Page 136 of Knot Happening Again

"Think it would look good on our girl?" he presses.

Yeah, he's definitely just torturing him now.

Leon swallows audibly. "Anything would."

The sincerity in his tone catches me off guard. For a moment, I see a flash of the boy I fell in love with all those years ago. I push the thought away, focusing instead on the growing pile of lingerie in Troy's arms.

As we approach the register, I brace myself for the total. But Troy just hands over a black card without asking for it, and I'm once again reminded of the vast difference between my old life and this new one.

"One more stop," Troy announces as we leave the store, Leon trailing behind us like a pack mule laden with bags.

I follow his gaze to a store front adorned with plush blankets and pillows. "Nesting supplies?" I ask, confusion bleeding into my tone.

"Yep," Troy grins. "Time to make that nest truly yours, princess."

I dig my heels in, shaking my head. "The nest is already perfect. You guys did an amazing job setting it up. I don't need?—"

"What did I say about need?" Troy interrupts, his tone gentle but firm. "We set it up with the basics, sure. But we always planned on our omega customizing it to her liking. Right, Leon?"

Leon nods, speaking up for the first time in what feels like hours. "It's true. You should make it your own."

I bite my lip, torn between the desire to sink into the softness of the blankets I see in the window and the nagging voice in my head that says I shouldn't get too comfortable. "I appreciate the thought, but really, I'm fine with?—"

Troy cuts me off by pulling the black card from his wallet and pressing it into my hand. His blue eyes lock onto mine, intense and unyielding. "Fuck that, princess. You're ours. Ours to take care of, ours to worship, and ours to spoil you. Like you should have been from the start."

As much as I love hearing those words, I open my mouth to protest again. But Troy presses a finger to my lips.

“The strip on this card had better be worn off by the time you're done, or I'm buying you this whole fucking store."

I stare at the card in my hand, my mind reeling. This is too much. It'salltoo much. But as I look up at Troy's determined face, at Leon's hopeful eyes, I realize I'm fighting a losing battle.

With a deep breath, I step into the store, the scent of lavender and vanilla washing over me. My omega instincts, long suppressed, rise to the surface. I want to burrow into every soft thing I see. To create a haven that smells like me, like pack, like home.

I reach out, my fingers sinking into the plush fur of a throw blanket. It's the softest thing I've ever felt, and before I know it, I'm piling it into a cart. Pillows follow. Silk and velvet and chenille in every size and shape. A weighted blanket catches my eye, promising comfort and security. I never knew I needed one of these, but the warm tingly feeling that washes over me as soon as I heft it in my arms, even if Leon immediately takes it from me like I'm going to collapse under the weight, cinches the purchase.

As I move through the store, I lose myself in the sensory experience. The gentle chime of wind chimes, the cool smoothness of river stones, the warm glow of salt lamps. There's something for every conceivable space an omega could possibly want to build. Each item I add to the cart feels like a piece of myself I'm reclaiming.

I'm vaguely aware of Troy and Leon following behind me, their scents a comforting presence at my back. They don't interfere, don't offer suggestions. They simply let me choose, let me indulge in this primal omega urge to create, to nurture, to make a space that's truly mine.

There are a few things that catch my eye that I leave out, including a pink chenille blanket that somehow costs the GDP of a small nation. I just can't justify spending that much on something that will probably get wrecked by sweat and other bodily fluids during my next heat.

I make it another few aisles before I'm stopped in my tracks at the sight of an absolutely massive wicker chair shaped like a crescent moon and covered in crystals and lights, surrounding a cozy bench outfitted in the softest, butteriest white leather cushions I've ever felt. My immediate thought is that it would look amazing in my studio, the perfect place to curl up and create a mini nest when I'm tired from working, but then I glimpse the price tag.

A hundred thousand fucking dollars?

Theyhaveto be joking. Or it’s made out of diamonds.

I manage to pay no more than a passing glance and a light brush of my hand to it before moving on. That's so not gonna happen. There are a few other shinies that catch my eye, too, but I can't swallow the pricetags, even if I know the pack can more than afford it.

When I finally reach the register, the cart overflowing, I expect to feel guilty for spending the pack’s money. But as I hand over the black card, all I feel is a strange warm tingle up my spine.

I have to admit, being pampered feels kind of nice.

Troy arranges to have everything delivered to the mansion so we don't have to worry about lugging it all through the mall, and true to his word, Leon is carrying the rest.

And Troy is letting him.

"You sure you got everything you want?" Troy asks as we leave the store, his arm draped casually over my shoulders.

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