Chapter 32 Kai
Kai
A sharp whine has my alpha lunging forward as my eyes snap open.
For a moment, I can't remember where I am or where anyone is.
Then I glance around and it clicks. We're in Rosie’s bedroom.
The pack bed is rumpled but mostly empty.
Harlan, Logan, and Evander left early to prep things at the restaurant.
Last night, we’d eaten a late dinner Wyatt cooked and talked through what Rosie might want in her auxiliary nest. She picked options from a prefab catalog. It's not ideal, but it’s what we can do in time for this heat. Hopefully by her next one, we’ll build something permanent. Something worthy.
The whine comes again, sharper now. Wyatt is already sitting up on the other side of the bed, hair a mess, green eyes sleepy but alert. Between us, Rosie writhes. Her curls are a storm around her flushed face. She’s panting, wringing the comforter in her white knuckled hands.
“Can you hear me, Sugarplum?” Wyatt asks, his drawl running his fingers into her hair.
Another keen slips from her throat—high and needy.
“Rosie?” I shift closer, and that’s when I feel the heat pouring off her skin. Her pupils are blown, swallowing every trace of color.
“Is she—?” Wyatt begins.
“In a heat spike,” I say. I don’t know how I know, but I know. Her omega is clawing at my alpha, demanding. Desperate. Wyatt looks just as wrecked as I feel.
Thankfully, she filled out that heat spike questionnaire the doctor gave her. She gave us consent if this happened. We can help her—fully.
Rosie bolts upright, claws at her clothes like they’re suffocating her. Wyatt gently catches her wrists in his big, callused hands. Her lips tremble. She looks like she’s seconds from unraveling.
“It’s okay, Rosie. We’ve got you,” I say, trying to soothe her. She whimpers. It nearly breaks me.
“Kai’s going to help you get these off,” Wyatt says, even though I can see it kills him not to be the one.
He meets my gaze. “She knows you. And this is her first spike,” he murmurs—and god, it is.
She’s never let her omega surface. Not really.
Suppressants, blockers. Her body’s never been allowed to need.
That ends now.
I lift her camisole. Her skin is hot silk beneath my hands. When her shirt clears her head, her perfect tits bounce back into view. The nipples tight and begging. Wyatt makes a low, obscene sound and takes one into his mouth, sucking it in with a wet pop that has my cock throbbing to full hardness.
While she’s distracted, I tug down her lace shorts. They’re soaked through with slick.
The scentlessness throws me for half a second until I remember: She’s ours. I’ve always known.
Wyatt eases her back, cupping her head in a pillow, mouth never leaving her chest. The tenderness of it wrecks me. I run my fingers through his hair, tug just enough to earn a growl against her skin. When I glance at Rosie, she’s watching us. Aroused. Wide-eyed. Hungry.
Then it hits.
Peppermint. Sweet. Creamy. Saturated with want.
She perfumed.
Wyatt and I freeze and then look at each other. Her scent just returned, and it happened because she saw her alphas together.
“You really are perfect, huh, Sugarplum?” Wyatt murmurs.
“She really is,” I echo, leaning in to kiss her. She meets me halfway and devours me. Her tongue sweeps into my mouth and I taste the peppermint and heat and sugar.
She claws at my chest. She needs us.
I meet Wyatt’s gaze. “I want you with me… but if it’s too much—”
He doesn’t even blink. “I’d never leave. Either of you.”
His hands stroke up her thighs, smearing slick. She whines, arching into the touch.
“Need you both,” she gasps, barely coherent.
“We’re here, Sugarplum,” Wyatt whispers. “You want these knots? They’re all yours, baby.”
Her hips roll, begging. Wyatt backs off, nodding to me.
And I take her.
I kneel between her legs and spread her open. Her glistening cunt clenches with each heat cramp, desperate. I drag two fingers over her folds, teasing her clit, then thrust them deep, crooking just right. She wails, head thrown back.
Another finger. More slick. I prep her for me, murmuring praise while Wyatt teases her nipples until she’s shaking.
I pull my fingers free, slick dripping down my hand, and she bucks. Shooting me a death glare that makes me chuckle. God, even desperate she’s defiant, and it makes my cock ache.
Then she lifts up and bites me. Her mouth closes hard over my bicep, teeth just shy of breaking skin.
Wyatt pauses, concerned.
“It’s okay,” I rasp, rougher than I mean to, because her teeth in my flesh light me up like a live wire. When we were young, we used to pretend to bite and bond each other. Knowing she still thinks about it—might want that with me—makes my breath hitch and my cock throb.
I line my cock up, thick and flushed, and press into her soaked heat. She arches, moans, tries to fuck herself deeper but I hold her still, gentle.
For one heartbeat.
Then Rosie slams herself halfway up my cock, and I lose it.
“Looks like our omega doesn’t want it slow and gentle,” Wyatt growls.
Our omega.
The words detonate in my chest.
I slam back in, all the way to the hilt.
Every thrust wrings a broken, beautiful sound from her, her body greedy, clinging to mine like she’ll never let go.
And then she flips me.