Chapter 6
Serena
Six weeks.
That’s how long it’d been since we rescued Violet and helped her through her heat. That’s how long it took her to integrate into the pack. And while things weren’t quite normal—and likely never would be again—they were ours.
And that was fine, because having two omegas was fucking awesome.
Especially because Violet was apparently a repressed nymphomaniac, and thanks to our bond, Skye felt it too.
Vinny kept her far enough away to stop her bad thoughts from infecting Skye’s head, but needs were something else entirely, and I swore to God, if that girl didn’t get cracked morning, noon, and night, she’d die.
So it was no surprise when Skye poked me awake with the world’s neediest whimper—one that triggered every alpha instinct I had.
My eye slid open just enough to see Skye staring at me, pupils blown wide, cheeks flushed, his bottom lip bitten red. His rounded stomach pressed against my hip as his palm flattened over my heart.
I looked over his shoulder to see Vinny and Benji nestled together, both fast asleep.
“Serena…” Skye mewled, dragging my attention back to him.
Smirking, I brushed my thumb along his cheekbone. “What do you need, baby?”
His breath hitched and his thighs pressed together under the blanket.
“I–It’s so hot,” he whispered, voice cracking on the last word.
My fingers ghosted along his skin, tracing the centipede tattoo curling around his forearm. He shivered against me.
“Where’s it hot, baby?” I purred.
“E-everywhere—” Skye’s back arched off the nest, pushing himself closer to me. His cock throbbed against my leg. “She’s awake, and she’s thinking, and it’s loud, and—”
He broke off on a sound halfway between a gasp and a whine. He tried to bury his face in my neck, but I cupped his cheeks so he couldn’t look away.
“Sweetheart,” I murmured, “I’m not a mind reader. If you want something, use your words.”
Benji mumbled a broken mix of Spanish and English as he shifted restlessly where he lay, wedged between Vinny and the pillows. His brow furrowed, breath coming quicker, cheeks flushed deep, blooming red beneath his olive skin.
Whatever Violet was doing in that little nest Vinny built her sure as hell wasn’t sleeping—not right now.
I looked back at Skye, who was practically vibrating in my hands. I loved fucking every single member of my pack, but right now, I didn’t want our beta to join.
Both of my omegas were wound up tight and calling for help in two different rooms, and it was my job as their alpha to meet their needs.
“Okay, baby,” I murmured. “We’re going to her.”
We slipped out of the nest together, and I helped Skye into his pajama pants. He might not like clothing in the group nest, but our newest omega was a proper little lady, and she liked everyone clothed in hers.
“We’re just going to have sex. I don’t see the point of this,” he whined as I slid the pants up his thighs.
I bit back a laugh and tied the drawstring. “It’s not for you, it’s for her. Princess is particular.”
With Skye at least slightly covered, I scooped Vinny’s shirt off the ground and slipped it on. Then, together, we crept down the hall toward Vinny’s bedroom.
The one he never used unless mob business sent him home covered in gunpowder and someone else’s blood.
The one he’d insisted on using to “contain” Violet.
The one he swore would always be his space, untouchable. The one that became increasingly more Violet's every day.
Vinny’s room used to be one hundred percent him. Black walls, dark wood furniture, a gun safe in the corner, and a bottle of scotch on the nightstand. And while all that was still there, the room now had a feminine touch.
A very Violet touch.
Soft pastel throw blankets draped over the back of the chair. A cluster of quartz and amethyst crystals basked in the sunrise on the dresser, beside a dish overflowing with dried herbs. A wildflower garland hung over the gun safe.
Even though Violet had her own nest in the closet, Vinny’s bed was also subject to her comfort.
Her outfit for tomorrow was already laid out on the black duvet: a soft powder blue dress, matching socks with ruffles around the ankles, a white cardigan, a ribbon for her hair, a tiny bottle of perfume, and a lotion that smelled faintly of wildflowers and sunshine.
Right in the center of it all sat her expensive stuffed bunny—the bunny—the one she bought purely out of spite because Vinny told her not to use his card when thrift shopping.
He didn’t want to “look poor,” so naturally, Violet responded by going online and finding the most absurdly overpriced, hand-embroidered bunny she could possibly locate. Normally, she carried around the $400 monstrosity, but right now it guarded her clothing and glasses case.
If we looked around longer, we’d probably find a few more things out of place, but we didn’t have time, because the second we fully stepped into the room, a low, unmistakable hum came from the closet.
Skye and I exchanged a look as a breathy whimper joined the sound.
His hand shot to my arm, fingers digging in as his eyes went wide.
“Can I sneak up on her first?” he whispered, practically bouncing with excitement.
I bit back a laugh. If there was one thing Skye wasn’t, it was sneaky. But who was I to stop him? Especially because he was already halfway across the room.
He reached out a hand, hesitating only slightly before curling his fingers around the doorknob and hesitating.
And that was where Skye’s stealth ended.
Because the door yanked inward, causing him to lose his balance and fall forward just as two small hands shot out of the darkness and grabbed him by the waistband of his pajama pants.
“Vi–!?”
Before he could finish her name, Violet dragged him into the closet with surprising strength for someone built like a fairy.
The door slammed shut inches from my face, leaving me to stare at the white panel just ahead.
Then the noises started.
A startled, breathless gasp from Skye, a mischievous giggle from Violet.
Vinny had pulled together just about every resource he could find—a speech therapist, an ASL tutor—all in the hopes of getting Violet to communicate. She’d yet to say a word, but between her little sounds and her signing, she knew how to get her point across.
A thump sounded against the door, followed by Skye whining and Violet laughing again.
I closed my eyes and counted to three as I pressed my palm to the door.
“Princess,” I said, trying to hide the amusement in my voice. “You can’t just steal Skye. He’s mine.”
Another soft giggle filtered through the wood—high, breathy, and absolutely unrepentant.
Of course she wasn’t sorry.
Just behind the door, the blankets rustled, and the hum of whatever toy she’d been using filled the air.
“Serena! Help!” Skye squeaked. “She’s going to fuck me!”
That was enough for my alpha instincts to kick in.
“All right, Princess,” I murmured, curling my fingers around the knob. “Game’s over.”
I pushed the door open.
A golden glow radiated from the fairy lights strung across the ceiling in loops and clusters of warm star-shaped bulbs, pinned up with washi tape like Violet had built her own private sky.
And beneath that sky?
Soft, pastel, chaos.
Paper stars dangled from fishing line. A small army of stuffed animals circled the nest. A jar of dried roses and salt sat in the corner beside a stack of yellowed notebooks. And in the center of it all, Violet straddled Skye.
Her long lavender nightgown had ridden up her thighs, and what she called her “night glasses” rested crooked on her button nose. One papery star had gotten tangled in her hair, moving with her as she struggled to keep Skye pinned to the nest.
A double-ended vibrator hummed next to her knee, forgotten in the scuffle.
She wasn’t laughing anymore. Her breath came in frantic bursts as she tried to hold Skye down.
Skye was an omega, sure—but he wasn’t a small one.
Compared to Violet, he looked massive. Broad shoulders, thick thighs, and arms roped with muscle. The only softness he had came from his pregnancy. His tattooed chest rose and fell beneath her, the swell of his 24-week belly brushing against Violet’s newly rounded one.
She looked up at me and smiled sweetly before lifting one hand and signing:
I keep him.
Skye whimpered beneath her. “Oh no, Serena… she’s too strong…”
Crossing my arms, I leaned against the doorframe and stared down at them. And this was why the sweet omega I’d hit with my car had turned into an unbelievable brat.
No one in this house had the ability to tell her no. But I wasn’t going to sacrifice my potential orgasm just to let her have fun.
“Skye,” I said calmly. “You have until I count to three to roll Violet over and get on top of her.”
Violet whipped her head toward me, mouth dropping open in silent outrage before her fingers flicked out:
He can’t. I win.
I arched a brow and held up a finger. “One.”
“What? No!” Skye squeaked. “I don’t want to hurt—”
“Two.”
Skye panicked, and then, very predictably for my sweet, eager-to-please omega, he obeyed.
Skye twisted his hips, braced a hand against the nest floor, and in one clumsy motion, flipped their positions. Violet gasped as her back hit a pile of stuffed animals, her nightgown riding up high enough to show off the swell of her stomach.
She was barely even pregnant–her first appointment was tomorrow–but it seemed like her body didn’t get that memo. Her stomach was already round enough that when Skye hovered over her, their bellies nearly touched.
Skye froze, eyes dropping to where her nightgown had ridden up.
“Aww,” he murmured, placing a hand on her stomach. “Look at the baby.”
Violet’s face glowed red as she huffed and tried to push Skye off. Unfortunately for her, he was much sturdier than he liked to pretend.
Skye blinked down at her as a wicked grin spread across his lips. He held her down like she was a feral kitten. With her wrists pinned, her signing was hindered, to say the least, but that didn’t stop her from spelling out:
L-E-T. M-E. G-O.