"Quinn," he whimpered on her tongue, cock hard and throbbing, knees digging into the sides of the couch. Her legs parted so that he might fall deeper into her embrace. "W-what if I let you fuck me?" The pout was insatiable. The topic raised like a constant whisper on his tongue.
"You don't want to," she assured, lips swollen till stinging.
He was not like the others, for he was always extending their encounters, allowing their time to stretch far longer than it should. Zen would sink into her arms for a cuddle, while the others would merely tongue fuck her mouth and leave with a hand to their lips as if she were dirty.
Zen relished her like a true lover, with his curls haloed on her chest, nose scrunched, and handsome face far too close.
"Your heart's pounding," he'd giggle, ears on her skin listening to her heart.
"So is yours," had been her answer, rushed out with a blush on her cheeks.
"They're matching," his eyes widened, meeting hers pout on his lips. Her brows pressed into a line. Fuck. A nervous lick of her lips. "They're beating at the same pace."
"Coincidence."
"It's fucking cool."
"Just probabilities and chances."
He pondered, insatiable and vibrating, clothed cock shamelessly grinding between the seams of her pussy, drool dribbling. And her eyes would feel hot because he wasn't supposed to be here in her room, he should be up there in their nest, in the warmth of their arms. And yet he remained, dozing in her embrace, curled in her warmth as if it wasn't just a feeding that he needed but the touch of her soul like all soulmates should have.
And his nose was on her throat, mouth gnawing on flesh as if begging to sink his teeth into her, to claim.
"I like this," he had whispered one night, almost in horror, sinking into her arms but refusing to leave. "Maybe a little too much."
"Me too," she had whispered back.
Her soulmate felt the pull. Quinn realised, hand on his cheek, stroking butterfly wing lashes, digits over the curve of his nose, they meandered, tracing moles, tracing curves. He could feel the drag of their souls begging for them to be closer. And she wanted to give it to him. Yet her chest was odd, twisting towards all the wrong places, tugging not only to one but towards the—
A knock on the door and Klaus entered with angry eyes, body breaching the safety of the space. "It's late." Those eyes settled on a sleeping Zen, rage twisting into murky emotions, then a dullness. He took him from her, allowed the cold to leach back into her skin with the loss of her soulmate, and Zen would rest in his rightful place, where he should always be.
Quinn was fine, for there were worse things in life. With the gold growing in her account her survival was almost certain, and her future was set in stone. Now, the last of the potatoes tumbled from her hands; brush wet with mud from a good scrub. Her eyes drifted to the empty chair in the corner of the kitchen. Carlos was now gone, and a question of his whereabouts James had him stiffening.
"He's in Azarius," he had answered, allowing her the questions. "A stronghold for our Kings."
"Why?" Quinn had stumbled out with words. Azarius had been where the palace once was, where Euodia had reigned supreme, a castle of walls flanked by soldiers, a castle with their army. She'd assumed the seven had torn it down from the memories, but to hear that it stood now as the heart of the city was new. "He did nothing wrong."
James had regarded her with a cold look of ice. "He's training to protect our kingdom from Lonely, it is not your concern. All Omega boys his age are required to learn from the soldiers and participate in the army." But there was something more to it, something about what Carlos had said to her whispered so frantically it had felt like a secret.
Hearts. Hearts were the bane of her existence. Hearts were what brought her demise. She couldn't fall in love with the seven.
"Quinn," a gentle knock on the frame of the door, and she turned on her seat. Zen stood smiling like a dream. Her soulmate, she allowed herself that thought. His eyes were reflective, earnest, and sincere. His voice tripped into a childish, almost adorable pitch as if he wanted her to like him better, twisting into a coo. He studied her with an aching sort of swoon. "What do you think of a trip?"
"Where?"
"I thought I'd take you out to the markets," he beamed, arms reaching, always wanting to touch and hold her. His chin propped on her head. She pretended everything was fine when he scooped his hands around her waist to pull her closer, a purr starting in his chest. And she allowed the smile to stretch to her heart, filling it whole. "A day off. I'll buy you anything you want."
"I want nothing; I just want gold, the gold that James will give me for slicing these potatoes."
"I'll pay you to come with me, twenty pieces per hour," he teased. "Is kitchen work better than going out with me?" His words stabbed, the nuances dancing into realms she did not want to think of dating, relationships and love.
"You don't understand what it was like being broke," she complained. "I need the insurance."
"You know I could be your bank if you really wanted me to, right?" A wink and a grin. "All you've got to do is ask." Liar, fucking liar. Her smile stretched, playing into the stupidity, allowing his words to bounce off her like rubber balls on a wall. "I'm very nice."
"Right," she rolled her eyes, palm open. "A thousand." He grinned and fished a plate of gold from his jeans as if he'd had it there all along. In her hands, it sank in her fingers, too heavy and freezing cold. It shone like a star. "You fucker," she gasped. "Did you rob the bank?"
"My bank."
"A bullion, is this a thousand grams Zen?" Her eyes were wide, it must be worth a hundred thousand. She could be rich, she tried to shove it back into his hands, horrified, stumbling. "It's your people's money."
"It's yours," he promised. "It's mine to give. Do what you want, dig a plot of dirt and bury it, throw it out, burn it. I don't fucking care."
"Your mates are going to—"
"As long as you're happy," he shushed her.
"You're buying me to do something," she accused. "You're making me too happy, I'm indebted, I'm your fucking slave. This is fucking crazy."
"Would you prefer it in the shape of a ring?"
His words startled her so hard, she went quiet, eyes wide. But he smiled as if it didn't matter, fingers laced with hers as if he didn't understand the gesture. Omegas should know, should wish for it. The Alphas had claimed that rings and courtships were archaic, that a ring to tie an Alpha with an Omega had no place in their society. But to an Omega, a ring was a big deal, a symbol of love.
And yet she laughed in his face, a bark she had to give as if she didn't believe him, as if she didn't fucking care. Gooseflesh popped over her skin, a shiver threatened to release itself from her spine. "You're joking."
He shook his head.
She ignored him with a teary chuckle, turning to leave as if she hadn't seen his denial. Don't fucking fall in love. "Take me to the market before I change my mind."
Later, she'd speculate on his true intentions, wonder if he'd given it to her knowing a bullion would go nowhere in the wastelands. That the gold plate could never be exchanged for its true worth. That she could never be able to hold a bank account, and all her money would go back to her Omegas'. That maybe he was only trying to buy her feelings, her love; a materialistic move to force her guard to lower and for him to stab her in the fucking back.
But for now, she allowed her heart to flutter as she fed it into Float.