Page 39 of Penny for Your Saints

Frank is gone by lunchtime, replacing his usual uniform of leather jacket and effortless raven bed head in favor of something that might help him better blend into a crowd–a dark ball cap and nondescript gray sweatshirt.

Seb, still waiting on the results of the blood and serum tests from this morning, has gone to make contact with his local, in the hopes of getting a line on some suppressants and scent blockers.

Caz, finally burnt out from over twenty-four hours of constant wakefulness—including driving us from Liberty to Beach city, lies snoring behind the closed door of the bedroom. I’m on babysitting duty until we’re on the road at witching hour tonight—then I can crash, catch a couple of winks on our way to my buddy Yuri’s hunting shack on Goosewing Lake.

Old Yuri owes me big time, so I’ve called in my favor. While the remote cabin lacks most modern amenities like internet or telephone, it’s furnished lavishly enough to fit a former Vor y Zakone captain—an impressive solar charged home battery, a tankless hot water heater, and one of the nicer composting toilets I’ve had the honor of shitting in while lying low in the woods. It’s not the nest I would choose to endure a hastily planned heat, but Louise and I don’t have the luxury of choice in such limited time and circumstance. Frank wasn’t wrong—there’s likely not enough time to stop the clock, so our only real choice is to bear down and come out on the other side of the heat—on the ground running.

I’m fixing tea, since there are a few things in this life that aren’t better once you’re facing them with a cup of hot Assam or first flush Darjeeling in your hand. Sadly, today’s tea service is somewhat lackluster—embarrassingly weak orange pekoe from the bodega down the street with a package of two bright pink coconut sno-balls. Still, I prepare a cup for myself and Louise, removing the artificially pink confections from their plastic wrapper to place them on a small plate in an attempt at civilizing this ‘afternoon tea’.

In the tiny parlor, Louise enjoys some of her newfound freedom of movement—her lithe, graceful limbs stretching and flexing through vinyasas and gliding through katas as I bring our impromptu tea service to the makeshift coffee table; the milk crates and pressure board moved to the side of the sofa to give Louise the most space possible.

As soon as she catches sight of me in her peripheral vision, she stops, her eyes quickly scanning me up and down with an underlying hunger before they fall on the goodies I’ve brought.

She’s still wearing the camisole and velour pants from earlier, but the activity has brought a healthy flush to her cheeks and her face. Her neck and shoulders glitter with a faint sheen ofperspiration and her long red waves are tied back from her face in a high ponytail that I’d like to—goodness I really am getting close to my heat, aren’t I?

“Is one of those for me?” She stands, hands on her hips—her chest gently rising and falling as she steadies her breath and her chin juts toward one of the pink sno-balls.

Her perfume is oppressive in the small space—the iris—wet, lush; as if after a rain—the sharp tang of the tart green apple and a spicy jolt of pink pepper. She smells good enough to eat—to consume whole.

“Yes, and a cup of ‘tea’—if you can call it that.” I gesture to the goods, keeping my rising libido in check—if only just.

“Throw in one of those fancy cigarettes and you have a deal.” She nods at the telltale square pack of Dunhills in the breast pocket of my button down, twirling the rest of her ponytail atop her head into a messy bun.

“As the lady wishes.” I bend crisply at the waist—sweeping an arm toward the open sofa.

She crosses the threadbare carpet and plops down on the far end of the sofa, waiting expectantly.

“So, how many heats have you gone through with this…” She rolls her wrist and looks toward the ceiling. “I would say pack, but unless they’re somewhere I can’t see, I haven’t seen any—.” She clicks her teeth together in an emphasized bite. “And as far as Cazzy is concerned—I saw pretty much everything,” she adds coolly, her eyes roving over my body again. Looks like I’m not the only one feeling the pressure of appetite.

“They aren’t my pack, no,” I confirm easily, passing her one of the sno balls on a purloined gas station napkin along with a mug of the orange pekoe—the tea bag string and tag still dangling over the edge. “But I have been through four heats with Frank, three of those with Sebby and Cazzy, too,” I add, taking a bite of the coconut cloud of marshmallow and cake with relish.

Louise’s scarlet brows peak upward.

“Hmm, so it’s become a bit of a habit, I see.” She eyes me skeptically, her gaze traveling down my body with a growing heat as she sips her tea.

“I mean… you’ve sucked Frank’s cock, and you’ve fucked Cazzy. I know you haven’t had Seb or I yet—but I can assure you, neither of us disappoint.” I shrug as Louise narrowly avoids doing a spit take, choking on her mouthful of hot tea.

“Fair enough,” she manages to croak out, struggling to recover from ventilating tea into her lungs.

“What about you, Lou?” I reach out and drape a hand over her wrist—like I might if we had met on a night out in the omega-sigma lounge of some fancy nightclub,just us breeders.

“All of us have seen you in your birthday suit, so I know you don’t have any bonding bites on that perfect little body of yours.”

I allow her to feel the full weight of my gaze on her, my own building hunger.

“I’ve suppressed a bunch of heats, but not all of them,” she sniffs, doing her best to play at calm disinterest—even though I can smell how close to a heat she is. “I had to do a few with helpers at a sigma center in Boston when I was in grad school, and I’ve had to make do with some pretty questionable situations in the field before,” she glosses over any detailed explanation with a roguish wink.

“So, on a scale of one to ‘face-down-ass-up-presenting-that-perfect-pink-pussy-dripping-with-slick’—how close would you say you are to going into heat, sweet Lucifer?” I taunt, watching her breath become more ragged with each dirty utterance that crosses my lips.

“I don’t know. I suppose that depends on a few things.” She locks in her eye contact with me—one of her legs gently extending, her bare foot coming to rest against my bent knee, a sofa cushion still mostly empty between us.

“Such as?” I tease her, but the truth is I am enjoying myself too much to stop. It’s been too long since I’ve had a new plaything, and my own omega body chemistry is skewing dangerously toward the onset of my own heat; my judgment hazier and hazier as our banter carries on.

“Have any of you ever been with a sigma?” Louise slugs down her tea, her nipples showing in hard points beneath her camisole, her eyes lurid with desire. “Especially you—quite the unique omega… Such abig boy,” she breathes heavily.

“Has anyone ever locked you up?” she asks, voice smoky and sinuous, our eyes unable to break contact in the heat of the moment.

My breath hitches as I catch her perfume hanging thick in the air between us. I don’t make any effort to redirect the conversation when the little devil tilts her head back—eying me appraisingly.

---