Sawyer and the Bookworms (Candyverse #3)

26. Kyrian

26

Something is written in printed script under the doorbell. I squint at it, but my vision goes sort of blurry. It has to be Sawyer’s name.

My damn heart stands pounding. Why do I get like this when I try to read something? I know the letters. But every time I try to sit down and read something, my body reacts like I’m about to jump off a building.

The door is painted black with a white design in its middle. Is that a dragon? I didn’t expect the cute omega to be so… artistic.

No idea why not. Because he runs a business? I know practically nothing about him. Only that he likes books, coffee, and Brinlee.

Which are good things to like.

He’s pretty damn impressive, running that shop and… and reading.

Fuck, now I sound like a complete idiot. Everyone reads, I tell myself, except for you. You’re the odd one out, the failure.

Anger rises, and I raise my fist, thump it on the black door. “Sawyer! Open this door! Sawyer!”

I also ring the bell for good measure, anger still rippling through me—for my shortcomings, the lack of communication with my men, the worry that drove me here.

After a while, the lock jiggles inside and the door whines as it opens. The hinges need oiling, I think, and someone should take a look at that lock, and holy fuck.

Sawyer stands in the opening, those hazel, cat-like eyes heavy-lidded, his dark hair messy. He’s only dressed in soft gray pants and a white T-shirt, the clothes clinging lovingly to his body, outlining narrow hips, a lightly muscled chest and arms, a nice set of shoulders.

This man looks edible.

And smells like… it’s hard to work it out because his apartment smells like coffee and… bleach? But it’s there, underneath it all, especially now that he’s so close, a sweet marshmallow and cider aroma mixed with faint male musk that makes my mouth water.

“Kyrian?” He’s staring at me now, eyes wide, cheeks flushed.

“Good morning. Or should I say, good day?”

“Um? What?” He blinks long, dark lashes. Damn, he’s distracting. “What are you doing here?”

“I drew the short straw, what does it look like?” I snarl. “I was worried. I mean, the guys were worried.”

“About me?”

Why does he have to look so… innocent and confused? Dammit!

“Yeah, about you,” I say. “What’s going on, man?”

“Nothing? I’m good, thanks.”

“Good? You’ve been cooped up in your apartment for how long?”

“Since yesterday?” He glances behind him as if to somehow confirm. “After you dropped me off, I cleaned and… and did stuff.”

“What stuff?”

“I’ve been playing a videogame. Uh…” He scratches his head. “Wanna come in? I got some coffee left.”

“Sawyer…” My voice drops to a whisper. There’s no way I can stay mad at him—or mad in general—when he looks so damn adorable and lost. “It’s late afternoon. You didn’t open the café today at all, did you?”

He blinks again, his mouth dropping open. “The hell? You’re joking, right?”

“No, I’m not. Man, you holed up in here and totally lost track of time? Don’t you have, I dunno, clocks, watches? Your phone, your computer clock?”

He takes a step back, all the blood draining from his face. “No.”

“Sawyer…”

“Fuck, fuck!” He turns and starts pacing, pulling on his hair. “Oh fuck, oh fuck.”

“Hey—”

And then he starts hitting his palm against the wall. And counting under his breath. What the hell is he doing?

“Sawyer. Come on. Stop that.”

He doesn’t seem to hear me. He’s panting in between counting, his palm hitting the wall over and over, thump, thump, thump.

It clicks, then. I know the symptoms. He even mentioned OCD once, didn’t he? I wasn’t sure I’d heard him right.

With a sigh, I walk over to him, grab his wrist. “Sawyer… Sawyer, stop.” He tries to shake his hand free, but I’m holding it in a tight grip. “Let go. Stop hitting the wall. You’re okay.”

“I can’t… I have to count…”

“What you need to do is talk to me. Why are you so stressed out?”

He shakes his head, dark curls flying. “I’m fine.”

“The hell you are.”

He tries to squirm free again, restarts the counting under his breath. His eyes are wild.

I turn him around, press his back to the wall. “Nothing bad happened, okay? You lost some customers today, is all. Mainly, I was worried about you.”

“I can’t… breathe…”

“You’re fine. Look at me.” I grip his chin, lift it, force him to look me in the eye. “Everything’s fine, I promise you.”

He nods, but he’s still breathing hard.

“Do you often get anxiety attacks?”

He flinches, cheeks coloring. “Probably not as often as you rearrange other people’s bookshelves.”

“Will you ever let go of that?”

A defiant shrug.

“By the way, you shouldn’t have your name under your doorbell.” I release him, step away. “Anyone could enter the building and pretend to know you, convince you to open your door.”

“My name? I don’t have my name there.”

I freeze. “Shit.”

“Didn’t you read what it says?”

“I just…”

He grabs my wrist, heat spreading where he’s gripping me, and drags me through the still-open door. He points at the words. “There, see? What does it say?”

Fucking hell. “Look, I have to go?—”

“Just read it!”

“No.”

“Read it, Kyrian!”

“Shut up!”

He stares at me, questions in those big eyes, and I yank my arm free easily. As I turn and stride away, reaching the stairs, I hear him whisper softly behind me, “It says, There be Bookworms.”

Whatever that means.

I shouldn’t have come here to check on him. What a fuckfest. I lied, I didn’t draw the short straw. Didn’t draw any straw at all. I passed by the café, going out of my way for a glimpse of him, fighting my rational mind that said I had no reason to do that, then found the place closed and got worried.

It was all me. Kyrian Rhodes in all his motherfucking fucked-up glory, ladies and gentlemen. He doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing but his body and mind have taken the wheel, and now he has to take it back.

This has gone too far.

It’s time to step on the brakes.

“Arch,” I say, “we have to talk.”

He’s standing in the middle of the crowded bar in his two-piece suit, looking composed and lethal. Lethally attractive.

He frowns at me, looking up from the glass of water he’s having. Always water, only water when working. “What’s up, Ky?”

“You said it. We need to talk about the pack.”

“Here? Now?”

“No, of course not. But tonight. After work.”

“What’s going on?” Roman walks up to us. He has to be on a break. “Hey, Ky. Did you say we need to talk?”

“Don’t you think so?”

He nods. “Yeah, I think we should.”

This isn’t a good idea, pushing them to talk to me, to admit whether they still want me around or not. Making it happen sooner rather than later, but you know, torture is like that: you want it to be over quickly, even if it kills you. Better a quick, clean death.

Archer is giving me a long, steady look. “Then let’s do it now,” he finally says. “Get it over with. Come to my office.”

Surprised, I follow him. Roman puts a hand on my back, falling into step with me, and it makes me feel better. Not sure what it means. These are my men. I thought they were my soulmates. Now I feel as if the ground is sinking under my feet.

We enter the office, Archer parking his ass against his massive desk, and Roman turns to close the door.

“So what’s this about?” Archer folds his massive arms over his chest. It’s fucked up that he can wear a suit as if he was born in one when he’s even more muscular than me. The fucker can wear anything and make it look good. “Did you miss us?”

“You know what this is about,” I say as calmly as I can. “Don’t fuck with me. We have to talk about Brinlee and Sawyer.”

“What about them?”

“The hell, Arch. Are you shitting me?”

Sawyer’s flushed face, the confusion in his wide eyes. The way he’d kept slamming the wall and counting, the way he’d trembled.

And Brinlee dancing for rich patrons.

Don’t know why I’m so damn worried.

So damn fucking concerned.

And what my men can do about it.

Archer chuckles, startling me. “Yeah, I was shitting you. Of course, we need to talk about them. I didn’t want to push you.”

“Push me? What the fuck, Arch.”

He pushes off the desk, frowning again. “What did I say? Yeah, not to push you. I know you don’t want more people in the pack. You don’t want an omega. And Sawyer is one. Brinlee perhaps, too.”

I reel so fucking bad I crash into Roman. He grabs me, and I shove him away. “The fuck,” I say again, my calm gone. “This is about me?”

“Of course it’s about you.” Archer is now standing in front of me, one hand raised as if to touch me but thinking better of it, after seeing me push Roman away. “What did you think?”

“I thought… “

“You thought?” he prompts.

“Shut up, I…” My head is pounding. “Did I really say out loud I don’t want an omega? Or more people in the pack?”

“Yeah, you did. A couple of times.”

“Fuck,” I breathe.

“Why, what changed?” Roman is standing at a safe distance from me, and guilt swamps me. “Ky?”

“Sorry I shoved you,” I mutter.

“It’s okay, big man. You’ll make up for it later.” His eyes flash with dark promises. “Now, what is this all about? You are our alpha. You both are my alphas. We are a pack, a family. We have no secrets. Ky, talk.”

I thought you wanted to kick me out. Because I can’t read. Because I’m a barbarian. Just call me Conan and be done with it.

But I don’t say any of that shit. They don’t know any of it.

“I thought you were inviting Brinlee and Sawyer to join us without discussing it first,” I mutter.

“We’d never do that,” Roman says. “Are you nuts?”

I shake my head. “Do you want them in?”

“Listen, Ky. We like them. They’re nice. They’re sexy. We have chemistry. But you, man, you’re ours. You were ours first. Nobody gets added without your agreement, get it?”

“I get to sign off on any new member?” I ask.

“Damn right you do.”

“Okay, let me think about it,” I say, because this is too fucking much, and my chest feels too tight, my throat too dry, my eyes too damn hot. I need to change the topic. “What about Brinlee? Did you really mean for us to keep going to that club? Is that how we’ll help her? Are you willing to support her indefinitely?”

“As a patron? No. But there are other ways to help her. We need to get her out of there, and fast.”

“You did something, didn’t you? I recognize that gleam in your eye. What did you do?”

“I gave her a way out,” Archer says.

“Out of what?”

“That club. That asshole of a boss she has. She can work for us.”

“What do you mean? As a dancer?”

“Yeah, doofus, as a dancer.” He rolls his eyes. “What did you think? We thought you wanted this, too. No matter if you didn’t want her in the pack, we thought you might like saving her.”

“Why?”

“Because, asshole, you keep worrying about her! You and your big fucking heart of gold. You were heartbroken thinking she’d be passed around the club’s customers at the Alpha Cat.”

“You were going to save her for my sake?”

Breathing is becoming real fucking hard. If they don’t stop, I’ll be weeping like a Madeleine soon.

“And our peace of mind. Not to forget Sawyer’s, who was having kittens worrying about her. But let’s come back to you.”

“To me?”

“Yeah,” Roman says, stepping closer, “you. You’re stressed, too.”

He doesn’t know half of it. And who’s fault is that? Mine, all mine. Mea culpa. Hiding stuff from them, when they were apparently concerned that I didn’t want to add anyone to the pack. And I didn’t.

Not until now.

Roman says, “Let’s do something about that tension…”

I know that knowing, dark gleam in Roman’s eye, and Archer’s low chuckle sends heat through my entire body.

Roman stalks around me, and I huff, letting him get his fill. I’m wearing my usual work suit—a sleeveless black top, showing off my ink, and leather pants. I’m wearing the bracelets they both gave me—silver from Roman, and black leather with a silver bead from Archer. I know I look good, and I work for it. I hit the gym regularly, go for runs in the park.

For a long time, I thought that was what mattered, that I could snare these two guys I want with my body, my physique. Through lust. Make sure they oversee my shortcomings, even if it won’t last forever.

But today they said things that have touched my goddamn heart, things I needed to hear, and my body feels… secondary. Present, but less important than before.

My muscles feel looser than they have in ages. My head clearer.

But then Archer snags a finger in my pants and drags me against him, cutting my breath off, letting me feel how hard he is through his fancy pants, while Roman presses himself to my back, an answering hardness in his, and yeah…

Way to put my body back into first place, tighten all that has loosened up during our conversation.

Archer is gazing at me, gazing at my mouth like he wants to feast on it, and I lift a brow as if to say, What are you waiting for?

He actually goes for the throat, though, quite literally.

It does something to me, to have him clamp down on my scent gland, teeth pressing into the thin skin there, jolts of pleasure running through me. My cock, half-hard until now, fills out suddenly, focusing the pleasure and the ache between my legs.

Meanwhile, Roman has decided to follow Archer’s example and is nibbling at the back of my neck, right at the edge of the other gland, his hard cock pressed to my ass making me see stars.

I have never bottomed in my life, and I’m not sure I ever will, but it feels so damn good. This is quickly becoming heated, Archer sliding one hand down to my crotch, Roman slipping his hands around me to undo my pants.

This certainly won’t be the first time we have sex in Archer’s office. I hope someone remembers to lock the door this time—though having Sawyer observe us was heady, I’ll admit.

I wish he were here, I realize. I wish Brinlee were here, too.

Did I really say out loud I wanted nobody else in this pack?

Well, I didn’t, not until now. I thought nobody I met could ever change my mind, but now…

“You’re still thinking,” Archer growls, and the moment Roman has unsnapped my pants, he yanks them down my hips, freeing my hard dick. He doesn’t touch it, letting me swing in the wind, and I growl back at him.

“Don’t start what you don’t plan on finishing,” I say, and I hear the layers of meaning in my words even as I speak them.

“Oh, I intend to finish everything I start,” he breathes, smirking at me.

“Yeah? What… oh fuck.”

I don’t expect him to drop to his knees for me. He’s my top alpha, my top, period. I don’t expect it to send another jagged crack through my chest. What are they doing to me today? Do they even realize?

And then Roman parts my ass cheeks and presses a finger there, massaging, rimming me lightly, and fuck, I’m going to fall apart so damn fast.

It’s not often that I have both of them working me over. Usually we gravitate around Roman, like planets caught in his gravity. Right now, gravity has fled the room. My cock is pointing to the ceiling, and if they keep going at it, that’s where my cum will end up, and good luck cleaning that.

That—cleaning—reminds me of Sawyer and the smell of bleach in his apartment.

And then I stop caring about cleaning when that knowing finger presses a little into my ass, and Archer hollows his cheeks and really fucking sucks. Sucks my soul right out of me.

I come in a hot rush, a shout leaving my lips. Bowing over, I grab Archer’s shoulder, my knees buckling.

Roman behind me curses.

Someone is knocking on the door. The handle starts to turn.

Fuck, we didn’t lock it. Again.

“Not now!” Archer hollers, rising to his feet, wiping the back of his hand over his mouth.

“Boss?” It’s our second bartender. “Looking for Roman and Kyrian. People are waiting at the door and by the bar.”

“Hell.” Roman chuckles softly.

“They’ll be right there in a minute!”

“We should stop fucking in the office,” I mutter.

“You liked it, though.” Roman winks at me. “You really liked my finger in your ass, alpha.”

“Shut up,” I growl, cuffing him lightly on the back of the head. He wiggles the finger he rimmed me with in my face, and I curse, my mouth twitching.

“I’m filing away this info for later,” he threatens.

“You do that.” I turn to Archer who’s still frowning at the door. “So what’s your plan, Arch? What are we going to do?”

“Save Brinlee.”

“And what about Sawyer?”

“Sawyer needs saving?”

I let out a breath. “I’m not sure. I saw him today. He lost track of time, didn’t open his café.”

Archer’s eyes narrow. “You serious? Is he okay?”

“He has some OCD,” I say. “And anxiety.”

“Anxiety? What about? Brinlee?”

“No idea. Probably.”

Roman rubs at his brow. “I need to wash my hands.” At my grunt, he smirks. “And get back to work. But yeah, agreed that we want to help Sawyer and Brinlee?”

“Hell yeah,” I mutter.

His smirk turns into a grin. “Let’s do it, then.”

“And after that?”

He shakes his head. “No idea. Do we want them to join the pack? Raise your hand if you think we’re ready to expand.”

When Archer doesn’t move, I take a breath and lift my hand. “I’m in.”

Now Archer is staring at me, a faint smile on his lips. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I think I’m sure.”

“That doesn’t make any sense… Ah, fuck it.” He raises his hand, too. “What about you, Ro?”

“I’m in,” he says. “I’ve never felt this sense of belonging with anyone else apart from you two, but those two give me the right vibes.”

Vibes, yeah. I can feel it. And I want it.

The only thing remaining is to get over my own issues, fix my problem, and be worthy of them.