitized between... uses."
The way he said 'uses' made heat pool low in my belly again, my body already conditioning itself to respond to the subtle implications in their voices, the way they'd learned to navigate around the intensity of what we'd been sharing.
