Page 20 of Heat Clickbait
"The sound system," Ghost murmured against my shoulder, his teeth grazing skin that had long since been marked by all of them. His voice, when he spoke above a whisper, was like gravel and smoke, roughened by three days of sounds I'd pulled from him. "Twenty-seven speakers. Perfect coverage. No dead zones."
"For streaming?" I asked, though the answer was obvious.
"For privacy," he corrected, and I felt his omega-bite scar brush against my neck, a reminder of trauma overcome and trust rebuilt. "White noise generation that can mask... sounds. From outside. And inside, when necessary."
Of course. Because Ghost understood the need for privacy, for keeping some things sacred even in our age of constant documentation. For protecting vulnerable moments from a world that would consume them given the chance.
"The kitchen annex," Milo added, his hands doing something magical to the tension in my shoulders even as the heat wave built higher. "Induction cooktop for safety. Everything at counter height so cooking doesn't require bending over during... sensitive times."
The implications of that made me flush even hotter. They'd thought through the logistics of keeping me fed during heat with such practical care it made my chest ache. How many details had they considered that I'd never even thought of?
"The emergency protocols," Blitz said, and his voice had gone serious despite his hands' continued exploration. "Medical alert system. Direct line to Dr. Yates. Backup power supply. Safe word integration with room controls."
"Safe word?" I managed to ask, my voice already going breathless as the wave crested higher.
"'Strawberry,'" Nova supplied, his accent making even emergency protocols sound sophisticated. "Say it and the systemimmediately cuts all environmental stimulation. Lights to full bright, temperature to neutral, white noise on, locks disengage."
They'd thought of everything. Every single detail that could make this space safe and comfortable and perfect for an Omega in heat. For me, specifically, though they hadn't known it would be me. The level of care, of consideration, of hope they'd built into these walls was staggering.
"The blankets," Crash said proudly, pulling one over us even as our bodies tangled together in configurations that should have been impossible but felt inevitable. "Fifteen different weights. Every texture known to man. Some I had to import from specialty manufacturers in Sweden."
"Sweden?" I laughed, but it turned into a moan as someone's fingers, Blitz's, from the size, found exactly where I needed them.
"They take their textiles seriously in Scandinavia," Crash defended, his chaos energy focused into tender care that made my heart race. "And look, you're currently wrapped in?—"
Whatever he was going to say got lost as the wave crested, and I shattered into pieces held together only by their hands, their mouths, their presence. The room responded to my climax, lights dimming to a warm glow, temperature adjusting to cool my overheated skin, even the air circulation shifting to bring me more of their combined scents in perfect proportion.
"It knows," I gasped when I could speak again, aftershocks still making my muscles twitch. "The room actually knows."
"It learns," Ghost confirmed, and there was pride in his voice, the quiet satisfaction of a creator seeing his work succeed beyond expectations. "Every response, every preference. Building a profile of optimal conditions for your specific needs."
"For next time," Nova added, then seemed to realize what he'd said. "If there is a next time. We're not assuming?—"
"There'll be a next time," I said firmly, surprising myself with the certainty. "And a time after that. And after that."
Because even through the biological fog, even as my body demanded things my mind hadn't fully processed yet, I knew this was different. This wasn't just heat response or pheromone compatibility or true mate nonsense.
This was five men who'd spent months building hope into physical form. Who'd created not just a space but a promise, that if someone needed them, they'd be ready. That they'd thought through every detail, every contingency, every possible need.
"The nest recognizes me," I said softly, running my hand along the nearest wall, feeling those micro-textures they'd researched and selected and installed with their own hands. "But you built it to recognize someone. Anyone. Everyone."
"We built it to recognize our Omega," Milo corrected gently, his voice warm with affection and something deeper. "Whoever that might be."
"And the room decided it was me?"
"No," Nova said, his control finally cracking completely as another wave started building in my body, stronger than before. "We decided it was you. The room just... agreed."
The next wave hit before I could respond, but it didn't matter. Words were becoming irrelevant anyway, replaced by touches and scents and the fundamental communication of bodies that had learned to move together like parts of a whole.
What mattered was the way they moved together, the way the nest supported us, the way every carefully planned detail combined to create something greater than its parts. The room had been waiting for me, but more importantly, they had. And as I surrendered to the heat, to them, to whatever this was becoming, I thought maybe I'd been waiting for them too.
Even if I'd never admitted it. Even if I'd built my entire brand on not needing exactly this.
The nest knew better. The nest had always known.
And maybe, surrounded by five Alphas who'd built hope into architectural form, cradled in fabrics they'd scented with dreams of someone they'd never met, I was finally starting to know too.
CHAPTER NINE
