Page 11 of Pixel Perfect Pack

“Hey, Princess,” MourningStar’s voice sounds on the other end of the phone and I can’t help the whine that escapes my dry lips.

“Hey,” I reply, holding the phone in both hands in an effort to stop myself from reaching down between my legs once again.

“You doing okay? You don’t sound great,” he says casually, but I can sense the concern in his voice. He doesn’t sound like he’s at home, there’s a breeze in the background like he’s running but he doesn’t sound out of breath.

“Are you streaming?” He should be, right? Or is it too early, or too late? I cast my eyes towards the living room windows. It’s pitch dark, stars twinkling against the night sky like diamonds on velvet. The branches of the nearby willow tree are blowing in the wind, hitting against the glass every few seconds. It’s the kind of countryside noise you get used to. I was frightened by them for the first few months I lived alone but I’m accustomed to them now. They’re almost comforting.

MourningStar lets out a breathy laugh. “No princess, I’m not streaming. But I think you know that already, hm?”

He’s right, I do. I checked his page an hour ago and he still hadn’t gone live. I’d been eager to watch him and too embarrassed to admit why. I just couldn’t get his broad shoulders and corded forearms out of my mind. What would they look like wrapped around me? How would his long, ringed fingers feel inside me?

“You’re breathing heavy, princess.”

Embarrassment flushes my skin an even darker shade of pink than it was before. “I just wanted to hear your voice. I’ve missed you, all of you.”

“We’ve missed you too,” he replies, sincerity lacing his words and making me breathe a sigh of relief. “We love each other a lot, JJ. But we’re not dumb enough to believe we’re anything without you.”

The air catches in my throat, leaving an ache in my chest so profound I wonder if I’ll ever be able to breathe again. Did he really just say that? Does he mean it? I feel the omega in me melt and I wish with all my heart I could hear him say those words again. They care for me. They genuinely care for me.

It makes me realise I’ve been an idiot this whole time, chasing whatever crap situationship I have with Jack when I should’ve been making sure the three men I really love know how I feel. My heat slips to one side for a second, leaving an unwanted clarity hanging in the air. He means it as friends, idiot.

“Are you three like, a pack?” I ask, realising it’s not a subject I’d ever broached with the guys before. They seem close enough emotionally to be one, but I know they don’t all live in the same area. But Scotland isn’t the biggest country, maybe they make things work long distance.

“No,” Mourning replies, sounding almost defeated. “Not officially, but we’re not exactly out there searching for anything else, are we?”

“I’ve never seen myself with a pack,” I admit, casting my mind back to my mother and father. They were so content with just each other. Most of the packs around my small town consist of just two people, intimate, small. It’s an old-fashioned thing, I think. “Seeing what it did to my dad when my mum died… I don’t know if I could go through that.”

“What about all the good things?” He says quietly, voice sounding almost like a growl across the phone speaker.

I shrug, forgetting he can’t see me. I’m still tangled in the duvet, my heat pack burning against my skin. “I guess I forget sometimes, to look at the good stuff, too.”

“They were good parents?” He knows they were, I’ve told him before.

“The best.” I grin, turning onto my side and momentarily forgetting about the ache low in my stomach. Mourning knows what he’s doing, for whatever reason his instincts have told him I need a distraction. He’s not wrong, anything to get me through the next few hours.

“We always had chickens and ducks. We even had a goat at one point but Dad had to beg a local farmer to take it off his hands after it ate through the greenhouse door. My mum was so mad, mostly because she’d had this great idea to make goat milk soap and sell it at the farmer’s markets. Couldn’t very well do that without a goat to milk.”

Mourning laughs and it’s the most beautiful sound, deep and echoing like thunder.

“I love making you laugh,” I admit with a smile. The ache is growing again, burning between my legs with the ferocity of a forest fire. Moisture sticks my thighs together, my perfume lingering heavily in the air around me.

“It’s late, princess. You should get to sleep.” Although disappointment wracks me, I know he’s right. The care coating his words only makes me perfume more and I expel a long whine. The low growl that comes from the man on the other end of the phone kills me. For the first time in years I let myself wonder… is he an alpha? Are they all alphas?

As if testing the theory, I lower my voice and plead, my hand slipping down over the curve of my stomach to rest between my thighs. “Do that again.”

“Princess…” There’s so much reluctance in his tone but I don’t care.

“Please, please, please,” I mutter stroking myself with vigour, chasing any release my exhausted body will give me.

“Send me a picture of you, right now,” Mourning orders and I fumble to lift the phone from my ear. It’s challenging considering I only have one hand, but I lift the phone in front of myself and pull up the camera app.

My pink hair is a mess, sweat moistened curls are stuck to the sides of my face and forehead. Usually, my skin is pale but right now my cheeks are stained a bright pink, lips parted in an O as I fight for my next orgasm. I click a picture and send it to the chat without even thinking.

“Pretty girl,” Mourning hums low in his throat. “Aren’t you?”

I don’t know how to answer that so I nod, not caring that he can’t see me. I’m so close, so fucking close I could scream.

“Are you touching yourself, princess? Touching yourself and thinking about all the ways I could make you scream?”

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