15. Learning To Trust #4
They'd flood the room with pheromones during pack meetings, getting me wet and needy, then act disgusted if I tried to find relief later.
"Greedy," Blake would say, his voice dripping contempt. "A good Omega waits for her Alphas."
Well, I'm done waiting.
Over denying myself because men who never deserved me decided my pleasure was inconvenient.
My fingers slip beneath cotton, finding slick heat that makes me gasp. I'm soaked, more aroused than I've been in years, and it's from nothing more than a kiss and the memory of being wanted.
I grab a pillow with my free hand, pressing it over my face to muffle the sounds I know are coming. The house feels too quiet, too full of potential witnesses, but I can't stop now. My fingers find my clit, circling slowly, and the sensation arrows through me like lightning finding ground.
In my fantasy, Cole's tongue replaces my fingers. He's patient but thorough, learning what makes me shake, what makes me beg. His hands grip my thighs, holding them open when I try to close them against the intensity.
"Let me see you," he rumbles against my pussy. "Let me taste how sweet you are when you let go."
I work myself faster, two fingers sliding inside while my thumb maintains pressure on my clit.
The dual sensation has me arching off the bed, the pillow barely containing my moans. I'm close already, embarrassingly fast, but my body is desperate for something it's been denied too long.
The fantasy shifts— now it's not just Cole. River's there too, his green eyes dark with want as he watches Cole pleasure me. Austin's sunshine smile turned wicked as he palms himself through his jeans. Even Mavi, usually so controlled, looking at me like I'm something worth breaking rules for.
Not taking turns like Blake's pack, not performing dominance, but working together to take me apart.
"Beautiful," fantasy-River murmurs, his hand gentle in my hair. "So perfect when you let yourself feel good."
"Been wanting to hear these sounds," fantasy-Austin adds, pressing kisses to my breasts. "Want to learn every noise you make when you come."
Fantasy-Mavi says nothing, just watches with that intensity that sees everything, but his hand reaches out to stroke my cheek with surprising tenderness.
The combined imagery— being wanted, cherished, pleasured by men who see me as more than a useful Omega —pushes me over the edge.
My orgasm crashes through me like a summer storm, sudden and overwhelming.
I bite the pillow to keep from screaming as waves of pleasure roll through my body, my pussy clenching around my fingers as I work myself through it.
"Cole," I whimper into the fabric, then "River, Austin, Mavi," because in this moment of raw honesty, I want them all . Want to belong to men who kiss like drowning and care for babies and check perimeters and grow things.
Want to be part of their unconventional pack even if it terrifies me.
The aftershocks leave me trembling, sprawled across the bed like a marionette with cut strings.
Slowly, awareness returns—the morning light now fully illuminating my room, the distant sound of voices outside, the cooling wetness between my thighs.
Embarrassment tries to creep in, but I push it back.
This is my body, my pleasure, my choice.
Blake doesn't get to steal this from me anymore.
I lie there for another moment, catching my breath and marveling at how different I feel.
Looser, somehow. Like I've unclenched muscles I didn't know were tight.
My body hums with satisfaction instead of the usual frustration, and I realize this is what I've been missing—not just physical release, but the freedom to want without shame.
The sounds outside grow clearer—definitely the men starting their morning routines.
Cole's deep voice carries on the wind, giving some instruction about fence posts. River's quieter tones respond. They've been up for a while, then, which means I've had privacy for my moment of self-indulgence. The thought brings relief and a tiny bit of disappointment I refuse to examine.
I roll out of bed, legs still slightly shaky, and pad to the bathroom. The shower is quick but thorough, washing away the evidence of my morning activities. The face in the mirror looks different somehow—color in my cheeks, a brightness to my eyes that's been missing for years.
I look alive.
Look like a woman who knows what she wants, even if she's not ready to take it yet.
Back in my room, I dress with purpose.
Dark jeans that can handle ranch work, a tank top that won't show sweat too badly, boots that actually fit properly thanks to yesterday's shopping trip. I pull my auburn hair into a high ponytail, practical and out of the way.
Today I'm going to learn, going to contribute, going to prove I can be more than a damaged Omega taking up space.
Ranch Boss.
The title sits strange but not unwelcome on my shoulders. I may not know cattle from sheep yet, but I can learn. These men— my men, that traitorous part of my brain insists —are willing to teach. And maybe, just maybe, I'm finally ready to be taught more than just ranch work.
I'm ready to learn what it feels like to be part of something good.
Something real.
I check myself one more time in the mirror, squaring my shoulders. Time to face the day, and the men who are making me feel things I thought I'd never feel again.
Time to pretend my body isn't still humming from self-induced orgasm while I learn about fence posts and feeding schedules.
I wear my confidence like armor, cocked to one side, but it's a fragile thing that looks like it's been mauled by a pack of self-doubt and too many mornings spent questioning my worth.
Still, I step out of my bedroom with purpose, chin high and shoulders back, ready to face whatever ranch work awaits.
The hallway stretches before me, morning light painting golden stripes across hardwood floors that creak beneath my boots.
"Morning, Boss."
I nearly jump out of my skin, hand flying to my chest as I spin toward the voice.
Mavi leans against the wall not three feet away, looking like he's been there for hours. Like he's part of the architecture, some guardian gargoyle in worn jeans and a black henley that does criminal things to his shoulders.
"Jesus," I gasp, heart hammering against my ribs. "Do you practice that? The whole appearing-from-nowhere thing?"
His lips quirk in what might generously be called a smile but looks more like a predator deciding if you're worth the energy to chase.
"Practice makes perfect. Want to see the morning security drills?"
The question seems innocent enough, but there's something in his green eyes that makes my stomach flip.
A knowing glint that sets off every alarm bell in my body. He looks like a man with a secret, and I have the sinking feeling that secret involves what I was doing ten minutes ago with my hand between my legs.
"Security drills?" I repeat, buying time while my brain cycles through possibilities.
How long has he been up here?
The house is old—floors creak, walls aren't exactly soundproof.
Oh God, what if he heard ? —
"Every morning," he confirms, pushing off the wall with liquid grace. "Check the perimeters, test the alarm systems, make sure nothing's out of place. Thought you might want to learn, being the boss and all."
That knowing look intensifies, and heat floods my face so fast I'm surprised my hair doesn't catch fire. He knows. He has to know. There's no other explanation for the way he's watching me, like a cat who's found a particularly interesting mouse to toy with.
"How long—" I start, then stop, then force myself to continue because not knowing is worse than knowing. "How long have you been up here?"
His smirk becomes a full grin, sharp and devastating.
"Long enough."
Two words that confirm every mortifying suspicion.
Long enough to hear me gasping into a pillow.
Long enough to hear me moaning four names like a prayer.
Long enough to know exactly what the Ranch Boss was doing instead of learning about fence posts and cattle management.
Oh. My. Fucking. God…
I close my eyes, willing the floor to open up and swallow me whole.
Of all the men to catch me in a moment of self-pleasure, it had to be Mavi—the one who sees everything, who probably has the entire house wired for sound, who's now looking at me like I'm the most interesting thing to happen to his morning routine in years.
"I was just—" I begin, then realize there's no good way to finish that sentence.
Just what? Getting myself off to fantasies about you and your pack brothers?
Taking care of needs I've denied for two years?
Discovering that my body still works despite Blake's best efforts to break it?
"Follow the leader," he says, cutting off my stammering with a wink that should be illegal in at least three states. He turns and starts down the hallway, hands sliding into his pockets with casual arrogance. "Security drills wait for no one, not even bosses who sleep in."
Sleep in. Right. That's what we're calling it.
Not "bosses who spend their mornings fingering themselves to thoughts of their ranch hands." Just sleeping in.
I groan, the sound escaping before I can stop it, and his shoulders shake with what might be laughter.
"This is going to be a long, embarrassing day," I mutter, but my feet are already moving, following him despite every instinct screaming at me to lock myself back in my room and never emerge.
The mortification burns hot in my chest, but underneath it, something else stirs.
Interest, maybe. Or curiosity about this man who heard me at my most vulnerable and chose to tease rather than take advantage.
Blake would have stormed in, demanded explanations, punished me for taking pleasure without permission.
But Mavi? Mavi's offering to show me security drills like nothing happened, except for that knowing smirk that says he's filing this information away for later.
He moves through the house like he owns it, which I suppose he partially does through sweat equity if nothing else.
His stride is purposeful but unhurried, giving me time to appreciate the way his jeans fit and immediately hate myself for noticing.
I just came to thoughts of him not twenty minutes ago—I should not be checking out his ass in the hallway like some hormonal teenager.
"Regretting following me already?" he asks without turning around, because of course he knows I'm staring. The man probably has eyes in the back of his head, or at least mirrors strategically placed to catch unsuspecting Omegas in moments of weakness.
"Regretting a lot of things," I admit, because what's the point of lying to someone who heard you moaning his name into a pillow?
"Don't."
The single word carries more weight than it should.
He pauses at the top of the stairs, finally turning to look at me. The teasing is still there in the curve of his lips, but his eyes are serious.
"Nothing wrong with taking care of yourself. Nothing wrong with wanting."
The words hit like a physical blow, so different from everything I've been taught. I blink hard against the sudden burn of tears, overwhelmed by this casual acceptance of needs I've been shamed for having.
"Besides," he continues, the moment of sincerity passing as quickly as it came, "gave me something interesting to think about during the boring parts of patrol."
"Oh my God," I breathe, face flaming anew. "You can't just?—"
"Can't just what?" He's already heading down the stairs, leaving me to follow or be left behind. "Tell the truth? Acknowledge that our boss has excellent taste in fantasy material? Admit that hearing you say my name like that is going to make concentration difficult for the foreseeable future?"
Oh god! He did hear everything!
Each word is another nail in the coffin of my dignity.
I follow him down the stairs, torn between wanting to push him down them and wanting to know what else he overheard.
This is Mavi— controlled, paranoid, security-obsessed Mavi —talking about my morning self-pleasure session like we're discussing the weather.
"For what it's worth," he tosses over his shoulder as we reach the bottom of the stairs, "the walls are thicker than you think. I was checking the attic access in the hallway—routine security sweep. Just happened to have excellent timing."
Somehow that makes it worse.
Not that he was deliberately listening, but that he was just doing his job and stumbled into my most private moment. I'm going to have to face him every day knowing he heard me come. Knowing he knows exactly what I sound like when I lose control.
"Still want to learn about security?" he asks, pausing at the back door. "Or would you prefer to hide in your room and pretend this never happened?"
The challenge in his voice sparks something in me— that defiant flame Cole identified, the part that refuses to be shamed into submission anymore.
He’s testing me.
Trying to determine if I’m going to cower for having needs as an Omega or own up to my desires without cowering to his unexpected presence.
I lift my chin, meeting his green eyes with as much dignity as I can muster while my face burns like a beacon.
"Show me," I say, proud when my voice comes out steady. "If I'm going to be Boss, I need to know everything about this place. Even if my tour guide is a smug bastard who has terrible timing."
That will show him.
His grin widens, sharp and appreciative as he leans in close, his scent only teasing me further.
"There she is. The fierce Omega Cole was talking about.” He doesn’t hesitate then, giving me the softest peck on the cheek that I could ever think he can muster. “Welcome to the real world, Boss. It's a lot more interesting than whatever cage you've been living in."
He pushes open the door, October morning air rushing in to cool my heated face.
The oddest realization is how my body goes haywire.
At both his minuscular touch and how it feels as if he’s setting me up to be free from the prison I’ve lived in all this while.
I follow him out, mortification and intrigue warring in my chest.
This is my life now—learning ranch work from men who've heard me at my most vulnerable, who tease instead of shame, who make me want things I'm not sure I'm ready for.
God help me, but despite the embarrassment, I'm already curious about what else the day will bring.