14. Chapter 14(1)

Waverly thought she had seen everything when she first arrived as Nicole’s mansion at Remus Pointe. Only to be completely and unfathomably mistaken. To be fair, she assumed the alpha owned a studio in the city; a rental space all to her own in the heart of the most luxurious neighborhood in all of Downtown Calgary, complete with a trove of loyal employees.

Which is why she is justifiably confused when the Lamborghini is pulled into a tiny brick and mortar building squished in between an off-campus high-rise belonging to the University of Calgary, and a J.P. Morgan Chase bank armed to the teeth with security.

The Parking Club, as is the name of the garage, doesn’t seem all that eye-catching.

That is until she learns the simple building is in fact a multi-storied parking garage full of expensive cars like something out of a billionaire’s wet dream. Big and bright, the dark Lamborghini and its midnight black matte paint job is undoubtedly dwarfed and out of place in between a massive sun yellow Hummer, and a candy blue-colored Escalade.

Thankfully, there is enough space in between both cars on either side for the doors to open, allowing to them to get out without having to comically squeeze they’re way out.

Outside she realizes The Parking Club’s exterior design is all a ruse, a sort of inside joke. If only she could think the same about what lies in front of her.

“Jesus Christ…you rent an apartment, here?” Waverly asks, staring dumbly up at the bronze colored building.

“Technically, it’s a penthouse—and I own it.” Nicole says before quickly adding, “But I rent my parking space!”

Either way the alpha spins it, it doesn’t negate from the colossus of a tower before them.

Walker Tower; built in 1929, the 24-story monolithic building made of stucco, concrete, terracotta and smooth-faced stone, enhanced by the use of steel and glass, is an absolute marvel to behold. The art deco visual design style instills a sophisticated sense of glamour and exuberance, while paying a fanciful homage to the advancement of technology at the time; carefully constructed in these sharp geometric shapes that pierce the sky when looking up from the ground floor. A concrete-encased, heavy-steel framed building with floor slabs designed to carry of up to 100 pounds per square foot.

Beyond the fantastical shapes and all the hard, rigid materials used to make this gorgeous structure, it’s usage of bronze to create sleek citadel to be the gem of any city. Rising high above the Calgary skyline, Waverly remembers the tower getting an honorable mention in her tenth-grade global history class during their unit on the Industrial Revolution; as a strong fortress to house one of the city’s telecommunication nerve centers. From the sheer magnitude of the structure, Waverly could easily imagine the tower bearing an impregnable steel vault, a fleet of armored vehicles or a small nation’s store of gold bullion somewhere within its walls.

Inside, the walkway floor is a dark obsidian lined in white, the walls are painted in a pleasing shade of gothic gold, the alabaster pillars meticulously scattered around are pristine and impeccable, not a single crack to be seen and most of all: it’s the delicate, but knowingly dominate usage of bronze everywhere that attracts the eye faultlessly. Conjuring up images of an earthlier, human version of the pearly gates of heaven.

Even the lobby floors right in front of the elevators and the front desk—there is and actual man, being paid quite handsomely to stand behind the front desk and be in the presence of wealthy millionaires to genuinely take the job as seriously as can be—the floor and all its intricate geometrically perfect symmetry tells her this is it, you’ve made it to the top of the ladder.

“Lovely day today isn’t it, Miss Haught?” The man at the front desk greets with a smile.

“Can’t complain, Charlie.” Nicole shrugs her shoulders. “Did the mailman come yet?”

The man, named Charlie (who is incredibly young and looks like he could very well belong on a television show than spend his day being some business tycoon’s bellboy) points his thumb behind him as Nicole signs her name on the dotted line of the sign-in sheet. “Yeah, came by a few hours ago.”

“Perfect—” she then turns back to Waverly “—just give me a second.”

Waverly nods her head and while the alpha heads towards the mailroom, and Charlie suddenly gets a call on the desk phone, the brunette grabs a pamphlet from the pile sitting in a small bin.

Sitting on the soft velvet loveseat positioned around a large marble table on metal legs that is supposed to make up the lounge area, she flips the dark gray pamphlet open and underneath the gold letters of Walker Tower are a list of things that detail the reasons why the building is the best in the city. Besides the tower being branded as an architectural wonder, several pages are dedicated to highlighting the apartments and their amenities. From the ceiling heights of 10 to nearly 14 feet, the custom French herringbone beveled oak flooring, and the custom tilt and turn windows, who in the right mind would daresay they wouldn’t want to live here? The sample floor plans shown indicate that more than half of the residences have private outdoor space.

But it doesn’t stop there. Hydronic radiant floor heating systems throughout each residence, wood-burning fireplaces with solid marble enclosures in select residences, custom lighting packages, state-of-the-art home automation systems adorned with 9-inch touchscreen displays, an iPad dock with full lighting control, HVAC control, distributed audio, electronic shade control, and full expansion capabilities for customized applications. Solid 8-feet tall paneled stained oak doors, premium ultra-quiet fan coil air conditioning systems with central chiller plant and built-in humidification system throughout each residence; made easier by a building wide ventilation system distributing balanced outside air to each apartment.

And no one can forget about each residence being home to full size washers and dryers (the two single things that would instantly drive up the value of the average everyman apartment, this she knows), kitchen and dryer exhaust vented directly to outside air, linear diffusers and flowbars throughout each unit. Every residence is already fully pre-wired for high speed internet, phone and wireless data.

Feeling her fingers starting to burn, Waverly skips through the pamphlet, making note of the list of amenities and services Walker Tower has to offer. There is a 24-hour attended lobby, lobby concierge, a landscaped common roof deck with a dining area, sun lawn, observation area, and a covered cabana room with built-in seating. A fully equipped fitness center, yoga room, sauna, steam room and even a children’s playroom. A library lounge with pantry and bar that is available for private events by reservation. There’s even a bicycle storage room in the basement and refrigerated storage that supplies the dining room, pantry and bars.

Nicole returns with several envelopes stashed underneath her arm. Ushering her to the elevators where they stand with several other women. Forty-something-old, all in expensive cashmere pastel-colored tunics, soft capri pants, pearl necklaces hanging from their necks and the (unbelievably strong) smell of Chanel perfume that has Waverly scrunching up her nose in irritation.

Or at least without trying to draw too much attention to herself.

Unlike the gaggle of loudmouthed white-haired old ladies that Purgatory tends to be homed to, these women are quiet with only two addressing each other with a soft tone of voice as they carry on a conversation about the latest book sweeping their little circle called Goodbye Baby or something equally depressing. The conversation isn’t anything interesting enough to warrant Waverly lending an ear to listen to, but it’s cute to imagine these women gathered around someone’s living room and having a book club with cookies and tea.

That is until the elevator doors open and they all file inside and the topic of discussion shifts.

“Did you hear about that couple from the thirteenth floor?” One of the women asked. “Got caught having sex in one of the elevators.”

“For god’s sake, you would think some people would have the common decency to keep their sexual practices behind closed doors.” Waverly blinks, suddenly feeling awkward. “I mean honestly, the elevator? Could have been this one for all we know. The walls are thick for a reason.”

“Is that the couple with the tall omega with the big blue eyes?”

“No, no, that’s the couple with the four-year-old.” The woman shakes her head. “The couple in the elevator were the ones that held that party in the lounge on Canada Day; made a mess of everything and didn’t even bother to clean up.”

Waverly raises an eyebrow.

“How distasteful! And security didn’t do anything? Jesus H. Christ, next thing we know there’s going to be a porn studio in one of the penthouses at this rate.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time; this is the kind of thing the owners of the building need to be aware of.” Clearly, the woman with the big white sunhat has quite a few opinions. “It’s an absolute shame that money is just handed out to whatever riff-raff on the street without actually earning anything nowadays.”

“Well, I wouldn’t say that—”

“Didn’t you read The Post? There are people making millions of dollars just from playing video games!”

Just then one of the women, dark-haired with soft brown eyes, looks over at them, makes eye contact, and smiles the gentlest, shyest smile she can, then she ducks her head in slight embarrassment of her friend’s abrasive words. Waverly gives a small smile before looking to Nicole, who looks bored and exasperated.

Thankfully, the elevator doors open on the tenth floor and the women take their leave. Filing out one right after the other, the elevator doors close and Nicole breathes a sigh of relief. Not one for listening, much less eavesdropping on a group of gossiping hens, Waverly can only imagine what it must be like living here full time.

Or as full as Nicole does.

“Mrs. Hefflewhite is a special case,” Nicole says. “Everyone’s personal life is up for grabs, but god forbid you say anything bad about hers. The woman is practically half vulture.”

Waverly can relate, Purgatory’s got its own vultures too.

“I get it, back home Mrs. Tattenhill is the town gossip. Nothing gets passed her.”

“Damn, I’m sorry to hear that.”

“It’s okay. The people she usually talks about tend to give her ammunition anyways.”

“Well, for once we are going to give people a reason to talk about you,” the alpha grins, “Nothing but high praise and adulation, I assure you on that.”

“What makes you so sure?”

“Instinct, mostly.”

Nicole doesn’t say anything else as the elevator continues going up. The numbers seem to blur together after a while until they finally reach the twenty-fourth floor, the top floor and where Nicole’s penthouse is located.

The doors open to a long hallway with stone walls covered in various framed photos of Calgary and a thick carpeted floor.

Waverly is lead down the hallway and the doors on either side are incredibly massive. Each one marked by the floor number and a letter—this is where the top floor penthouses are located, and she can feel the rich air filtering through the ceiling vents. Hell, the door knobs themselves look to be worth more than her precious jeep.

Honestly, why would there be such high-end security in a building where most of the residents prefer to live their lives isolated from everyone else around them? But upon entering the alpha’s penthouse, she finally understands why there is such an emphasis on protecting one’s own privacy.

The foyer is painted in a coppery metallic color, to the left is a staircase with metal mesh sides and a thick railing leading to what can only be the second level and the roof. Nicole closes the door behind them, locks it and sets up the security system that rings to life with a ding sound.

Moving further, the living room is painted in a soft white dove color, dark designer end tables on sturdy engineered wooden frames positioned on either side of a two-piece sectional sofa made for flexible style, luxurious comfort and polyester upholstery with clean and simple lines atop a black iron base; with a matching light gray velvet midcentury armchair positioned at a ninety-degree angle with a button-tufted back, flared arms on a solid wooden frame with dark, gray washed legs splayed outward. All surrounding a large black marble table with beveled edges and corners with a polished finish. The right wall is home to the fireplace in its white marble enclosure, above it is a large framed photo of a bear standing at the edge of a riverbanks.

On the left is a high-end designer, 80-inch TV stand with two convenient storage drawers on smooth metal slides and decorative open space made of black melamine with a truffle laminate finish. (Her father and Uncle Curtis would have a heart attack just from being within proximity of such a giant screen.) And the front end of the living room features large nine-feet tall and five-feet wide double paned windows. Beyond that, is an expansive balcony through a sliding door that separates the alpha from many of the other residents in the tower.

Waverly is left awestruck by the size of the living room, barely even noticing when Nicole takes off her jacket and leaves it inside of a hallway closet with a sliding door that melts into the walls of the foyer like in a James Bond movie.

“I know CEOs make a lot of money, more than I could ever imagine, but how much do you make?”

“You might faint if I tell you.” The alpha coming up behind her with a smug grin.

“Good point.”

“There are several other rooms, if you’d like to see?” Nicole asks and without missing a beat, Waverly replies with a yes.

The first room Nicole takes her to is the kitchen, right next door. Complete with dark espresso colored cabinets and satin nickel pull bars above marble and limestone countertops, a stainless-steel refrigerator with bold lines, stylish handles and state-of-the-art engineering with three drawers and digital displays; in between a well-designed extra-large microwave oven with smart sensor and a built-in ice maker and dispenser. A stainless-steel wide double wall oven featuring dampened hinges and a full-extension telescopic rack on one side of the counter, and on the other is an electric range with a wear resistant glass ceramic top, metal die-cast knobs all in a stainless black color.

“W-Wow,” Waverly breathes by way of surprise as Nicole takes a quick walk around.

“Haven’t really made much use of them, I’m not here all that often.” Nicole pulls a drawer open. “Still have no idea if I’ll ever use this warming drawer,” and then another, “or this sub-zero freezing one.”

“You don’t have parties up here? Like maybe you could cook for the guests or something?” The brunette asks, but Nicole shakes her head. “Do you at least cook for yourself?”

“You would think, but I’m mostly here to sleep whenever work at the office keeps me from going home at a decent hour, plus I’ve fashioned one of the rooms into my own personal photography studio. Makes things a hell of a lot easier than renting out a space.” Nicole shrugs her shoulders before pulling Waverly towards the next room.

“C’mon we still have a few more rooms on the tour.”

Separated from the kitchen by a single wall (with two open entrances on either side connected directly to the kitchen for quick movement between both rooms) is the dining room. Much like the other rooms, the dining room is exceedingly large and can fit twelve guests around a dining table crafted entirely from solid rubberwood; finished in a rich cognac color with subtle red undertones that bring out a sliver of warmth from an otherwise cold room painted with navy blue walls. The table itself is surrounded by twelve vintage blue bonded leather chairs with tall backs and embellished with visibly tight stitching while seated atop lightly distressed solid Birch wood brown legs.

“The previous owner had an affinity for throwing large parties, constantly had guests over.” The alpha explains, “Closest I’ve ever had to having a party was when my mom and Shae decided to throw me a surprise birthday party when I was twenty-one.”

“That was sweet of them, did you have fun?” Waverly asks, sensing the older woman’s discomfort.

“I did, for the most part, until my father took it upon himself to start networking with some colleagues he invited and roped me into doing the same.” Nicole sighs, fingers running over the surface of the edge of one of the chairs.

“At your own birthday?”

“At your own birthday party?”

“Yeah, but it’s fine,” Nicole nods her head and gives a small smile. “No big deal.”

The home gym is what follows next on the penthouse tour. Nicole turns on the light and beneath them is a thick gray carpeted floor, matched by the lighter cinder block-colored walls. In the middle of the gym is a set of exercise equipment lined up side by side. Closest to them is a treadmill built with a digital display with 24 different preset workouts, in the middle is an indoor rower with a multilevel computer able to monitor different data including heart rate and miles per hour, and on the other side is an elliptical trainer with personalized training options.

Along the walls are various strength training equipment, Waverly pays particular attention to the minimum number of pounds on the weights; from the dumbbells lined up neatly on a rack, to the kettlebells up against the wall from lightest to heaviest, to the plates stationed together on a metal stand, weighs less than 40 pounds at the least. The heaviest being 170. The alpha could easily throw Waverly over her shoulder without breaking a sweat.

The wall on the far side of the room has two carved out blocks with back lit lights along the bottom edge, and in inside of each space respectively sits a bronze Hindu statue. One houses a stunning six-feet-one-inch bronze statue of Vishnu holding a discus, conch fly whisk and a club with Hanuman and Garuda, standing beside him both in the anjali mudra or namaste hand position, encircling the lotus are the eight forms of Lakshmi, or Ashta Lakshmi, with gaja Lakshmi or elephant Lakshmi in the front; in the other, is a five-feet-five-inch tall bronze statue of another Hindu god in the form of Ganesh with his six arms outstretched, holding his broken tusk that had been used to write the Mahabharata epic, an ax, and elephant goad, a fly whisk, a noose, and finally a laddu, while a water vessel curled within his trunk.

“Hinduism?” Waverly asks stepping a little closer to Vishnu.

“During college I went to India for a couple of days, got to see all the sights but I didn’t stick around for as long as I wanted.” Nicole explains. “Wasn’t until years later that Jeremy sat me down for lunch and told me all he knew of the gods and goddesses. I was intrigued.”

“Have you ever gone back to India?”

“A few times.” Mostly for work, she can hear the older woman say in the back of her head.

Next is the bar, designed in a way the omega is sure her sisters would definitely like. Unlike the other rooms, the bar is smaller, and more compact. Towards the wall is a navy-blue velvet sofa made with a contemporary touch, featuring an eye-catching striped back cushion, upon a dry wooden frame. In front are a pair of small black square tables with a wooden top and a black veneer finish. Surrounding the dark marble bar counter are several blue barstools with a rounded back that features a decorative zipper trim design, an adjustable swivel and a chrome footrest and base. Four two-door china cabinets provide the storage for the glassware, decorative accessories, special-occasion serveware and a treasure trove of different liquors while two full-length glass doors to display it all. Behind the bar is a large golden-framed mirror, beneath it is a sink and a small metal and chrome beer and wine refrigerators.

“I know the tour hasn’t been all that interesting,” Nicole says, but then she pulls Waverly out of the bar and towards another room. “But we’ll get there.”

Flicking the light on the first thing that comes into view in the new room are the detailed woodworking and intricate carvings and the rich cherry finish of the gaming table that belongs in a Las Vegas casino than someone’s apartment. The tray sitting in the middle holds the poker chips raging from five to five-thousand, clearly everyone who wants a seat at that table would need to play and bet big. The center of the room is dominated by the billiard table with its long steel legs that reach out from the middle, the rails have rubber cushions made from solid poplar wood wrapped in steel, the rail sights are also laser cut in a unique diamond pattern that allows the glow of titanium to show through. Up against the wall are the cut sticks, placed opposite of the two retro arcade games on the other side of the room: the recognizable black, pink and blue colors of Pac-Man, and beside it, only a decade later, are the black and white of Street Fighter. Both are on and Waverly can clearly see the logos dancing brightly on screen above the press start indicator. There are chairs placed around the game room with one next to a door that must lead to a closet full of other things—probably full of cute little board games. Which brings a small smile to Waverly’s lips at the mere thought of the alpha playing something as childish as Twister, Monopoly, or even Uno.

“So, this is your game room, your playroom that is meant for literally just that,” Waverly says. “Do you have a playroom like the one back at the mansion?”

Nicole shakes her head. “I could, there’s a room upstairs that’s just storage, especially since Walker Tower was specifically built and designed with eighteen-inch walls. Could easily have you screaming, and no one would hear.”

There’s a mischievous tilt in her tone and Waverly rolls her eyes playfully. “You’re a little too sure of that.”

“With good reason.” Nicole smirks, before ushering Waverly out. But while she’s quick to think that she’s being taken towards another room on the first floor, the auburn-haired alpha finally leads her upstairs. Where they end the tour, with a quiet gasp.

“Waverly Earp, welcome to my studio.”

The studio is massive, taking up the size of several rooms at once with a high ceiling and dark painted walls. Mounted on a heavy twelve-foot background support stand with three positive locking knobs and tubular legs with a sturdy four-piece crossbar is a seamless widestone white background paper. Smooth, fine-tooth, non-reflective surface that is heightened by the two seven-foot parabolic umbrella with a white interior, black backing and durable fiberglass ribs, positioned on either side.

Aided by the softboxes with reflective silver interiors and optional grids for light beam control, Waverly can only wonder if she’ll rise and shine beneath the lights or melt underneath them. Lined up along the walls are rolls of seamless paper, canvas, muslin and fabric backgrounds, tripods; monopods, supports, stands and mounts; shelves filled with various lens and photo accessories and camera flashes placed delicately in boxes full of foam padding; while on the bottom sits several photography bags and cases. In one corner is a modern office desk crafted in a white lacquer finish featuring a simplistic design, equipped with a s-design bookcase. On top are three 23-inch screens lined up next to each other, with a keyboard sitting beneath while in between a mouse and a currently closed laptop.

Waverly lets out a breath, “I-I just… Wow…”

“This is where the magic is made,” Nicole says proudly. “Most of it at least.”

The brunette is then handed the white bag full of lingerie and is pointed towards a door leading to the changing room. “There’s a mirror in there, change, put the lotion on, and take ten minutes to prepare yourself. Come out when you’re ready.”

“O-okay, uh, which—”

“You pick.”

And just like that, with a gentle push, Waverly is off to the changing room.

Compared to the one in Saks, this one is slightly smaller, more like a walk-in closet with just enough extra room for the omega to stretch out her arms in the middle of it and still have a substantial amount of space in between her fingertips and the walls. There is a rack of empty hangers, a wide column shoe shelf is mounted on the other side with expensive high heels in a variety of colors. Down the far end is a full-length mirror next to a small table full of various body products; Waverly wonders just how many people have stood in this same exact spot before her. Were they professional models with a long list of accomplishments and references on their resumes? Or were they just average and ordinary people Nicole plucked from obscurity off the street to star in her gallery and have their star brightened even if just for a night?

Did anything else happen besides that?

Dipping into the bag Waverly pulls out the padded plunge underwire bra from the Davinah collection, considering it to be the tamest article of clothing compared to all the others Levi found to be ‘wonderfully perfect’. To think that she now actually owned a drawer full of skimpy, silk lingerie that would make anyone go mad for is a bit surreal. The heels themselves are sculptural and iconic, made of shiny black leather atop a 6-inch stiletto. Combining both timelessness with the vibrantly solid red bottom for unrivaled elegance.

The closest she had ever gotten to wearing anything this sexy were the more affordable versions of lingerie at Victoria Secret’s, where the addition of small bows along a lacey mesh waistband and some ruffles were advertised as jaw-droppingly sexy. Top of Form

Browsing through the variety of lotions and perfumes, Waverly makes do with the Bombshell titled ones for their fruity floral, purple passionfruit, Shangri-la peony and vanilla orchid mixed scent. The bottles themselves even make mention of being ‘seductive and alluring,’ meant to make anyone fall for you with a single sniff. Nicole must like these scents if she purposely keeps them stocked.

Once she’s done moisturizing and applying the lotion and spritzing the perfume on, she stands in front of the mirror and takes in her appearance. Finally understanding why even the most sexually repressed of individuals turn into slobbering fools at the mere sight of lace covered skin.

She couldn’t imagine the full effect when at the store, helplessly watching Levi put different bras and panties over her form, but now, as next to completely naked as possible, wearing the lingerie, she knows. Feels it. The underwired, silk-covered padded cups cling to her breasts like a second layer of skin and the scattered Swarovski crystals glinting in the light of the overhead bulbs shroud her in a soft glow. The pumps add several more inches of height for that statuesque feel, because tall equals better (and she hates herself for believing that idea).

The accompanying matching black briefs and suspenders complete the look and with a small twirl, Waverly feels a little lighter. The dreadful small-town girl next door aesthetic is gone, buried beneath the veneer of someone who looks attractive and a thousand times more desirable. Part of her wishes she was still in regular contact with her old high school classmates just, so she could take a photo of herself and put it online for everyone to gawk and stare in amazement.

For Champ Hardy, of all people, to eat his heart out.

Outside Nicole is sitting on a stool behind a tripod, fiddling with the settings on a camera as Waverly walks out. The alpha is immediately alerted, ears twitching at the sound of her feels clicking against the meticulously cared for linoleum. Nicole tilts her head to the side and Waverly feels her legs wobble, knees knocking together in sudden blushing awkwardness. Nicole then places the camera on the tripod and stands, shaking her head. Waverly feels cold and exposed at the older woman’s dislike, stopping in her tracks immediately.

“Turn around, go back to the changing room and do it again.” Nicole says sternly.

Waverly blinks, but nods her head and does it anyway.

Only to return and have the alpha to send her back again. “One more time.”

“B-But why?”

“You’re walking wrong; you’re too nervous and that will bleed into the photo.”

She heads to the back and tries again, changing up her walk despite feeling like she’s still doing the same thing. It’s walking, how much of an art form is there for walking several feet? Honestly?

“Again, Waverly.”

She does this several times, before letting out an audible groan of frustration. “I can’t change the way I walk, it’s impossible.”

“Nothing is impossible, and don’t get huffy with me. Do it again.”

Waverly rolls her eyes and sucks her teeth as she turns on her heel and heads to the back again. But this time she doesn’t move from the entrance of the changing room, instead standing against the frame of the door way with her arms crossed. Nicole narrows her eyes, quirking a brow up when she tells the omega to come forward and is defiantly denied.

“Waverly… What are you doing? Come here.”

She shakes her head. “Not until you tell me what I need to be doing right.”

“That.”

“What?”

“What is the textbook definition of the word defiance? Open resistance; bold disobedience.” Nicole says by of explanation like it was inherently obvious.

“Me telling you what to do or how to do something establishes a scenario in which I’m giving you a set of instructions to follow,” Nicole starts. “In order to be a rule breaker, you need to have the confidence to go against the grain; believe me all I wanted was for you to tell me ‘to fuck off and deal with it’.”

“You’ve got to be joking.”

“No, confidence is what brings people out of their shells, what makes winners and leaders; confidence is power. It’s sexy. It is an aphrodisiac once you’ve gotten a taste of it.”

“Just from walking?” She gets swagger, she understands that, but she’s in heels! She’s wearing a pair of stiletto heels! How is she—

“You’re thinking too much, Waves.” Nicole exclaims. “Go back, and when you’re ready come out and don’t even think. Just don’t think.”

Waverly groans and heads back to the changing room. Rolling her eyes as she steps back into the changing room for what is the hundredth time in the last fifteen minutes. Her feet are starting to hurt, the soles of the stilettos digging into them, reminding her why she preferred wearing flats, sneakers and flip-flops. Much easier to wear instead of having to be vigilantly careful as to not break the delicate heel on a pair of irrevocably gorgeous and expensive pumps.

Nevertheless, the brunette paces back and forth in the changing room, counting to ten, until she takes a deep breath and walks out once more. Only to find the alpha looking bored, reminiscent of a bratty angsty teenager who’d rather be anywhere but here. Going as far as to suck her teeth, let out an annoyed sigh, and stare at the ceiling absently.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” She hisses, glaring at the alpha who then sits up straighter. Suddenly starkly aware of the omega’s frustration and budding anger. “You have me walking up and down this damn studio for you and you’re not even paying attention? Seriously, Nicole?”

“No, no, this is great.” Nicole grins excitedly, “Turns out I need to get you mad for you have to be firm and stand your ground.”

“Is that even necessary?”

“Yes, it is. Don’t worry we’ll work on it, probably when you start wearing the thong.”

“What?”

“But that won’t be for a little while, okay? Now sit so we can get started.” If it weren’t for the puppy-dog look on the older woman’s face, Waverly probably would have punched her in the shoulder.

Waverly takes a seat on the stool and crosses her legs, startled when Nicole readjusts the height and she’s suddenly closer to the floor than before. Just to be brought back up a little higher.

Even with the slightest modicum of self-awareness Waverly knows, much like everyone else with an old post-modernistic view towards jobs and or having a career, that modeling is something of a—or at least considered to be—of an ‘idiot’s profession’. Idiot, in the sense, that the individual is using the least amount of brain power when working, which would make sense in the fact that there is generally little to no mental work when posing in front of a camera.

But sitting here on this stool in front of a massive a tripod holding an expensive camera with a massive lens attached to it is a lot more daunting than she would’ve thought.

Good god, there is an art form to all of this!

I-Is, is she supposed to do something? She crosses her legs and folds her hands in her lap, very business-like, and manufactured, kind of like those stock photos that are always too perfectly constructed. She feels herself go rigid, the muscles in her face shifting to form some sort of expression only a harebrained amateur or complete fool would form that has Nicole quietly chuckling to herself behind the camera.

Popping up, “I need you relaxed, okay? Loosen up a little and do the first thing that comes to your head. Five seconds.”

Taking a deep, full body breath, she counts to five. Once ready, she turns slightly to the left on the stool, almost sideways but not completely; her legs are still crossed over the other but not as tightly; arms folding across her stomach but high enough that they settle gently beneath her breasts, providing them an ample boost. Reminded of all the glamour shots of celebrities using their arms to accentuate their bosoms as the prime focus of the shot. Aided by a downward tilt of the head to the side, give more of a view to her good side (she assumes, who knows?), imagining that the shadows created by the curtain of her hair would add something to the photo. Waverly holds still for several seconds and soon, she hears the camera shutter. She then motions to move but Nicole tells her “no” in a very stern voice that keeps her in place like stone. Nicole instead moves around and points the camera, snapping more photos from different angles.

She doesn’t say a word as the alpha moves from spot to spot, standing and then crouching. More photos are snapped, and Waverly can feel the prickling sensation of disappointment worming its way in.

She looks up to see the older woman standing, looking down at the camera in her hands and cycling through the photos taken, each swipe of her thumb against the screen furthers the already deepening furrow of her brows. The tight-lipped frown on her lips pulling at Waverly as she fiddles with her fingers in her lap.

Am I really that bad? She thinks to herself.

It doesn’t take long for that voice in the back of her head to nag, yes you are, with a weaselly voice. The alpha puts the camera down, against her hip, while she curls a finger beneath her nose; thinking deeply with her brows knitted together. She makes a noncommittal noise before walking over to the shelves and attaching a strap to the end; she then turns back around and picks up the tripod, tucking it underneath her arm.

“Come with me,” Nicole says, already halfway across the room towards the lone hallway on the side only to then veer sharply on her heel—“wait,”—and heading for the changing room. Only to come back out with the Agent Provocateur bag full of the lingerie she had bought. Hangars and all.

Waverly has no idea what’s going on but follows the alpha all the same out of the studio and down the lone hallway off to the side. “I-Is everything okay?” She asks, slightly breathless, trailing after Nicole while her eyes momentarily drift towards the walls on either side of them. The emptiness captivating her more than any of the framed photos and paintings hanging around the mansion; the cold navy-blue walls void of any warmth.

Nicole still doesn’t say anything and Waverly wonders if the sudden silence has anything to do with her horrible modeling skills. The reach the end of the corridor, Nicole steps aside and jerks her head towards the dark wooden door in front of them.

The first thing that captures Waverly’s attention are the windows; large crystal-clear floor to ceiling windows, glass impeccably strong and deceptively mesmerizing as her breath is stolen away by the Calgary skyline. Framed by the dark blue thermal curtains made of microfiber polyester blocking out the harsh vibrant rays of the sun, reducing energy and helping regulate room temperature for cold winter nights. In one corner of the room is a midnight black, left facing chaise lounge chair with a single armrest reveling in elegant, space age-inspired modern design with sleek, tailored lines and a plush trillium-filled cushion while remaining air atop slim, curvilinear legs in a brushed nickel finish.

At the foot of the lounge chair is a small black table, constructed with solid wooden legs and an attractive wood grain finish, a clean wood veneer finish on the top main surface that lends well to a traditional and cosmopolitan appeal.

Facing the windows is a thirteen-inch plush pillow top hybrid memory foam and spring California king-sized bed that features body forming layers of six-inch high-density comfort, along with additional support of pocketed coiled springs covered in a breathable soft-knitted white bamboo covering. Atop of a low-profile platform that has all the glitz and glam of regency style; sophisticated and an austere contemporary piece, featuring wire-brushed, solid mahogany wood stained in a black oak finish matching the joined headboard in the back, held up seamlessly by a stainless-steel base.

On either side is a two-drawer nightstand with functional smooth sliding drawers for out-of-sight storage with a convenient open shelf for added space; finished in a deep black laminate with stylish rectangular chrome-finished metal drawer pulls. Both are adorned with a metal table lamp, but one is home to an empty black faux leather multi-device charging station that is compatible with practically all personal media devices, while the other has two aesthetically pleasing white covered books stacked together. The one on top has a bookmark sticking out of the end, spine reading: Shadow and Light; Psychology in Modern Politics by Jim Miller.

“Is there a reason for the change in setting?” Waverly asks turning back towards Nicole, the alpha setting up the tripod at the corner of the bed. “l thought the studio was okay…”

“It was, but you looked out of your element, so I needed to do something different.”

Waverly raises a brow, “How different?”

“You’re still too nervous, I noticed you kept shaking and curling your shoulders inward when I was moving around with the camera.”

The brunette looks away, finding a spot on the oak floor suddenly very interesting. But Nicole pulls her back.

Daintily grabbing her hand and leading her to the bed, moving into position until Nicole closes the space between them and her presence forces the omega back. Lying flat on the bed, legs hanging off the edge, “Move back, further…” She murmurs softly, a fingertip trails down her thigh and the brunette molds her movements against it.

The alpha runs her hands over her body but doesn’t touch her, instead, there are several centimeters of space between their skin. She follows what the older woman wants in the quiet of the room, outstretching her arms like this and crossing her legs like that; letting herself be malleable and ultimately be shaped in whatever pleasing form suits Nicole’s needs. The lights are dimmed, the afternoon sun is slowly pulled behind the horizon and Waverly feels herself start to slip.

“What do you know of Shakespeare’s sonnets?” She asked.

“All one-hundred-fifty-four of them were published together in a 1609; yet there six additional ones he wrote and included in Romeo and Juliet, Henry V, and Love’s Labour’s Lost.”

“Not bad. Now, can you recite Sonnet 18, for me?” Nicole says, now satisfied with Waverly’s position.

“Sonnet 18, The Valentine’s Day Sonnet…” She begins before Nicole points to the windows. Face forward, stay still, keep going until I say so. She gulps and begins again.

“Sonnet 18, The Valentine’s Day Sonnet—Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate: rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, and summer’s lease hath all too short a date…”

She hears the camera shutter, click click.

“…Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines, and often is his gold complexion dimmed; and every fair from fair sometime declines, by chance, or nature’s changing course, untrimmed…” Nicole puts the camera down, twirls her finger. Waverly flips over onto her stomach and lays her head against the soft duvet. “…But thy eternal summer not fade, nor lose possession of that fair thou ow’st; nor shall Death brag thou wander’st in his shade when in eternal lines to time thou grow’st…”

She bears her neck, shivering when she feels Nicole’s fingers hovering above the curve of her throat, “…So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see, so long lives this, and this gives life to thee.”

Hair moved out of the way, Waverly can feel Nicole smiling above her. Impressed and proud.

She feels a layer of sweat shimmer to the surface of her skin, because, finally, she can see the older woman at work. Dutifully watching the master at work, in the zone and artfully adding each and every brush of paint to the canvas.

“Very good. I assume that you spent the majority of your younger years reading his works?” Nicole moves back around to crouch at the foot of the bed, camera lens laying on the edge. Waverly nods her head before staying completely still.

Click. A quick rotation of the lens. Click, click.

The camera is pulled away from Nicole’s face, the straps falling to the side. Waverly resumes, “While everyone was busy reading Twilight and The Hunger Games, I was already on my second read through of The Merchant of Venice.”

“Did that ever bother you?” Waverly raises a brow. “Being different from everyone else?”

“It did sometimes, couldn’t exactly relate to any of the other kids. They found English literature boring and I thought reality television was stupid, still do. But then I became a cheerleader in high school and everything changed.”

“You were finally somebody in their eyes.”

The brunette nods her head, running a hand through her hair to stave away any sudden, unwanted emotions. “It wasn’t much,” she said, biting her lip, “but at that moment it felt like everything.”

“What about now?”

“Now?” She asks.

“You were finally somebody in the eyes of your peers,” Nicole repeats, “do you still feel the same now, after all this time has passed?”

“Oh,” Waverly puts a finger to her chin. “I-I’ve never thought about that.” Have things changed completely to the point that she was no longer the same timid, shy, insecure long-haired teenager? Not in a million years. To her credit, yes, there are some aspects of her personality that have changed: she’s far more confident now, she can look back on cheerleading as a sport she enjoyed and not a stepping stone meant to thrust her up the social ladder. Hell, she isn’t the naïve fourteen-year-old who believed Champ’s every word when he said that he liked her for who she was. That he loved her.

“Sometimes I feel like I could be better,” the brunette continues.

Nicole nods and takes a seat at the edge of the bed, cycling through the photos taken. Deleting the ones, she didn’t like.

“I need you to change into another outfit, your choice, but put the thong on.”

Waverly takes a little more time than necessary to nod and get off the bed. Nicole points to the bathroom on the other side of the bedroom. She grabs the white bag and brings it into the bathroom, still surprised at the size and grandeur: a freestanding bathtub with burnished, metallic finished cast iron feet off to one side, a steam shower towards the other with different detachable showerheads and a heated towel rack beside it.

“Come here please,” Nicole asks walking towards one side of the room with nothing but curtains.

Part of Waverly already knew what was going to happen, yet, she wanted to remain blissfully ignorant for as long as possible. Already standing in the middle of the room with next to nothing on, practically naked, she can’t believe what would come next. Apparently, the alpha was hellbent on pushing Waverly as far out of her comfort zone as possible. The curtains separated down the middle by the use of some mechanic she can’t see, not that she gives it a second thought when a glass sliding door is revealed, unlocked and opened. The terrace outside, the private balcony exclusive to not only the penthouse, but to the master bedroom alone.

“I need you to stand here,” Nicole steps out of the way and points to the doorway of the balcony. Waverly blinks in confusion, and disbelief; she would say are you out of your mind? if she could and not sound like a madwoman. Instead, her jaw slackens, and the words die in her mouth. “The lighting from the sun will create the perfect shadow of your body from behind, almost like a silhouette.”

“Um… Is it really necessary for me to stand outside?”

Surely, the same effect can be recreated with resorting to near public embarrassment. Frat houses at Ghost River take to sending their pledges on streaking races around campus, at least the pledges ran off the belief and motivation that the ten minutes of abject humiliation were only to be reimbursed come next year when they could send the next young batch of hopefuls on their own naked path across the grounds. But to willingly stand outside in the lightest, tightest, imagination defying lingerie, just to be photographed for others to later see?

At least the pledges can take solace in forgetful minds and muddied memories, Waverly won’t have that luxury.

“No one will see you up here, trust me, they’d have to have a telescope or be in a helicopter at close enough range.” Nicole reassures her with a gently hand to her lower back. “I wouldn’t suggest this if I knew you couldn’t handle it.”

The omega isn’t so sure. The closest anyone’s ever gotten to seeing her in such an intimate way besides sex, is when her sisters completely forget the untold rules about not barging into the bathroom while a person is showering for any number of asinine reasons. The amount of times she’s had to argue with them about privacy and their lack of consideration of it until she eventually just accepted it whenever Wynonna came busting through the door to ask her a question (that couldn’t have waited until later) or rant endlessly about something or another (definitely couldn’t have waited until later).

But here was Nicole, calmly reminding her that pushing against the boundaries of her comfort zone wasn’t as insanely taboo and out of bounds as she inherently assumed. Yet, if she really did feel unable to follow through with this, that she could just as easily say “no” and they would continue with the photoshoot as promised with no ill will sullying it. The alpha silently swearing up and down that Waverly had first and final say.

Nicole comes up fully behind her, clothed front to almost-naked back, but she doesn’t touch her. Still, Waverly doesn’t feel the alpha’s skin on her unless there’s a centimeter or two of fabric in between. Nicole bends down and instead of resting her chin on the brunette’s shoulder, she simply hovers above it; makes a noncommittal grunt somewhere between surprised intrigue and cool amusement. They stay frozen together like that for what seems like an eternity, neither moving or speaking to break the silence hanging in the air. The sun dances along the skyline, bright orange and yellow rays casting long shadows, even the passing plane soaring high above gets caught in the middle and its shadow drifts over them for the fewest seconds possible.

“Want to go back inside?” Nicole asks softly, murmuring against her ear. Barely even a whisper, but Waverly hears it all the same. She shakes her head, eyes tracing over the square lines of the TransCanada Tower in the distance.

“Do you want to go outside?” Waverly shakes her head once more, now tracing the transparent lines of Eighth Avenue Place building and watching the sunlight shimmer against its glass windows.

“That’s fine,” Nicole says, “We’ll move when you want to, okay?” Waverly starts to shift, a frantic tremor suddenly sparks through her veins with worried thoughts—I’m wasting her time, I’m wasting her time, I’m wasting her time—until Nicole’s hands clamp down on her hips firmly and reposition her to the way they were before; comfortably secure and at peace with just standing straight and facing forward.

“There’s no need to rush, understand? We have all the time in the world and we will move at your pace.”

It’s a fairly simple reminder, her unwavering control over their time together and the ability to simply stop everything instantly by uttering a single word.

They stand there without moving a single muscle for what feels like forever, Nicole hands move from her hips and fold together in front of the brunette’s stomach, as her chin fully settles on Waverly’s shoulder—warmth radiates from the alpha’s body like a furnace—bodies pressed tightly together, keeping her close. Almost as if, at any moment, she’ll slip through her fingers like water. Makes the omega, with a curious tilt of the head, question what the alpha would do in such a situation; would she try to hold on as much as she can? Or would she quietly stand watch and let her go without a second thought? Is there any justification for thinking such a thing? Waverly sighs, biting the inside of her cheek in an effort to keep the unwanted thoughts at bay. She watches the clouds come into view, playing along the side of the Eighth Avenue building’s windows, creating disjoined shapes as they pass over into the shadows.

The sun begins its descent through the sky, and suddenly, by the sheer force of something she can’t readily explain or comprehend, she moves forward. Slipping out of Nicole’s arms, the alpha keeps a firm hand at her lower back, anchoring her against it.

Much like how she’s always imagined being up this high, the view is incredible. Mind blowing in such a fashion that she even entertains the idea of peering over the edge of the railing just to see the ground below. Her eyes narrow at the intensity, vision slightly swimming at how tiny everything is below her. People bustling in and out of view in a hurry, vehicles nothing but dots moving quickly as if on a race track. They don’t know she’s up there peering down at them, this must be what it feels like to be wealthy.

To be so powerful that she can afford the to stand high in her tower above the world, away from its problems and the messes it creates. Touching down on earth only whenever it suited her, not because she had to. The breeze is cold against her skin, goosebumps rising as she shivers. The only heat to be found is the tether linking her to the alpha, and even then, just for a single second, it disappears. The terrace shakes, the wood vinyl flooring beneath her feet falls away piece by piece until there’s nothing but air. Her lungs threaten to cave in and her throat swells up as she grips the railing with an iron grip. The ground shooting towards her at lightning speed and—click, click—then it doesn’t….

Nicole’s hand is still touching her and she’s suddenly back up above, soaring with the clouds again. The older woman is smiling softly. Pleased.

“You did very well.”

A wave of relief washes over her, and Nicole brings her back inside. “We’ll do something simple now, nothing too demanding. Okay?”

“Okay.”

Nicole points to the chaise lounge and instructs her to sit while she heads back to the studio for something.

Waverly makes herself home (or as much as she’s able to) on the plush chair. She takes note that the midnight black color matches the rest of the bedroom’s décor. Compared to the mansion’s occasional splash of bright colors like whites, reds, blues and of course gold, from what she has seen of the penthouse, it is almost completely void of color. A shadow; shrouded in darkness if it weren’t for the lights illuminating the way.

Nicole did make mention of the penthouse being more a temporary home she only ever uses whenever the work at the office keeps her from going home at a decent hour. But how truthful is that, really? Despite having a net worth (20.4 billion, to be exact) that would easily allow her to buy out the entirety of a town as insignificant and out of the way as Purgatory, to buy her own slice of all that life has to offer, there’s nothing here that would suggest so. The colors are too dark, too muted, too bleak; the only bright color to be found is on the lingerie Waverly is currently wearing, as little as there is of it.

She peers her head to get a better view of the nightstands on either side of the bed, empty of any framed photos. Just like the rest of the apartment, save for the one of a grizzly bear hanging in the living room. Doesn’t take a genius or a seasoned psychoanalyst to understand the lack of warmth is coming from a place of inner conflict and disillusion.

When Nicole returns, carrying a stripped blue silk robe slung over one arm, a bottle of chardonnay inside a bucket of ice with her right hand, two glasses are balanced between her fingers on her left hand, and a bundle of what appears to be strips of fabric over her shoulder. The atmosphere is different, there’s a slight misstep as Nicole comes closer, but it’s gone within a blink and the graceful alpha strolls towards her coolly.

There is a moment of appreciation as Waverly gets up from the lounge chair to marvel at the robe; irresistible, elegant ivory combining the ultimate luxury of pure, skin-caressing silk with a timeless, floor-sweeping design. Crafted with an open front which wraps around the body, featuring a detachable, matching silk sash belt embroidered with the letter H in golden lurex. Putting it on, Waverly feels the weight on her shoulders lessen, even wanting to twirl around in it.

The bucket is placed on the table beside the lounge chair. Nicole pulls the bottle out of its icy home and rips the silver foil covering its neck; Domain Leflaive Montrachet 1997, white and blisteringly sophisticated in taste as it is by scent and body.

“Can I ask how much the bottle is?”

“You can, but you’d probably faint if I told you.”

They clink their classes together in a quiet toast. “How much is it?”

“Seven-thousand-five-hundred euros,” Nicole grins, “or eleven-thousand-six-hundred-ninety-nine Canadian.”

Holy fucking shit! Waverly all but rolls her eyes in disbelief, more so that the alpha’s obvious amusement than the staggering price.

“Will you ever not be surprised at how much money I spend?”

Waverly shakes her head. “Probably not.”

Nicole shrugs her shoulders, “Fine by me, makes everything a bit more fun.”

“You know, I still am sorry about what happened.” Nicole says, followed by a click. “I should have said something sooner, preferably at the beginning.”

Waverly reassures her with a shake of the head, it’s all water under the bridge now. Or well, most of it. “It’s okay… I-I get why you wouldn’t want to tell anyone about it, it isn’t something you can easily bring up in a conversation.”

Nicole gives her a half smile, readjusting the lens. “Yeah, I guess.”

But the omega isn’t convinced; head down, body lying flat on the floor between them. A twinge of guilt worms its way into her chest for her actions yesterday, for giving Nicole the third degree and demonizing her. Refusing to give her the benefit of the doubt and at least try to understand things from her perspective. Instead of being swayed by emotions and shock, the way her father wanted.

“D-Does it ever get lonely?” Waverly asks softly, “Being where you are?”

Nicole stops messing with the camera. Standing up, her eyes are emotionless, and she stakes a rigid step forward. Aiming the camera and moving the lens. Click. Click. Click.

“Face the window.” Waverly flinches at the coldness of her tone.

Waverly nods and does as she’s told.

There is another series of click click click before she hears the alpha sigh.

“Sometimes it does, sometimes I wish I was like my sister and just run away,” The older woman says. “She never went through any of this. Got out the minute she smelled the first drops of blood in the water.”

“Do you still talk to her? To your siblings?” The brunette asks, not knowing much about them. Even with all her extensive research into their family.

“Uh, not-not as much as I would like, to be honest.” Nicole clears her throat. “Charlize tends to pop in and out of our lives whenever she sees fit, my brother Alexei doesn’t get along with our father, so he’s basically blacklisted from having contact with anyone unless Dad approves. The only one who’s been saved from having to deal with any of this shit is my younger brother, Evan, he’s in France.”

“Sounds like your father is, uh, difficult to deal with,” Waverly bites her bottom lips, “to put it lightly.”

“Trust me, he’s nothing compared to my grandfather, but he’s definitely a handful.”

The alpha then scratches the back of her head, “He cares, he just thinks his way is the best.”

Nicole then ushers Waverly to the bed, grabbing the rest of the blindfolds from the edge and pushing the quilts to the side, instructing her to take off the robe and lay down. Facing up. She sinks into the comfort of the bed sheets, the mattress molding against her body to the point that brunette almost sinks in. The firmness quietly lulling her to sleep.

“But at least you have a support system, your friends and your family,” Waverly tries for a smile. “Your wife. I mean, I-I don’t know if I could ever be as understanding as her.”

“Yeah… this whole thing has been—it’s been tough on her since these contracts became a thing.”

There’s a pregnant pause hanging thickly in the air, enough for the sudden concern to pull Waverly up from the bed and stare with furrowed brows. She searches Nicole’s eyes for, really anything that would explain why her confident alpha was suddenly faltering. Another clearing of her throat and the bed dips, Nicole looming over her with a knee on the edge as she ties Waverly’s wrist to the headboard.

“We tried to handle things ourselves, at first, didn’t work.”

“What happened?” The brunette asks as Nicole throws a knee over her body and straddles her. Tying her other wrist to the headboard as well.

“Fear. At least I think it is, we never had any issues during my ruts.” There’s a quick smile and a small chuckle. “Hell, they were, uh, they were highly sought after…”

The smile disappears and is replaced by a tight-lipped frown. “But then the situation happened and now it’s like she’s never around whenever my rut comes. I understand when she’s unable to because of business trips, or prior commitments—coincidences, you know?”

Nicole slips off the bed and stands back and watches the marvel of an image Waverly has become on the bed, fingers working at pulling the cashmere sweater over her head, then the thin shirt underneath, but her eyes don’t stray from the brunette’s.

There is a fine art to movement. One a lot of people take for granted and Waverly has learned, with time, that there are certain things, certain movements and motions that can elicit a certain reaction; ought to be appreciated. The alpha knows she has Waverly’s undivided attention already. Toeing off her boots and undoing her belt, the buckle is left to hang loosely against her body while her jeans are popped open.

Waverly licks her lips.

A bolt of pain sparks at the crick in her neck, enough that she has to lay back and break eye contact. But that doesn’t deter the alpha in the slightest, if anything, it only spurs her on, the atmosphere shifting along with their change in dynamic. Waverly can feel the bed dip with the newly added weight, moving between her legs with all the quiet precision of snake slithering across a forest floor. A firm, yet smooth pair of hands brush against the skin of her ankles before being replaced by the soft material of the satin blindfolds tracing up her legs. Her body curving on the sheets on a shaky exhale as she feels hands skimming through and parting her knees just enough to suggest something… a bit unorthodox with their little boudoir photoshoot.

“Bound and somewhat helpless,” Waverly struggles against her restraints, “An all too perfect sight, luckily for me, I’ve got a camera right here.”

She can’t see it, but damn, she can feel the camera being aimed right at her and somehow, she feels even more vulnerable than before.

Click. Click. Click.

Nicole’s honey-golden eyes burn holes into Waverly as she shifts, knees twitching to lock together despite the omega’s best efforts to keep them apart. Snorting in contempt at Waverly’s desire to go one way and it the other.

Waverly wonders if there is a part of the alpha that can withstand normalcy, something simple and predictable. Vanilla sex, if she were to be completely blunt. Or if this unconscious habit of establishing roles and needing to be the dominate partner is all the result of fulfilling some insecurity? She knows that on some level Nicole would willingly loosen up the reigns, it’s her alpha she can’t seem to get a tight grasp on. Imposing as it is welcoming, a strange and fascinating mix that sends her omega into a tailspin, Waverly can’t fully understand. For god’s sake Nicole has stopped moving and thoughts of her stroking herself suddenly crosses her mind like she’s some horny teenage virgin that still blushes at the mention of anything sexual.

A jingle of the belt buckle following a loud thwack against the floor and Waverly groans, unable to see her alpha bare. Even in such a state Nicole still commands an aura about her, strong and impenetrable. But malleable, flexible. Adaptable. Able to go with flow and change things up in a way that her extensive years of experience can vouch for.

Among this, is the unflinching ability to find amusement in Waverly’s impatience.

Damn purebred asshole prick.

“What’s wrong? Can’t seem to stay still, baby?” Nicole teases, the blindfold suddenly finding its way up her stomach.

“Crossing lines now, are we?”

“What’s there to cross if the lines have already been blurred?”

The blindfold moves upwards until Waverly can feel it against her cheek, the weight on the bed shifts and Nicole’s face comes into view. There’s a softness to the older woman’s face that ultimately contradicts the way those sharp eyes devour her, fingertips reaching out to brush over Waverly’s lips in the kindest of gestures.

“I want to bite your lip,” Nicole whispers.

But nothing comes from it. Instead, the blindfold is tied tightly behind Waverly’s head and her vision is no more. Darkened with only amorphous shapes and shadows to be see through the material.

Waverly closes her eyes with a quiet sigh, licking her lips in a bid to entice Nicole for a kiss. But the clever alpha doesn’t fall for the bait, tapping a fingertip against them, you think you’re very slick, don’t you? She feels the older woman rise from the bed, her weight settling a bit heavy on Waverly’s lap as she straddles it before completely getting off.

She can’t tell where the woman is, her footsteps are too quiet to be heard easily. There is a quick click of the camera before she suddenly hears something thud against the surface of the nightstand to her left.

Then, she gasps—her lips are freezing cold, each line and curve shaping them now frozen solid. She starts to squirm for a bit, because of the ice and amused smile she knows Nicole is sporting.

There is a dry ache in her throat, this hollow yearn at the pit of her stomach wears a hole into the walls with every burn of her tightening muscles. She starts to sweat, the heat overtaking her body is all-consuming and for as much as she tries to withstand it, to the best of her abilities, she just can’t. Not when her molten lava surges through her veins, ravishing every single nerve ending and leaving a blazing hot trail in its wake.

Her fingers flex against the satin restraints, her eyes are still closed, head shifting around on the mattress enough to tousle her hair as Nicole presses the rapidly melting ice cube against her lips until their numb. The cube then slips over the curve of her chin and slides down her throat, ripping a snake-like hiss from deep within her chest.

And then a pair of sharp teeth, fangs and all, snatches it away with the forcefulness of a hungry predator snapping at a scavenger looking to usurp them. Nipping against the sensitive skin just above the valley between her breasts. Nicole’s hot breath brushes over them with heady want, goosebumps dot her skin and suddenly, the brunette is all too aware at how the underwire of the bra pushes her breasts up in such an obvious display.

“Feeling a little hot, baby?” Nicole asks, voice quiet but that cocky lilt is still evident. Waverly can’t see, can’t tell if it’s even there, but her mind’s eye knows for a fact that a smirk is dancing along her lips.

Waverly nods her head roughly, desperate for some relief. But true to fashion, Nicole refuses and another ice cube finds its place on her body again.

“I need to hear you say the magic word.”

That sing-songy tone will be the end of Waverly Earp; she knows the alpha is finding immense pleasure watching the expressions work themselves over her features as she shifts and writhes—she doesn’t hold her reactions back, doesn’t force herself still. The ice cube swiftly glides across her chest, slow and torturous as she maps out its intended destination, her nipples harden in anticipation. Yet, once again, she’s cut off; the ice cube is removed.

“Still won’t tell me what I want to hear?” Waverly shakes her head and several droplets hit against her very low on her stomach. Gasping when the water droplet drips even lower and disappears past the hemline of her thong.

Nicole lets out a disappointed sigh and Waverly can hear the petulant whine her omega responds with. She shakes her head, refusing to play the older woman’s game even if it was just to comply with her needy omega’s wants. Not so soon at least.

She needs to retain some semblance of dignity, of course.

Sitting up, Nicole readjusts her position (probably moving to relieve all the pressure currently placed on her knees), and drags Waverly’s hips over her lap, giving the older woman access to the whole run of the brunette’s body and keeping her back arched in a way that’s most pleasing to the eye; elevated, she touches less directly, choosing to then explore the full length of Waverly’s body—along the sides to see what points will make her shudder and twist, up the insides of her splayed arms, that glorious curve of her biceps straining against her skin and drifting lower to the underside of painfully neglected breasts, pushing a thumb over each nipple in turn—sadly, she doesn’t linger there for long.

Nicole is gentle, barely there, but Waverly feels every single one of them, and responds in earnest; shifting helplessly away from the constant change between hot and cold at her sides, arching into the stroke of featherlight pads of fingers over her nipples. A quick shuffling of something solid clinking against glass and a tight-lipped curse falls from Waverly’s lips. Nevertheless, for every fuck, and shit, and oh dear god, Nicole doesn’t let up; swirling the rapidly melting ice in slow methodical circles along the edge of her areola.

The omega curls her legs around the alpha’s middle and pulls herself closer, whining once more when she feels the silk material of a pair of boxers, the image of a completely undressed and bare Nicole Haught is now ruined. The change in position brings the alpha to rest a little closer.

“Daring today, aren’t we?”

“Daddy…” Waverly begs.

No response, and she wants to scream. She’s wearing a hole in the bed with the amount of heat emanating from her body, there’s barely an inch or two of a layer between her back and the box-springs beneath. She’ll burn through them soon enough and hit the floor if Nicole didn’t touch her; something, anything, it doesn’t matter what.

She needs the older woman to touch her now. Her body comes to life like a livewire with bolts of electricity sparking through her limbs, tremors ring out under skin with enough force to buck Nicole off if she was a little stronger. But no. She holds a fraction of the alpha’s strength and even if her arms were free, what then? There’s not a chance in hell that she’d ever be able to flip Nicole over and assume the dominant role. Not when the alpha is hellbent on torturing her into oblivion.

Yet, by the stroke of some godforsaken miracle Nicole leans forward and peels away the boxers, Waverly can’t see anything but the sudden feeling of white-hot flesh, heavy and thick against her thigh more than makes up for it. Despite the urge to now slide her hand between their legs and curl around Nicole’s freed cock.

The tip is wet and the omega whimpers, “Daddy… I-I need you to…”

Waverly pulls against her restraints, biting her lip as she continues to struggle before huffing in defeat. Nicole moves, and Waverly suspects she’s getting off the bed with the bed dipping towards one direction, that is until she hears the shuffling of ice against glass again, followed by the solid heaviness of something weighing atop of her.

“What color?” She senses a hand being braced against the bed beside her head.

“Green.” Waverly answers without hesitation.

“Okay.”

A tap to her lips and she obediently parts her lips, an ice cube slips into her mouth without warning. But just as the ice starts to melt and the cold numbs the surface of her tongue, she feels Nicole’s lips slide over own. That slick, warm tongue working its way in to explore.

The ice melts away, that cold buffer freezing the inside of Waverly’s mouth withered away to nothing as the alpha takes over, eager to taste her and rip every wanton moan from her chest. One hand keeps her chin in place for every thought that crosses the alpha’s mind to ravish her lips until they’re red, hot, and swollen, while the other skims slightly bent knuckles through the limited space between them.

Nicole separates them, momentarily satisfied with her handiwork before moving lower down her body. Nipping against her jaw, the side of her throat and leaving a furious red hickey that blossoms into a purple bruise on her collarbone.

The weight on the bed shifts once again, but this time Waverly can feel Nicole move back onto her knees, but she isn’t as heavy. As though she’s balancing on the balls of her knees for a quick second before moving again. Suddenly, the weight disappears, but the bed dips on either side of her head. She tries to move to gauge what body part she can sense is on either side of her, but without the use of her arms she can’t.

Another tap to her lips and is met with an ice cube that has already withered down to nothing but a small shard tracing over her lips. Waverly doesn’t struggle this time; the cold doesn’t bother her. She’s used to it. The ice melts completely and she registers another tap against her lips, she opens her mouth expecting to be given another ice cube.

Instead, all she receives is heat searing her tender lips into life.

Thick, salty, and with a dash of vanilla; a bittersweet taste coats the tip of Waverly’s tongue and she feels a vibrant, vibrating sensation deep within her chest. Her jaw goes slack, sucking as much of Nicole in as the alpha will let. Nevertheless, she can sense the older woman’s abdomen jolt deliciously, cock throbbing in turn.

It is silent except for the obscene slick sound of suction and saliva, punctuated by Nicole’s heavy breathing. She curls her tongue back so the silky, sensitive underside brushes against every ridge, bobbing her head over the tip as much as her position will permit. Going as far to strain her neck just a bit to take in more, the tears smarting at the corners of her eyes be damned; she’s never had to perpetually unhinge her jaw. But there’s a first for everything…

There’s a pulse, a single, momentary pulse that pumps Nicole into her mouth and Waverly accepts, greedily swallowing the change in their roles. Sucking hard until Nicole’s slips away from her mouth an audible, taunting pop. She moves her, sensing the alpha is still near, and she manages several desperate licks to that little divot beneath the thick, wet head.

Nicole grunts, the tip of her cock ever so slightly only a hair’s breadth away, the heat radiating from her disappears and reappears within seconds and when Waverly squirms, she feels the edge of the older woman’s knuckles. She blushes at that; the image of her big strong alpha stroking herself so close to her lips, mouth hanging open and her honey-golden eyes closed shut in ecstasy. Followed by that one last guttural groan that makes her entire body shudder, right down to her core, deep and rough—

“No, no,” Nicole clears her throat catching her breath, “I think you’ve had enough fun for today, baby.”

“Daddy, please…” Waverly tries, but it falls on deaf ears. The bed dips one way, and Nicole is no longer anywhere near her.

“Good guess, but that isn’t the magic word I’m looking for.” Nicole makes a tsking sound, patronizing in tone, and Waverly bites her lip.

Waverly tries at the restraints again for what feels like the umpteenth time today, and like every time she tried, she isn’t any closer to slipping free than the first time.

“Mmmm, I’m feeling a bit generous today, so I’ll give you one more try.” Waverly swallows. “And maybe I need to try a different tactic, as well.”

“Daddy?” Waverly asks. She hopes for a response, and after a few seconds of silence all she receives is a reassuring tap against her knee.

Nicole’s fingers trail over her legs and every so often there is a gentle rhythmic tap that keeps the omega stable, reminding her that she isn’t alone. That for all of the alpha’s teasing desire to push her to her limits, her words, while soft yet inexplicably firm, hold her together. Even on the precipice of falling off the edge and dropping, Nicole keeps her steady. Here.

The bed dips from the front of the bed and then Waverly’s legs are nudged open, the alpha sliding in between them.

Waverly hears the swirl of a glass and, predictably, she anticipates another ice cube. Prepares herself, unconsciously tightening her abdomen for the impending cold touching her skin. Nicole shifts and curls her arms underneath Waverly’s thighs, pulling her close and pushing her hands under the brunette’s hips, elevating her waist upwards into the air akin to an offering to a shrine. And true to the older woman’s unpredictable fashion, some of the chardonnay is dripped down her body. Goosebumps rising along the surface of her abdomen, the cold chilling her muscles with a strangled hiss.

Heightened only, by that clever tongue’s harrowingly languid swipe up her body, drinking in the chardonnay with such care that every inch of the wasted alcohol finds a renewed purpose. The omega rolls her hips wantonly, searching for contact right where she needs it. Mewling for a reprieve from the heat, the fire burning beneath her sweat, (and now) alcohol-slicked skin. Desperate—Waverly Earp is needy, desperate mess.

“Please Daddy, please,” she pants, throat dry and hollow.

“Do you want to call a color?” Nicole asks, and Waverly vehemently shakes her head. “Then tell me the magic word.”

Nicole’s voice is raspy and dark. Waverly doesn’t have to see to know the alpha’s pupils are blown open, hungry; she pushes her knee back to shove Nicole away in retaliation. And for a split second, Nicole slips in her control and is slightly pushed a few inches down the bed.

Of course, it doesn’t last too long, the alpha’s generosity waning quickly with a cocky little chuckle.

“What’s the magic word, baby?” Nicole murmurs as she settles back in between the brunette’s legs, leisurely leaving open-mouthed kisses along her thighs. “C’mon, it’s just one word. Think. Think for Daddy, baby.”

It’s a pressure she’s never felt before, this desire that forces her to try and fruitlessly clench her thighs to combat the maddening sensation. The flashfire pulling her down this hedonistic pit of squirming limbs. Gasping when an ice cube is dragged lazily across her folds, swirling around her clit in slow, devious circles.

“Fuck—oh god, oh fuck,” she moans. Body quivering at the sudden dip inside, instantly taking her breath away. Entering her wet core with a practiced ease that leaves Waverly curling her body into an all too familiar arch. Her walls stretching deliciously, fluttering around the lone digit and its entire length filling her with want.

The ice melts against her clit quickly with the blazing heat of Nicole’s mouth. Heart pounding, body twitching as Nicole wraps her lips hungrily around her clit and sucking furiously. A second joins the first, scissoring their way inside to get her nice and ready.

“Daddy, I-I need… I need you.”

Nicole pulls away.

Sliding up, Nicole buries her face beside Waverly’s. Leaving a trail of soft kisses against the brunette’s shoulders and neck, along her jawline and beneath her ear. “Baby, it’s want; the magic word is want.”

“Want?” Waverly blinks.

“Everyone needs something, sex is a biological need for reproduction. But want, on the other, is a choice. A decision.” Nicole’s breath is hot against her ear, teeth nipping at her lobe, tongue slick against the shell. “There is more power in wanting something and saying that you want something.”

Nicole slots their hips together, cock heavy against her clit, flesh hot and hard as she bucks her hips. The underside rubbing against her the omega in a deliriously delicious way that summons up an array of colorful explosions sparking fireworks behind her eyes. The promise of more, the promise of finally reaching the end and having her desire fulfilled and satiated at the most primal level imaginable. Base and pure, animalistic in every sense of the word to just be fucked and ridden hard.

With sweat crowning her head and a litany of desperate pants as she nears the edge of a cliff rapidly, barreling towards it a lightning speed without stopping. And she doesn’t want to—she doesn’t want to stop, at all.

The alpha nuzzles against the crook of the omega’s neck, hips rutting furiously. For whatever reason, there’s no condom in place, Nicole’s cock is grinding hard against her with no latex between them, just skin to skin. Whether the older woman didn’t have one, forgot it, or simply chose to continue the narrative of burying her under a wave of intense fire, Waverly doesn’t care. She’s at the edge already, dancing along the threshold, just wanting to jump and be free. But she can’t, wrapping her legs around the alpha’s waist, tears smarten at the corner of her eyes and she just… Just…

Dear god, she just fucking can’t.

She can’t.

“Inside, I want you inside.”

A bolt of lightning connects them together and in a single strike, she’s undone.

Wholly, and completely, undone.

Nicole pulls out, groaning as she comes. Hot and thick on the omega’s stomach, alpha quietly growling in the corner at the waste.

“Recite for me, sonnet 116,” Nicole offers quietly, slowly rising from the bed.

Numbly, Waverly nods. “Let me not to the marriage of true minds admit impediments. Love is not love which alters when it alteration finds, or bends with the remover to remove…”

“…O, no! It is an ever-fixed mark, that looks on tempests and is never shaken; it is the star to every wandering bark, whose worth’s unknown, although his height be taken…” Waverly continues, coming down from the high, “…Love’s not Time’s fool, though rosy lips and cheeks within his bending sickle’s compass come; love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, but bears it out even to the edge of doom…”

Nicole brushes her fingers against Waverly’s cheek one more time. “…If this be error and upon me proved, I never writ, nor no man ever loved…”