Page 5 of Pixel Perfect Pack

My body buzzes.

Shit. I pull my t-shirt off over my head and use it as a rag, cleaning myself up as best I can while my heart thrums in my chest. I’m such a fucking dick, I can’t believe I left her hanging.

Once I’m sure I’m not about to get fucking jizz all over my phone, I text her back. There’s only one thing I can say.

Three

Jess

I shouldn’t have done it. I’ve made it nearly three years without fucking this up and then I have to go send MourningStar a fucking picture of myself. I’m not even sure if I’m mad that I sent it or if I’m mad he didn’t send one back.

Burying my head in the pillow I let out the long, frustrated groan I’ve been holding in for hours. I’d barely slept all weekend and now I had to go and have Sunday lunch at Jack’s mother’s house. The bed was too cosy, my electric blanket still burning beneath me, and my weighted duvet holding me hostage. It’s too easy to imagine the weight above me isn’t a blanket at all, but MourningStar, or Minxy, or Quietek. I’ve spent my entire weekend thinking nonstop about the three of them. Even now as I imagine their voices, my stomach clenches and twists.

“Ow,” I mutter to myself, pressing a hand to my stomach and waiting for the pain to disperse. Maybe I’m ill. Maybe if I call Jack right now I’ll catch him before he leaves his place to come and pick me up. Reluctantly I thrust one arm out from beneath my duvet and grab my phone. It’s almost one in the afternoon and I still have to shower and get dressed, but every fibre of my being is telling me to stay right here. Buried in the warmth and comfort of all these lovely soft things I’ve gathered.

Still, it’s getting too bright with the afternoon sun shining in through my thin curtains and my skin is horrifically clammy. The more I think about it, the better a hot shower sounds.

Throwing the covers back I curl into myself as I make a run for the bathroom. Once I’ve turned the dial it doesn’t take long for the room to start filling with steam and the scent of fresh eucalyptus. I want nothing more than to take my time beneath the spray but I’m all too aware of the time. So I settle for scrubbing my entire body with scent blocker, grateful that the shampoo and conditioner smell far better with its coconutty undertones.

I can’t help it when my mind wanders back to Friday night. Watching Mourning on stream has become one of my favourite pastimes. Whenever we aren’t playing together, I log on and watch his past videos. It’s obvious even through the camera lens that he’s a huge guy. His entire body covers his gaming chair which I know from past conversations is the same make as my own. And that mask, uhhhh. Maybe I’ve been watching too much TikTok or reading too many smutty books because all I want him to do is put that mask on and chase me through the woods. But it’s what he would do when he caught me that has my hand running down over my stomach and between my legs. Even in the shower spray, I’m slippery with need. I let the tips of my fingers linger on my folds, delving in and out without ever giving myself what I really need.

The teasing sets me on edge so quickly that I have to shut my eyes and bite down on my bottom lip. They’re all right there behind my eyes. The genteel tone of Quietek, the hyper, uncontrollable laughter of Minxy and MourningStar’s cold eyes behind that silver mask.

I come in seconds with a scream so loud I find myself eternally grateful that I live in the middle of nowhere. What the hell has gotten into me?

My doorbell buzzing has me leaping three feet in the air and I fumble to turn the shower off and wrap up in a towel. Without the heat from the water my skin prickles with goosebumps. I clamber out of the shower on unsteady feet.

“I’m coming!” I yell, reaching for the dressing gown I left thrown over the back of the sofa and wrapping it around my body. The feel of the cotton fabric against my wet shoulders makes me grimace but I fight against the sensory nightmare.

“Hello?” I yell as I approach the thick wooden door.

“Babe, it’s me, are you running late?” Jack asks and I can almost feel him looking down at his watch. Surely I didn’t just spend an hour in the shower?

A little look at the numbers on the oven display screen tells me that yes, my quick shower turned into an hour-long masturbation session. Fabulous.

I unlock the door and let Jack over the threshold before I rush through to my bedroom. The last thing I want is for him to see me looking all flushed and dishevelled. He’s already jealous enough of my relationship with the guys without knowing I’ve added them to the spank bank.

Spanking, now that’s tempting.

Jack walks down the narrow corridor to my bedroom at the same moment I manage to slip on a light pink sundress. I keep things relatively tame since his mother has made it quite clear she doesn’t approve of the way I dress. I pair the dress with my well-loved Vans. My hair and skin are lost causes, however. I braid my hair into two plaits and cover my skin in a thin layer of moisturiser.

“You doing okay?” Jack asks, stepping into the room and throwing himself down on my bed. My whole body tenses, I don’t want him there. That’s my space.

“Could you get off my bed? I’ve just made it,” I say without thinking much of it. Clearly, Jack doesn’t feel the same because his entire demeanour changes. He sits up slowly, bringing himself to his feet with ease and walking slowly towards me. His hand clasps on the back of my neck and squeezes just a little too hard.

“What’s with the mood?” he asks, holding me in place.

“Nothing, I’m sorry,” I reply, hoping it’ll be enough to avoid one of his bad moods. I’ve always wondered if Jack feels somehow inferior, being a beta he’s not exactly at the top of the food chain. Most of his friends are alphas and I swear he spends more time trying to act like them than figuring out who he is. He hums to himself, suspicion clouding his eyes before he lets me go.

“That what you’re wearing?”

I look down at the pretty pink dress and frown. “Well, yeah?”

Jack’s eyebrows raise briefly and he makes a clicking sound with his mouth. “You know I like it when you cover up a little more, babe.”

Disappointment sits heavily in my stomach as I rub the soft material of my dress between my thumb and forefinger. Hoping to avoid any more confrontations, I grab a pastel pink cardigan from my wardrobe and throw it on, buttoning it up and tucking it a little at the bottom.

“Better?” I ask with a sigh, it might be September but the sun is scorching outside and I just know that between the heat and Jack’s mum’s roast dinner, I’m going to be sweating like a pig within the hour.

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