14. Cayenne
Chapter 14
Cayenne
I’m soaked and not just with sweat.
And likely leaving a trail of lemon-scent strong enough to make any alpha’s head turn. The morning’s training has transformed my usual citrus into something headier, something that probably screams available beta to anyone with enhanced senses. Not that I care. Not that I notice how my body seems determined to broadcast its interest to everyone in this damn house.
Except I do care, and it’s pissing me off.
The basement stairs offer blessed solitude as I descend, each step a countdown to privacy I desperately need. My sports bra clings like a second skin, uncomfortable in ways that have nothing to do with physical exertion. The moment I hit the bottom step, I start stripping—propriety abandoned in favor of relief.
The bra goes flying across the room in a perfect arc that would make a basketball player proud. My breasts feel heavy, nipples pebbled in the cool air. I could blame the temperature, but that would be another lie in a morning full of them.
This is pure, unadulterated arousal. For Pack Locke.
For their alpha who pins me down during training like he owns me. For their fractured warrior who teaches me to fly across rooftops. For their brilliant beta who watches with knowing eyes. For their omega who moves like sin given form.
“Fuck all of you,” I mutter, kicking off my shoes with enough force to nearly take out the empty TV mount. My leggings and panties join the growing pile of discarded clothing—evidence of my surrender to baser needs.
My nude reflection catches in a distant window, and I barely recognize myself. Flushed skin, wild hair, eyes dark with want. I look like someone else. Someone who might actually belong in a pack.
That thought sends me stumbling toward the bed rather than the shower I desperately need. I sprawl across the expensive sheets, my body a live wire of conflicting impulses. Every brush of fabric against my skin feels like too much and not enough.
My mind wages war with itself. I like them. God help me, I actually like them. It’s like some cosmic joke—dropping me into the lap of four men who push every single one of my buttons. Even my traitorous body hums with recognition, with want, with need.
But touching myself feels like crossing a line. Like admitting something I’m not ready to face.
Then again, when have I ever been good at respecting boundaries?
I close my eyes, already breathing deeply as my clit pulses with a need that borders on pain. A toy would make this easier—something mechanical and impersonal to get the job done. Pure biology, no emotions attached. But my hands are all I have, and they carry the memory of every touch, every almost-moment with these men who are rapidly becoming my beautiful disaster.
I’m afraid to check how wet I am, knowing it would rival any omega in heat. Another reminder that my beta body doesn’t play by society’s rules. Just like everything else about me.
The memory of sparring with Ryker floods back unbidden—the perfect fit of his cock against me through our clothes, the controlled roll of his hips hitting exactly where I needed him. My entire body comes alive at the thought, nerve endings firing like overclocked processors.
My hands find my breasts, and even that gentle massage sends shockwaves through my system. I’m so wound up that the slightest brush across my nipples has me arching off the bed with a moan that echoes through the basement.
I don’t try to stifle it. Let them hear. Let them know exactly what they’ve done to me with their teasing and their training and their goddamn pheromones. How dare they work me up like this and leave me to deal with the aftermath alone?
I pinch my nipples harder, my back bowing as my legs fall open. The position leaves me exposed to anyone who might come down those stairs, and fuck—when did I develop an exhibitionist streak? But there’s something intoxicating about the possibility of being caught, of one of them finding me spread out on their sheets, getting myself off to thoughts of them.
The door’s right there.
Anyone could walk in and see me like this—desperate and wanting and so fucking wet. Would they watch? Join in? Or just stand there wrestling with their own control while I shatter mine?
My fingers roll and tug at my nipples until my pussy clenches around nothing, desperate for something to fill the ache they’ve created. I could come just from this, from the toy of my breasts and the fantasy of being watched. But whose face do I picture?
There are four to choose from, each offering a different flavor of destruction. Ryker with his tactical precision, Jinx with his beautiful chaos, Finn with his analytical thoroughness, Theo with his artistic passion. I could have any of them in my mind.
All of them.
“Fuck,” the word escapes on a long moan as my hips pump against air, seeking friction that isn’t there. My body hums like a live wire, every cell vibrating with need.
The reckless part of me—the part that jumps between buildings and hacks secure systems—wants to march upstairs and demand they take responsibility for what they’ve done to me. Make them worship every inch of my beta body until I forget why I ever thought I couldn’t belong to a pack.
But that’s exactly the problem, isn’t it? I don’t want to belong. Can’t belong. Not when Sterling Labs is hunting me, not when I have secrets that could get us all killed.
So instead, I arch into my own touch, letting my imagination paint pictures of what could be. Ryker’s hands holding me down. Jinx’s teeth at my throat. Finn’s clever fingers taking me apart. Theo’s omega grace teaching me submission.
My clit throbs in time with my pulse, begging for attention I can no longer deny.
My right hand finally slides down my stomach, mapping a path of fire across my skin, when a sharp inhale freezes me in place.
“Don’t stop.”
The words drift through the room like smoke—low, melodic, barely above a whisper yet somehow filling every corner of the space. My muscles freeze mid-motion not from fear but from something more primal. That voice—Theo’s voice—resonates at a frequency that bypasses conscious thought, vibrating directly against my bones and settling in my marrow. The omega timbre shouldn’t affect me—shouldn’t make my skin prickle with goosebumps or my breath catch in my throat or my fingers tremble against my skin—but my beta body responds anyway, nervous system hijacked by sound waves that seem to physically caress me from across the room.
“You look beautiful like this, piccola.” His Italian accent thickens, vowels stretching like honey dripping from a spoon. The temperature in the room seems to rise three degrees from his presence alone, air molecules rearranging themselves around his will. “All spread out and desperate on our sheets.”
I should cover myself. Should feel shame or embarrassment at being caught. Instead, my body arches toward his voice, seeking something I can’t name.
“That’s it.” He leans against the doorframe, those dark eyes devouring every inch of exposed skin. “Show me how you pleasure yourself thinking of us.”
The command in his voice bypasses my brain entirely, going straight to my core. My fingers resume their path downward, and I gasp at how wet I am—soaked and swollen and aching. Dripping.
“Tell me what you were thinking about.” His accent thickens as he watches, making no move to join me. “Which one of us had you moaning so prettily?”
“All of you.” The confession tears from my throat as I finally touch my clit, the contact sending electricity arcing through my system. “Fuck, Theo?—”
“Slower.” His artist’s hands grip the doorframe like he’s physically restraining himself. “Make it last. Show me how you want to be touched.”
My fingers obey without conscious thought, falling into a rhythm that builds the pressure gradually. Every circle around my clit sends fresh waves of pleasure coursing through me.
“That’s it, beautiful girl.” His praise wraps around me like silk. “Now tell me—what do you imagine us doing to you?”
“Ryker holding me down.” The words spill out between gasps as I increase the pressure. “Jinx marking me up. Finn taking me apart. You—” I break off with a moan as my other hand pinches my nipple.
“Me?” The single word carries depths of dark promise.
“Teaching me submission.”
His growl fills the room. “Look at me, Cayenne.”
I force my eyes open, meeting his gaze through the haze of building pleasure. The hunger I see there makes me clench around nothing.
“Faster now.” His command brooks no argument. “Show me how you come thinking of us claiming you. Making you ours.”
“I can’t—” But I can. I am. My hips buck against my hand as the pressure builds to something astronomical.
“You can.” His voice drops impossibly lower. “And you will. Come for me, piccola. Come thinking of how perfectly you’d fit in our pack.”
The orgasm hits like a system crash, wiping every thought from my mind except pure sensation. My body arches off the bed as waves of pleasure roll through me, each one stronger than the last.
Through it all, Theo watches with those dark artist’s eyes, cataloging every reaction like he’s planning to recreate this moment later.
When I finally collapse back against the sheets, trembling and oversensitive, he hasn’t moved from the doorway.
“Beautiful,” he murmurs, then pushes off the frame. “Get dressed, piccola. Ryker’s waiting to teach you something else entirely.”
He disappears up the stairs before I can process his words, leaving me to deal with the aftermath of what just happened. Of what it means that I came harder from his commands than I have from actual physical contact.
“Fuck.” I press my hands to my burning face. “I am in so much trouble.”
“Screw it.” I push off the bed on shaky legs, ignoring how my thighs stick together. A shower would be the polite thing to do—the proper way to handle getting caught masturbating by an omega who just helped orchestrate the best orgasm of my life.
But I’ve never been good at proper.
Let them smell exactly what they do to me. Let them deal with their own frustrated alpha urges while I learn to ride whatever death machine Ryker has planned.
I grab fresh clothes from my suitcase, pulling on a sports bra that does nothing to hide how my nipples are still hard. The leggings cling like a second skin, and I know my arousal will seep through soon enough. Good. The petty part of me hopes it drives them all crazy.
Theo wanted a show? Fine. But turnabout is fair play.
My hair goes up in a messy bun, exposing my neck where I still carry Jinx’s partial mark. Another deliberate choice. Another fuck you to their careful control.
I check my reflection in the window, and Jesus—I look thoroughly debauched. Flushed skin, kiss-swollen lips—and when did I bite them that hard—eyes still dark with afterglow. Combined with my lemon-sharp scent probably broadcasting freshly orgasmed beta to anyone with enhanced senses...
Perfect.
Let them all suffer like I’ve been suffering.
I take the stairs two at a time, riding the high of endorphins and rebellion. My body feels electric, alive in ways that have nothing to do with physical release and everything to do with power. With choice. With turning their own games back on them.
“Ready for your lesson?” Ryker’s voice stops me at the top of the stairs, and holy hell—he’s wearing a leather jacket that should be illegal in at least three states.
His nostrils flare as he catches my scent, pupils dilating instantly. Good. Let him smell exactly what his perfect control does to me. What they all do to me.
“Ready when you are, Alpha.” I deliberately brush past him, letting him get a full hit of eau de aroused beta. “Though I have to warn you—I like to ride hard.”
His growl follows me down the hall, and I grin.
Game on.
The front door opens to winter-sharp air that does nothing to cool my overheated skin. Ryker’s growl still echoes in my ears as I spot the motorcycle—all sleek lines and barely contained power. Like its owner.
“Oh, you have got to be kidding me.” I cross my arms, definitely not admiring how the morning light catches the chrome. “This is your idea of staying safe?”
“Safer than jumping between buildings.” He moves past me, his leather jacket creaking in ways that shouldn’t be erotic. When he swings a leg over the bike, the engine rumbles to life like a mechanical purr.
Show-off.
“First lesson.” He pats the seat behind him, and I catch the slight strain in his voice. Good to know I’m not the only one affected. “Trust.”
“Trust you not to kill us both?” But I’m already moving toward the bike, drawn like a moth to particularly dangerous flame.
His hands tighten on the handlebars as I slide into place behind him. The position forces me to press against his back, my thighs bracketing his. Every point of contact sends fresh arousal to burn between my legs.
“Arms around my waist,” he commands, voice rougher than usual. “Hold tight.”
I comply with deliberate slowness, letting my hands wander across his abs before locking around his middle. His muscles jump under my touch.
“Like this, Alpha?” I press closer, making sure he feels exactly how wet I still am. Two can play at this control game.
His growl vibrates through both our bodies. “You’re playing with fire, little beta.”
“Good thing I like getting burned.” I rest my chin on his shoulder, letting my breath ghost across his neck. “Show me what this beast can do.”
The bike roars as he kicks it into gear, and suddenly we’re flying. The acceleration pushes me tighter against him, and I don’t fight it. Don’t try to hide how perfectly we fit together.
Wind whips around us as we take the private drive too fast, each turn forcing me to hold tighter. His leather jacket creaks under my grip, and I swear I catch cherry tobacco on the breeze—Jinx watching from somewhere, scenting what I’ve done.
Let him watch. Let them all see.
“You’re doing this on purpose.” Ryker’s voice barely carries over the engine.
I laugh into his neck. “Doing what?”
He takes the next turn sharper than necessary, making me gasp and clutch him closer. “Playing games you’re not ready to finish.”
“Bold of you to assume I’m playing.” I roll my hips, just slightly, just enough to make him feel it. “Maybe I just like the ride.”
The bike suddenly slows, pulling onto a dirt path I hadn’t noticed. When we stop, Ryker cuts the engine but doesn’t dismount.
“Get off.” The alpha command in his voice sends shivers down my spine.
“Make me.”
He twists in the seat, one hand finding my throat. Not squeezing, just holding. Possessing. “You think you can handle our kind of game, beta?”
I meet his steel grey eyes, defiance warring with desire. “I think you’re afraid to find out.”
His fingers flex against my throat, not enough to hurt but enough to remind me what he is. What I’m not.
“You don’t want this.” His voice comes out like gravel, all sharp edges and barely contained violence. “You want the rush. The chase. The game.” His thumb traces my pulse point where it races beneath his touch. “But you don’t want us.”
The accusation hits harder than it should. “You don’t know what I want.”
“I know you’re running.” His eyes search mine with tactical precision, like he’s mapping all my weak points. “From Sterling Labs, from your friends, from yourself. And now you’re trying to run from whatever this is by turning it into a game.”
I try to pull back but his hand holds me in place. “Let go.”
“Why? Because I’m right?” His grip gentles but doesn’t release. “Because it’s easier to push us away with sex than admit you might actually feel something?”
“Fuck you.” But the words come out breathless, lacking their intended bite.
“No.” He finally drops his hand, leaving my skin cold. “That’s exactly what you want—to fuck the tension away so you don’t have to deal with the rest. To make it purely physical so you can tell yourself it doesn’t matter.”
I scramble off the bike, hating how easily he sees through my defenses. “You don’t get to psychoanalyze me.”
“Someone has to.” He dismounts with that liquid grace that makes my body ache despite my anger. “Because you’re so busy running from connection that you’ll burn everything down just to prove you don’t need anyone.”
“I don’t.” The lie tastes bitter on my tongue. “Need anyone.”
His laugh holds no humor. “Keep telling yourself that while you parade around smelling like sex and defiance. While you try to make us lose control just to prove we will.”
“I’m not?—”
“You are.” He steps closer, all controlled power and contained rage. “And I’m not playing. Not when you’re using desire as a weapon because you’re too scared to admit you might actually fit here.”
The truth of it steals my breath.
My chest constricts as his words hit their target with tactical precision. Each syllable breaches another layer of protection—my carefully constructed indifference crumbling like poorly written code under an expert hack. The air becomes too thin, my lungs working overtime as panic sends electricity through my nerves. My fingers curl into fists, nails biting crescents into my palms as I fight the urge to run, to hide, to rebuild the walls they’re dismantling with such terrifying ease—walls that took years to fortify against exactly this kind of invasion.
“Lesson’s over.” He turns back to the bike, shoulders rigid with tension. “Get someone else to teach you. Someone who can handle your games without wanting to—” He cuts himself off, jaw clenching.
“Without wanting to what?” I push because I can’t help it, because pushing is safer than pulling.
He swings onto the bike without looking at me. “Without wanting to break every rule I have about protecting what’s mine.” He glances up at me, “and I’ll protect my pack from you if that is what I have to do.” The engine roars to life, drowning out whatever else he might have said.
I watch him disappear down the path, the bike kicking up dust that stings my eyes. That’s what I tell myself anyway— that it’s dust making them water, not the realization that I just proved him right.
I am running. From Sterling Labs, from my friends, from myself. It’s what I’m good at—breaking systems, exposing weaknesses, then vanishing before anyone can see my own vulnerabilities. Before anyone can get close enough to matter.
Except they already matter. Ryker’s controlled power matching my chaos. Jinx’s beautiful madness recognizing mine. Finn’s quiet understanding. Theo’s artistic soul seeing right through my defenses. They’ve mapped my weaknesses like I map security systems, finding exploits I didn’t even know existed.
And now I’m running from the first people who’ve ever made me want to stay. The first ones who might actually be worth the risk of stopping.
Too bad I forgot the first rule of hacking—sometimes the biggest threat isn’t to the system.
It’s to the hacker’s heart.