16. Protecting Against The Past #2
As if she heard me, her back bows off the bed.
Even with the pillow muffling her cries, I can hear the intensity of her orgasm.
Her thighs clamp around her hand, hips jerking with each wave of pleasure, and the sight pushes me over the edge.
I come hard, spurting over my fist as I watch her writhe on the screen.
My knot swells partially at the base of my cock, aching for the tight grip of an Omega's pussy, and I have to clench my jaw to keep from howling at the intensity of it.
For a moment, we're both still—her collapsed on the bed, me slumped in my chair, both of us panting in our separate spaces.
Guilt crashes over me like cold water, but it's mixed with something else.
Satisfaction, maybe. Or recognition of a hunger I've been trying to ignore since the day she arrived at our ranch.
On screen, Willa slowly removes the pillow from her face, and even through the camera's limited resolution, I can see the mix of pleasure and shame painting her features.
She looks soft and vulnerable and absolutely beautiful, and my chest tightens with an emotion I'm not ready to name.
What the fuck have I done?
On the screen, Willa sits up slowly, like she's remembering how to inhabit her body.
Her crop top is twisted, revealing a strip of pale stomach, and her hair looks like it's been through a tornado.
She glances around the room with that particular combination of satisfaction and shame that comes from solo pleasure—I know the look because I'm wearing it too.
Her hands smooth down her hair, a gesture so normal and human it makes my chest tight.
I glance down at my own situation— cock still half-hard despite the release, cum cooling on my fist and splattered across my jeans .
The evidence of my voyeurism is impossible to ignore, making my stomach churn with equal parts satisfaction and self-disgust. I grab a rag from the workbench, cleaning up with quick, efficient movements while keeping one eye on the monitor.
Willa stretches, the movement pulling her top higher, and then swings her legs over the side of the bed.
The microphone picks up her soft sigh, the creak of bedsprings as she stands.
She's heading for the shower, movements still languid from orgasm, and I know I need to shut this down.
Need to close the app, finish my rounds, pretend this never happened.
Instead, I tuck myself away and lean back in the chair, mind racing. The other men don't know about the full extent of the bedroom monitoring—they think it's just smoke detectors and basic motion sensors. But after what happened with Sarah, I couldn't risk being blindsided again.
Couldn't risk another Omega playing us against each other, using our protection and trust as weapons.
Sarah.
Even thinking of her name brings a bitter taste.
She'd blown through our lives two years ago like a prairie fire—all heat and destruction, leaving nothing but ash in her wake.
Beautiful, calculating, with a sob story designed to trigger every protective instinct an Alpha possessed.
We'd taken her in, given her shelter and care, and she'd played us like a master musician.
Set us against each other with carefully placed rumors and strategic tears.
By the time we realized what was happening, she'd nearly destroyed the pack bonds we'd spent years building.
But Willa... Christ, Willa's nothing like that.
Where Sarah's need had been performance, Willa's is genuine.
Where Sarah calculated every touch and glance for maximum impact, Willa fights her own desires like they're enemies.
She doesn't want to want us, doesn't trust the attraction, and that honesty is more seductive than any manipulation could be.
The sound of running water echoes through the speakers—she's in the shower now.
I force myself to close the app, the screen going dark with a soft click that feels louder than it should. My cock twitches with interest at the thought of her naked under the spray, but I've pushed enough boundaries for one morning.
Standing requires more effort than it should; my legs shaky from the intensity of the orgasm.
Fuck, when was the last time I came that hard from just watching?
The answer is never—not even with live partners, not even during the wildest days when we were young firefighters with more testosterone than sense.
I think about Cole yesterday, how he'd sat in his truck after dropping Willa off and jerked himself raw.
I'd watched through the cab camera—not for pleasure but for concern, making sure our pack's leader wasn't losing his mind over another potentially dangerous Omega.
But the desperation on his face, the way he'd groaned her name as he came.
.. It had confirmed what I already suspected.
Willa isn't just another rescued Omega to us.
She's something more dangerous—someone who could actually matter.
The water shuts off.
She'll be out soon, getting dressed, preparing to face another day of learning the ranch.
And I need to be ready. Need to decide how to handle what just happened.
The old me would delete the footage, pretend it never existed, maintain the professional distance that keeps everyone safe.
But the me who just came to watch her pleasure herself?
That version wants to push, to tease, to see what happens when Willa realizes she's not as alone in her desires as she thinks.
I straighten my clothes, run a hand through my hair, and make my way down from the attic. The ladder creaks under my weight, but the house is still quiet—River's already in the barn, Austin's with Luna in the kitchen, Cole's checking the eastern pasture. Perfect timing for what I have planned.
I position myself near her door, far enough away to seem casual but close enough to catch her when she emerges.
It's a calculated move, one I've used dozens of times during security sweeps.
But this time, my heart's racing with anticipation rather than vigilance.
This time, I'm not checking for threats—I'm about to become one.
The doorknob turns, and I school my features into casual indifference.
She steps out looking like temptation wrapped in denim and cotton—dark jeans that hug her curves, a tank top that shows off toned arms, her damp hair pulled back in a ponytail that exposes the elegant line of her neck.
She looks fresh and clean and determined, like a woman ready to conquer the world.
Time to shake that confidence, just a little.
"Morning, Boss," I say, pitching my voice low and casual.
She jumps like I've electrocuted her, hand flying to her chest as she spins toward me. The look of shock on her face is priceless—eyes wide, mouth open in a little 'o' of surprise, color already rising in her cheeks.
"Jesus," she gasps, and I can hear her heart hammering from here. "Do you practice that? The whole appearing-from-nowhere thing?"
I let my lips curve into what River calls my 'predator smile'—all teeth and dark promise. "Practice makes perfect. Want to see the morning security drills?"
The question hangs between us, innocent on the surface but weighted with everything I'm not saying.
Her eyes narrow slightly, catching something in my tone, and I watch the wheels turn in that clever mind.
She's wondering how long I've been here, what I might have heard.
The blush spreads from her cheeks down her neck, disappearing beneath the neckline of her tank top.
"Security drills?" she repeats, buying time. Good girl. Always thinking, always analyzing. It's going to make this so much more fun.
"Every morning," I confirm, pushing off the wall with studied nonchalance. "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."
I put just enough emphasis on 'boss' to make it clear I know exactly who was in charge of their own pleasure twenty minutes ago. Her face goes from pink to crimson, and I have to fight not to laugh at her mortified expression.
"How long—" she starts, stops, visibly steels herself. "How long have you been up here?"
This is it. The moment where I could lie, could protect her dignity and my secret. Could pretend I'm just the paranoid security expert who happened to be doing rounds. But where's the fun in that?
"Long enough," I say, grinning wide enough to show teeth.
The words land like a bomb. I watch her process them, see the exact moment she realizes what I mean. Her mouth opens and closes like she's forgotten how words work, and the expression of pure mortification mixed with something that might be arousal is going to fuel my fantasies for weeks.
"I was just—" she begins, then seems to realize there's no good way to finish that sentence. Just what, indeed? Just fingering yourself to thoughts of me and my pack brothers? Just discovering what that body can do when you stop fighting it?
"Follow the leader," I interrupt, saving her from further embarrassment. For now. I turn and start down the hallway, sliding my hands into my pockets with deliberate casualness. "Security drills wait for no one, not even bosses who sleep in."
Behind me, I hear her groan—a sound of pure embarrassment that makes my cock twitch with renewed interest.
"This is going to be a long, embarrassing day," she mutters.
I let my shoulders shake with silent laughter as I lead her toward the stairs.
She has no idea how right she is.
But more importantly, she's following.
Despite the embarrassment, despite knowing I heard her, she's choosing to face this head-on.
Fierce little Omega indeed.
This is going to be more interesting than any security drill I've ever run.