Page 47 of Heat Hesitation

I meet Asher halfway, our lips crashing together. Shaking with excitement, I open myself in a way I never have. I've never been with an alpha before Enzo, and I've definitely never been with more than one person at once. It's normal for packs, but the feeling of having the two of them, one at my back and one at my front, ready to worship me is heady.

Enzo's hands explore my hips. He doesn't tease; that's not Enzo. He learns, searches, discovers, dissecting every whimper and shiver of my reaction.

While Asher kisses me, I can feel his desperation for me, his year of longing; the pain, the sadness, the loneliness, the slow exploration like a soothing balm filling in all the cracks. Asher's hands leave my neck, trailing down to my collarbone.

My stomach growling changes the mood in the room instantly.

Asher pulls back, surprised, with an adoring and fucking heartbreakingly beautiful grin showcasing perfect white teeth before he laughs.

I'm soaked, and he knows it, but rather than continue to tease me, he grabs my hand again and pulls me out of the bedroom, Enzo hot on our heels.

The house is quiet and I'm both relieved and disappointed when I learn Sully's gone to the office. On a Sunday.

"It's not because of you," Asher assures me, loading up a plate of bacon, eggs, and pastries made by Greta, who had already taken off to give us some privacy.

Enzo contradicts him, "Yes, it is. He's afraid of her. She has the power to destroy him, and he knows she's angry." He turns to me, "He'll likely avoid you for a few days, hoping you'll become too attached to us and the house to care that he forced you out of your home."

"Dude." Asher wide-eyes his brother, his surprised cough turning into a chuckle. "I mean, he's not wrong." Shrugging, he continues to pile his plate three times the size of mine. I notice Asher's wearing jeans and a fitted white t-shirt, the most dressed down I've seen him, though Enzo is wearing a suit. Or a sport coat? He's missing the vest and pocket square, but he's still wearing nice pants and a jacket at the breakfast bar on a late Sunday morning.

I cock my head at him, "Do you ever dress down?"

"No," they both answer. Enzo amends, "I wear workout clothes, sometimes. I don't feel comfortable in anything else."

I hum an acknowledgment and go back to my breakfast while Asher watches my reaction. Did he think I'd judge Enzo? I don't care what he wears. He looks hot as fuck in a nerd-core, black glasses-wearing, intellectual kind of way. Enzo's features are sharp. His nose an aquiline slope, the dark iris of his eyes often obscured by the thick frames of his glasses, with a diamond-shaped face and cutting jaw.

Though he's looking down at his phone, my perusal doesn't go unnoticed. He slowly lifts his head and smirks, a faint blush painting his cheek. I ignore the shivering look and go back to my breakfast.

I've been holding off on asking about Theo all morning, still mad at him for flirting with Bridgette when he strolls around the corner from the door to the gym, clad in nothing but gray sweatpants. The bulge at the waist is so damn distracting it takes physical effort to draw my eyes up, away from the anaconda I'm sure he's packing beneath that material. It practically swings as he walks, each step a flexing thrust.

Unfortunately, along the way, my eyes drag over hardened abs and sweaty, glistening, golden tan skin encasing in an honest to god adonis belt.

My swallow is audible, and when I reach his face, his stupid, goddamn beautiful face that magazines love, I grit my teeth and manage to look away.

"Hey baby, you get enough to eat? Can I make you anything else?" He leans into my space, his honey-lemon scent making me whimper.

"Nope." My response is higher-pitch than I'd have liked.

He reaches over and steals a piece of bacon off my plate, and I shoot him a glare. I finish my breakfast while he moves around the kitchen, fixing his plate. Enzo works on his phone, the screen showing a bunch of graphs and numbers. Asher makes small talk, Theo and I taking turns responding.

When Theo brings up the elephant in the room, I school my expression.

"So, movers should be swinging by your old place early tomorrow morning and bringing everything back here right after. You want to keep everything or should I tell them to toss it?"

"Why would they toss anything?" I fold my arms across my chest. He's trying to provoke me.

"Well, your couch is a total piece of shit. Most of the furniture is if I remember correctly. We could just bring everything to the dump, and I can take you shopping for new clothes."

"Dammit, Theo," Asher groans, running his hand through his thick brown hair.

"I'm sorry, honey, did you want to keep all that?" He turns to me.

"You're a dick." Baby, honey. His endearments are gross. I like it when Asher calls me little one because I'm short, and it suits me. And it's sweet coming from him. Theo just sounds like he's reading a script on how to get into an omega's pants.

"I'm just saying, if you're going to be pissed at Sully for getting you out of that dump, you can be pissed at me too because I'm all for it. Your clothes aren't bad, but you hide your shape too much. You should wear something more fitted. Especially around the…" He curves his hands through the air, indicating my hips.

"I'm going to murder you."

"You're a Constantine now, sweetheart. You gotta look the part."

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