by Lola Rock
I clamp him close and start to rock my knot inside him, deeper, deeper, deeper with each stroke of my hips.
Finally, impatiently, Orion clenches his inner muscles, sucking me inside. Hot blood rushes, inflating my knot until I’m stretching every inch of him, our bodies bound so tightly that the frantic beat of his heart echoes in my chest.
“Mate.” I suck his neck, kissing the mark that joins our souls as I work my hips, rocking, rocking so deep inside him, all I can feel is his heat.
“Atlas, Atlas… Unh~” he chants my name, fingers digging into my forearms as he’s rocked helplessly to my rhythm, sun-kissed eyelashes fluttering.
I stroke his shaft hard and slow until he’s keening.
The first orgasm sends him shuddering, coming apart in my hand. When his insides tighten, fluttering around my cock, I drive up into him with a roar.
He comes again as I do.
Then again, and again, and again, every time, my hot seed searing him, branding him deep inside.
Mine.
He writhes on me, insatiable, milking my cock back to hardness again and again, both of us swept away.
“Mine.” I bite his mate mark as my balls tighten again, another wave of come shooting inside him.
Orion cries, his cock spouting off, arms gripping me, leaning into my bite.
Perfect.
Hours later, a shaking orgasm rocks Orion so hard that he passes out. I come one last time, so spent that my knot finally deflates.
As my mate falls asleep in my arms, I remind myself how lucky I am.
I don’t deserve this or him, but I’ll never let him go.
And fuck the part of my brain even now, even after that, strays to the girl in our basement, wishing she could’ve joined.
Twenty-Eight
LILAH
I’d have to be dead and cremated with my ashes spread in the Arctic to not hear the panty-wetting moans and groans of the acrobatic, honestly aspirational monkey sex happening upstairs.
I juggle the dishes into the washer while my temperature rises so high I might need to call a firetruck.
But the only men I want putting out this blaze are the ones who threw the match, rutting like they’re filming their reel for the sex Olympics.
Goddess, I hope they’re filming.
I dash downstairs, lock myself in the bathroom, and splash with water that doesn’t do shit for this heat.
The face in the mirror is unrecognizable, my pupils blown out, grey eyes wide and dark. A flush pinkens my pale cheeks and my lips part as I pant, my pulse moving too fast, my breaths coming too fast, everything too fast, too hot, too much.
I catch a hint of something sweet on the air.
Vanilla sugar, rich and longing.
A scent that shouldn’t exist, can’t exist.
Mother-fucking-shit-on-a-biscuit.
Fully clothed, I jump in the shower, then strip off the soggy, scent-stained clothes and toss them in a heap. With half a bottle of soap, I scrub my flesh raw, keeping the water so molten I’m more lava monster than omega.
I wish I could swirl down the drain.
I can’t stop picturing the Orion who made those moans. Are all four of them up there, working him over on the pack bed?
Can he take all their knots in one session?
Orion must look like a blond god when he’s spread out underneath them. Atlas looming over him, dominating him…
My clit swells, aching to join the threesome in my mind.
Shit.
Shit shit shit.
Arousal means I’m deep in pre-awakening. My body’s waking up and it won’t be long before it demands more than just glances from the alphas I can’t stop obsessing over.
The best thing to do would be to flip the water to glacial and think unsexy thoughts like sandpaper and toenails until the ache disappears.
But am I a saint?
No, I’m fucking not.
I tease my nipples, run my hands down my belly, then brace against the shower wall as I tease my clit in slow circles, imagining what it would be like to ride Orion’s face, to have him pressed under me, with those blue eyes alight between my thighs.
My slick flows, but the water hides the damning scent, washing it down the drain.
My fantasy is so real I can taste green apples.
The alphas would let Orion and I kiss and play, exploring each other's bodies, letting us tease ourselves higher and higher until we’re begging for their knots. Then they’d share us. Between them, all of them, Atlas barking out who and where to fucking take me.
Hunter hugging me from behind, fucking me into Finn’s mouth. Or Jett, making sweet, slow love to me, showing me his soul through his dark, galactic eyes while I watch Atlas drive Orion to insanity on his cock.
My cunt aches, my clit singing, but I crave more. The big alpha knots I’ve only seen in porn. My insides clench, craving the fullness I know the Wyverns could give me sooooo good.
Atlas pulling me onto his lap, letting me sink slowly down his cock, stretching so wide to swallow his knot.
His teeth in my neck, his bite claiming me for the pack forever…
My fingers slip inside my entrance, one, then two, then three, but they’re not enough, even as I pump harder and faster, chasing the pleasure that sinks me deeper and deeper into my body.
“Mine,” Atlas growls in my dreams, biting my neck as Orion whispers in my ear, “ours.”
I come, biting my forearm, strangling the desperate yelp that echoes in the bathroom.
Weak-kneed, I pant against the wall.
As the edge of my hunger fades, the post-nut clarity reminds me that I’m seriously fucking deluded.
There’s no scent on my body when I finally step out of the shower looking like a cooked lobster with a third-degree sunburn. My arm stings like a bitch.
Because oh yeah, gunshot.
I towel off, replace my bandage, then slather with the de-scenting lotion that I’m going to run out of way too soon. I need more. More bleach and pads and lies if I’m going to keep this truth hidden.
The truth that I want them.
The truth that I can never have them.
I want to enjoy the fantasy while I can, to hover near them and play pretend before I have to run back to the hole where I belong.
So, shower quickie aside, I can’t let down my guard. I can’t relax. Between healing and the huge meal I couldn’t stop myself from eating as Orion tempted me with sauces like my personal Tabasco angel, I’m not just drowsy.
I’m eyes-falling-down exhausted.
But this is exactly where I’ll slip up.
I need to wash my clothes. I have so few outfits, one clinging hint of perfume could bring me to ruin.
Minus the extra-long T-shirt and panties I’m wearing, I grab my entire wardrobe in one armful and head to the laundry room.
I realize my mistake the second the door swings open.
Hunter and Finn circle each other on the mats, sparring.
Shirtless.
Tiny shorts.
Every glistening muscle on display and twice as deadly as my fantasies.
Hunter’s bronze chest is tatted with geometric patterns so elaborate I wanna become a cartographer and map every line. They flow from his bobbing Adam’s apple, down his cut arms and eight-pack abs, disappearing into the waist of shorts so fucking obscene I can see every inch of what he’s packing.
It’s a lot of inches.
I don’t have a ruler, but if I did, I’d be fanning myself with that shit because ten is the conservative guess.
Finn’s back is to me, tight shoulders pale and shimmering with sweat. No tattoos, but scars. So many scars. Burns, grazes, bullet wounds.
And… A shark bite?
Maybe not, but his huge shoulder scar is gnarly. I’d pay more attention to it, but my eyes have their own agenda, dipping to his V-line, and the clingy shorts that show off his ass dimples.
Whoever bought their workout gear deserves a fucking
medal.
You’re the MVP, booty short angel.
The way they move…
Hunter’s so jacked, I’d expect him to be slow, but Finn can’t land a clean hit. They punch, kick, try to sweep the other’s legs out. Finn looks like he’s barely moving, but he’s this coiled, deadly stillness. It’s like watching a pit bull fight a viper.
My body lights up, aching to jump between them.
I swallow a mouthful of saliva.
“Lilah?” Hunter lifts out of his fighting stance, every ab waving hello as he unfolds. “You okay?”
“Laundry,” I yelp, scurrying to the machine and praying I caked on enough lotion because the room reeks of Hunter’s sweet smoke and Finn’s orange-drenched scent that makes me wanna spread my legs and let them take turns doing whatever the fuck they want to me.
Or they can do me together.
Go, teamwork!
Except one whiff of the truth and they’ll send me packing.
I’m frantically shoving clothes into the washer when I feel the presence at my back. I reflexively dodge the attempt to grab my shoulder, spinning around, already gripping the blade I tucked into my panties.
“Babydoll.” Finn grins like a girl getting her first bouquet of roses. “Where were you carrying that knife?”
I exhale, but only allow myself to take back in a shallow lungful. I can’t get sucked in by Finn’s too-tempting scent. “You don’t want to know.”
“Oh, I do. Why don’t you show—”
“Finn.” Hunter yanks him away. “Let her breathe.”
I hesitate when I should put in the soap and leave the room, but Hunter’s watching, and he won’t miss when I pour in a fucking lid full of de-scenter that an unawakened omega shouldn’t need.
“I didn’t mean to bother you. Just keep doing your thing.” I move to the dryer and yet another load of their clothes that I’ve been working on cleaning. I need to wash my stuff more often than they do, and every time I’m down here, I’m surrounded by piles and piles of their sweat-soaked, fever-inducing laundry.
The fact that even their dirty clothes turn me on is a source of shame that I’d rather die than admit.
Like I said. Not a saint.
More like a hussy trying to hide underneath a habit.
And I’m not sure how much longer I want to hide.
“Why are you washing our clothes? Aren’t we paying Craig to play houseboy?” Finn turns to Hunter.
“Orion told him to stop when his boxers started going missing.”
I drop the T-shirt I’m folding. “They what?”
Okay, yeah, I think anything that smells like Orion is sexy as fuck, but even I’m not depraved enough to steal his boxers.
Unless he says I can.
But stealing without permission?
That’s some stalker shit.
“Is that what happened?” Finn licks his lips. “Gonna have a talk with Craiggy.”
I look away from the sexy psycho, glancing to Hunter, who shrugs. “It’s not our business.”
“He’s your mate.” I fume, thinking how Craig skulks around while Orion’s home alone. “Does Atlas know?”
“Orion didn’t tell him.” Hunter shrugs again, like it’s not even a little bit his issue.
Is this a man thing? An alpha thing?
Like, are they not supposed to share their problems with each other?
“Isn’t there security footage?” I haven’t missed the cameras in the corner of every room.
“Jett would know,” Hunter says.
“Where is he?”
“His office. But I don’t think you—”
I leave Hunter and Finn, stomping up the steps. My heart stutters when I reach the second floor and the bougie chandelier winks at me in a way-above-your-paygrade warning, but I can’t let this shit go.
If it were me, I’d hide and bide my time, avoiding Craig until he forgets me or I have to stab some sense into the asshole.
God knows he’s not the first creeper beta I’ve handled.
But this is Orion. And this creeper is in his home. Every day.
How can you be sane with that? Just the idea of being around Craig feels oilier and oilier, like khaki stained with meat grease.
Bracing myself, I climb the stairs.
A sultry, gut-clenching moan freezes my bare feet to the plush carpet runner.
Right. The monkey sex.
I was angry enough to forget.
A door whips open down the hall, and for a heart-stopping moment, I wonder what I’ll do if they ask me to join. But the man who stalks out looks more likely to slit my throat than give me a ticket to the sexcapades.
“What are you doing?” Jett advances, and my brain struggles to layer the boy of my memories over the sneering demon who might kick me down the steps.
The urge to shrink and hide is strong, but I’m done giving in. I force myself to stand straight, to not show Jett the smallest flinch. “I need to talk to you.”
“Atlas…” Orion’s muffled moan turns the air to plasma.
My nostrils flare, and heat trickles between my legs. Please don’t perfume.
“Make it quick.” Jett moves fast, almost jumping back inside his room.
Guess I’m not the only one who can’t handle the soundtrack.
Especially now that I know exactly who to picture having fun. Orion and Atlas are playing solo.
I scamper after Jett, eager to put a solid door and a few padlocks between me and the moans that stroke my insides like velvet.
Jett directs me into his office. My first deep breath swaddles me in the scents of both him and Orion, cedar and cider.
I swallow, and my heart beats too fast, too aware that Jett and I are all alone in an enclosed space.
Like all those years ago.
“Why did you stop visiting me?”
He goes so rigid the only tell he isn’t a statue is the sharp glitter of hate in his dark eyes. “You can leave if that’s what you came to ask.”
The dismissal stabs one of the few soft spots left inside me.
I never meant anything to him.
I know I need to get a grip, to stop whining and keep moving. It’s not the first time someone I love has decided to hate me.
But this one hurts.
JJ was my only oasis in hell.
“That’s not why I’m here.” I shake off the ghosts, ignoring the feeling of rot in my lungs, the heavy, dense rejection that rolls around my belly like tacks in a tumbler.
“Well?” A muscle strains in his cut jaw.
“Craig. He’s being creepy. But not usual creepy. Scary creepy.”
“Our pack’s security isn’t your concern.” The coldness in his voice hits like a punch from a six-fingered fist.
I’m good at taking hits, but I don’t have to keep taking them from an asshole who can’t get over himself long enough to protect his own mate.
A fire lights my belly when I remember how Craig cornered us in the kitchen, and the hungry, scary way he keeps staring at his omega. “I don’t care if it’s not my business. I don’t feel safe with him and neither does Orion.”
“Orion would’ve—”
“No he wouldn’t.” It takes all my balls to cut off an alpha, especially when his irritated dominance rolls over me, trying to make me bow, but I’m the sword of fucking justice tonight, and I’ve seen enough of this pack to know how they work. I want to believe that the Jett who had my back at the party, the one who ran Noelle out of the room, will do the right thing, even if he’s set on hating me forever. “You guys don’t tell each other shit.”
Jett’s silence confirms that he’s hiding something, some soft spot that I swear I’m not here to poke, but they have to get their shit together for their omega. “If you’d just—”
“This is not your pack.” Jett’s dominance weighs down my shoulders, but I don’t twitch, don’t bend. “This will never be your pack. Don’t come in here pretending to be a victim, trying to seduce us in you
r T-shirts. Pretending to care about any of us.” He doesn’t move an inch, but he’s pressing me down so hard my knees shake. “We already have an omega. No one wants you.”
I knew this.
I knew all of it.
But hearing it from him. From the boy who gave me a dress. The boy who always had a cookie for me and a shy smile, the one who found me whenever I was crying alone.
Something rips inside me, and I realize that boy is dead.
The man in front of me, Jett, wants nothing to do with me. And if this is how he’s going to act?
Fuck it.
This man and his whole damn pack are just using me as a stop-gap in their cold war with their dads, and I’m stupid if I let myself fall for them.
I shouldn’t be acting like I can keep them.
Like I’m part of them.
But a shiver rattles my spine when I try to walk away. “Check the security cams. Craig’s not the kind of guy you want in your home.”
Jett’s sexy, floral cedar clings to my nose and haunts me on the gauntlet back to my cave. Orion rasps out Atlas’s name, and just when I think I’m safe in the basement, I hear Finn and Hunter grunting, fighting, the noises melding into a sex symphony.
The burn starts on my cheeks and creeps down my throat until my heart boils in my chest. A warm ache tightens my lower belly, lower, lower, lower, until my cunt clenches, begging me to throw myself onto one of their cocks, where, surely, all my problems can be solved by a screaming orgasm.
Not today, Satan vagina.
Barefoot, no pants, I sprint for the lake.
I don’t feel like myself until I’m body-lengths below the surface of the murky, ice-cold water, and my chest and skin finally go pleasantly numb.
I need to get the hell out of their house before I forget who I am and let myself be broken by a pack of self-absorbed alphas who don’t give a shit about me.
I can’t confuse my longing for what they have with an invitation to join, because they haven’t and won’t ever offer me a real place in their pack.
The gates are closed, and I better keep my fucking distance.
I just pray these hormones don’t break me, because if I ever taste the Wyverns, I know I’ll be lost.