20. Sawyer
20
Full disclosure: I can’t get what I witnessed last night out of my mind. So I spend the night jerking off to the scene on replay of the McGraw Pack in that stuffy office, getting their rocks off together—though Brinlee also comes to my dreams, later, as she often does lately.
And then this morning I went through the motions in a daze. Did I really do that? Watch them without their permission, without them knowing? What sort of an asshole am I?
Is this the part where you discover nasty things about yourself and you buy the first ticket to anywhere to start a new life with a new identity, become a paranormal guide in New Orleans, or a dog surfing instructor, although you can’t even fucking surf?
I mean… what the fuck, Sawyer.
It’s late afternoon now, and I’ve been in this weird daze all day. I know customers have come and gone, I know Bee was here, taking orders. I brewed and served coffees and teas, placed cupcakes into plates and gave receipts.
And in all this whirlwind of work and strange longing, I miss Brinlee. Which is fucking stupid. You can’t miss someone you barely know.
Well, I did say it’s stupid. But it’s still true. And it’s giving me a headache.
I massage my temples, frowning at the long slab of the bar. I’ve passed the rag so many times it should be spotless, but I see stains.
Hell.
Grabbing the rag, wetting it under the faucet, I spray the bar with antiseptic and get back to cleaning. I can’t get it clean enough, no matter how I try. I count the swipes inside my head: three to the right, three to the left, three clockwise, three anti-clockwise, can’t break the ritual before it’s done, if I do bad things will happen?—
The door chimes.
I curse.
Quickly, I do the rest of the series—another set of three to the right, and then to the left, clockwise, anti-clockwise, counting inside my head…
And then the identity of the three men who have just walked into my café finally registers.
Shit.
The rag drops from my hand to the floor, and I crouch down to retrieve it. My hands are shaking. My whole body is shaking. I put the rag under the faucet, add more antiseptic, as they walk toward me. I can see them out of the corner of my eye, while I pretend to focus on my business.
I wring the rag out, place it by the sink, and take a bracing breath.
The McGraw Pack. The pack I walked into yesterday and who I jacked off all night over.
Figures they’d come in now that I sent Bee home and I’m all alone here.
And what? Are they going to attack you? Man up.
Ha. I wipe my sweaty palms down my pants and swallow past a throat gone dry. Easy to say. But maybe they won’t bring it up. Maybe?—
“Hey, man.” Grinning, Roman comes right up to the bar and folds his arms on it. “Did you enjoy the little peep show last night?”
Fuck. Scorching heat rises to my neck, seeping into my face. “I, uh…”
“That had better be a yes.” Roman clucks his tongue. “Or are you implying that our performance wasn’t up to par? That we weren’t hot as fuck?”
“You were.” I swallow hard. “I mean. Yeah.”
“Hot?”
“Fucking hot,” I admit. I glance at the two alphas who are dragging stools out to sit. “Sorry I did that. I walked into the office and I wasn’t expecting…”
“To find us fucking,” Archer says, his voice betraying nothing.
“Well, technically,” I say, “you weren’t.”
“Fucking? Another night, you might have had the pleasure of seeing us doing the deed,” Roman winks.
I gulp. My dick is hardening. I just can’t help it around them, can’t stop my body from reacting. They keep talking about fucking, about me watching them, and they smell so delicious it should be damn illegal.
I want to be a part of that scene. I want to lick their cocks like lollipops, rub all over their skin like a needy tomcat, I want… so much.
So much more than I’ve ever wanted with the pack my parents set me up with.
The pack still waiting for my reply.
Fuck!
“What’s wrong?” Archer has propped his elbow on the bar and his biceps bulge deliciously.
Everything is delicious about these guys.
“Nothing,” I mutter. “Can I get you something?”
“We’re not here for a coffee,” Kyrian snaps, “we’re here to?—”
“Coffee would be nice.” Roman leans back to elbow Kyrian in the side. “Right, guys? What are you having, Ky?”
“Black coffee,” he grumbles.
“Good man. Arch?”
Archer smirks. “Something sweet like Sawyer.”
“I’m not sweet,” I grumble in my turn, and when Roman grins, a new wave of heat washes over my face.
God, really, what is it about these guys? They are so annoying. Infuriatingly confident, easily sexy. And the big question is, why are they flirting so hard with me if they don’t want an omega in the first place? Are they trying to break my heart, like Brinlee did?
I freeze at the thought. Of course my heart isn’t involved. Come on. If it was that easy to become heartbroken…
But I feel as though we’re heading that way, as if my heart is much more engaged than it should be, as if I’m hoping for more.
It doesn’t matter what I tell myself, what I know, what measures I take to protect my damn battered soul. These guys seem determined to smash my defenses and plunder the loot.
No idea what they hope to find in there. OCD, anxiety and stress because of my parents and the café, plus some filthy fantasies about them and Brinlee.
Speaking of whom…
“I’m worried about Brinlee.” I serve their coffees, placing them on the bar, and go hunting for some cookies to add.
“Because she ditched you?” Roman asks.
I splutter, coming up for air from the cupboard with the cookies. “She didn’t ditch me!”
“He’s right,” Archer says. “You can’t ditch what you don’t have, right, Sawyer? You guys were pussyfooting around each other like schoolers.”
“Fuck you,” I mutter, plonking the plate heaped with cookies before them. “I was serious. She left and hasn’t come back, and it’s been days and… And something’s wrong.”
“I’ve felt it, too,” Kyrian says softly, and I shoot him a shocked look. “What?”
“I don’t even know where she lives or works.” I turn my back on him, trying to control my face, school it into a neutral expression. “Never got a chance to give her my number. I don’t know her last name. Every time I try to talk to her, she sort of… clams up.”
“Like you?” Archer says, and I flinch.
“Stop pushing him,” Roman says and Archer growls something I don’t catch. “He doesn’t owe us any truth.”
“I’m not hiding anything,” I say stiffly—in more senses than one, because dammit, I’m still hard and my… hardened state doesn’t look like it’s going away on its own. I need some quality time with my right hand in the shower.
And thinking about that is making me even harder, because their scents are all around me, too intense and yet so delicious, their tall bodies crowding me and yet I like it too fucking much.
“Sawyer?” Roman is coming around the bar, his hand covering mine where it’s tapping a rapid rhythm. He stills it. “Talk to me. Are you so stressed about Brinlee? You’re shaking.”
“I’m not shaking,” I snap, but I am. “I shouldn’t worry so much, she never said that there’s anything wrong?—”
“But you can feel it.”
I nod. His hand is warm. Hot. Heat emanates from him—or is it from me? I feel it. Feel him. I feel… untethered and overwhelmed and too fucking horny.
He leans closer to me. He’s taller, shoulders wider, and from this close, I see a silver stud winking in his left ear. He wasn’t wearing that last time, was he? I’m mesmerized—by the winking stud, the bright brown eyes, the soft, wide mouth that smiles so much.
Fuck, he smells good. Talk about a scent-match made in heaven. Helplessly, I draw another deep breath in, and when his full lips tug into a smile, I glance up and fall into his dark eyes.
They are like caramel, melted sweet syrup with bits of gold, and I can’t look away.
Not even when he lifts his other hand to my face, his thumb stroking my cheek. “Look at you,” he whispers. “You’re flushed. You smell like honey.”
I make a valiant effort to step away, but he grips the back of my neck and all the fight goes out of me, a sweet arousal spreading through me. Languor, I think. That’s the right word.
“You go from this frenetic energy to this suppleness,” he murmurs, squeezing more tightly. A low moan escapes me. “What is this? Are you a submissive?”
“A true omega,” Archer says, his voice coming in echoes.
“I didn’t… didn’t know,” I breathe, but then his mouth covers mine and he kisses me. It starts off lightly, but I press myself to him, my body saying, fucking finally we get something we want, and his mouth opens to mine.
I want him to push me again, pull me to him, invade my mouth, the arousal thrumming through me already too heady. I mean, sure, I’m an omega, that has been clear since I was little. No question about it, unlike many people around me. I’ve always known it.
But submissive? I’ve always fought against the current—my brother, my parents, my fate. So why do I like Roman’s hard grip on me so damn much?
He is aggressive, pushing me against the back counter as he kisses me, his hand squeezing the back of my neck, the other shoving under my T-shirt to grip my hip. I like how long his fingers are, how strong—and I wonder how it would feel to have the two alphas handling me, too, gripping me, moving me, pushing me down to my knees?—
Fuck. Breaking the kiss, I come up for air, and glancing past Roman, I find said alphas leaning against the bar, their gazes on us, dark and hungry.
“Um…” What the hell am I doing? I step to the side, away from Roman. “Look, I say, I?—”
“Let me distract you,” Roman says, “help you relax.”
“Roman, the guru,” Kyrian mutters, but he’s still watching us with darkened eyes.
Archer is leaning toward him, whispering something in his ear, making Kyrian nod and smirk.
“Wanna see how good I am at sucking dick? I love sucking dick, and yours looks so hard,” Roman says.
I gulp. “Roman…”
“Yes or no, Sawyer? Every time we see you, you’re aroused. I can smell it, you know. Question is, what do you wanna do about it? Wanna give this”—he waves a hand between us— “a try?”
“Try it with a blow job?”
“You have to start somewhere.” He closes the distance between us again, licks his lips, and now all I can think of is his lips wrapped around my cock. “Don’t you?”
“Yeah,” I breathe because my brain is short-circuiting and all it can think is, yes, yes, let’s do this, fuck yeah.
His smirk widens and he sinks fluidly to his knees. Before I know what’s going on, kind of stunned at this turn of events and his claim that he knew I was hard for them every time I’ve seen them, that he can smell me— oh holy shit, he’s undoing my fly, dragging down the zipper, and it’s such an erotic sound, I almost come on the spot.
Then he’s pulling out my hard cock—“going commando, huh, Sawyer? So full of surprises for such a sweet omega”—and sucks it into his mouth.
Oh my holy fuck, I’ve died and gone to heaven. He hadn’t been lying, he loves giving head. He’s sucking me like a goddamn vacuum, and all that pent-up sexual frustration, all the blue balls from being around them and around Brinlee is coming to a head.
Literally.
I grip the edge of the counter, my head spinning as the tension in my gut coils tighter and tighter, strangling my breaths. My thigh muscles are screaming, my balls ache, my cock is on fire…
And it’s over embarrassingly quickly, a strangled shout escaping me as I come down Roman’s throat, his mouth still clamped around my dick, his hands bruising my hips.
The two alphas are still watching.
“Talk about a peepshow,” I manage, panting, throwing Roman’s earlier words back at them. “Did you enjoy it?”