20. Roman Osprey
Roman Osprey
Wes kisses Scarlet, and I notice the change when she leans back into me.
It’s only an inch, the quiet press of her spine against my chest while her mouth opens beneath his, but she keeps the contact instead of straightening again.
Scarlet holds herself upright through exhaustion, fear, rainstorms, public humiliation, and conversations with people who deserve to be punched.
Even when she lets us touch her, I’ve watched her stay ready to gather herself and stand alone again.
Tonight, she lets more of her weight rest against me.
My arms tighten around her to tell her I noticed, that I’m here and she can keep leaning if she wants to.
Scarlet settles into my embrace. The trust of it moves through me more deeply than the sight of Wes’s hand disappearing into her hair or the soft sound she makes when he kisses her harder.
I’ve wanted Scarlet from the beginning. Wanted the wit sharp enough to leave a mark.
Wanted the woman who can look at a room full of powerful people and decide none of them are particularly impressive.
But this is the part of her that owns me, the woman who fights the world and then, for one breath, decides she can lay down her sword with me.
She turns her head, breaking the kiss long enough to look back at me.
Her mouth is pink, and her eyes are bright and open. She looks happy. The sight nearly brings me to my knees.
Happiness changes her. It eases the hard line she keeps around her mouth and clears the watchfulness from her eyes. She looks almost startled by the feeling, as if joy wandered onto her property without permission and she hasn’t decided whether to chase it off with a broom.
I want to keep her joyful. That desire is more frightening than lust. Lust asks for a night. This asks me to believe I might be allowed to build a life around the way she looks right now.
There are old wounds inside me that distrust that kind of hope. I have spent years making myself easy to keep, funny enough to lighten a room, useful enough to earn my place, and open enough that no one has to work too hard to reach me.
Scarlet looks at me as if none of it is the reason she wants me. It’s like she sees the parts not polished and likes them anyway.
She reaches behind herself and finds my hand. Her fingers slide between mine. She brings our joined hands to her stomach and holds them there.
The gesture is simple, but Scarlet doesn’t offer simplicity lightly. Everything with her has layers: a joke over a fear, a glare over concern. Now she is opening those doors from the inside.
One for Wes. One for me.
With her, I feel worthy of being invited through.
I kiss beneath her ear. Scarlet tips her head, giving me room, and her body settles more fully against mine while Wes keeps one hand at her waist.
“Upstairs or here?” Wes asks.
“Here.”
Wes leads her backward until her knees meet the cushions.
I shove the coffee table farther away with my foot, clearing the space in front of the couch before Scarlet sits.
I settle into the corner behind her and draw her back between my thighs.
She comes willingly, her shoulders resting against my chest while our fingers remain linked over her stomach.
Wes kneels in front of her. The sight of my alpha on his knees carries its own kind of power, especially with all that controlled strength focused on Scarlet. His hands settle on the wide belt around her skirt.
Scarlet glances down. “You appear alarmingly comfortable there.”
“I am.”
“Your confidence should concern me.”
“It usually does.”
Her mouth curves.
Wes loosens the buckle. The small metallic click feels louder than it should.
Scarlet has wrapped herself in beautiful defenses for years. Velvet. Long skirts. Wide belts. Layers of delicate jewelry. She arranges her softness into armor so skillfully, most people probably never notice the second purpose.
Wes slides the belt from her waist. He folds it and places it beside her, careful with the thing that helped her feel safe. The gesture catches in my chest, a deep ache for the tender way my alpha goes soft for her.
Scarlet watches him reach for the hem of her top.
Her fingers close around his wrist.
Wes waits with his attention fixed on her.
I feel tension enter her body where it rests against mine.
My thumb moves once along the back of her hand, an acknowledgment of what this costs her.
Scarlet breathes out, and her grip loosens. Then she guides Wes’s hand beneath the velvet herself, another layer opened from within.
Wes looks up at her with a wordless command.
She raises her arms, and he draws the fabric upward slowly.
Her defenses don’t fall all at once. First she exposes the soft curve below her ribs, a place she usually hides beneath folded arms. Then the undersides of her breasts, bared while her breath catches. Her hair tumbles around her shoulders when the velvet clears her head completely.
She isn’t wearing a bra, and the sight of her pretty tits makes my cock rock hard.
Wes’s purr rolls through the room.
Scarlet’s nipples tighten, but she doesn’t cover herself.
We have touched her before, but the look in her eyes tonight is different. There is no enemy here for her to defeat. It’s only Scarlet, who is letting herself be seen. The vulnerability of it makes my throat ache.
Wes places her top beside her belt. One layer, then another. He treats each piece as if they matter, because they matter to her.
Scarlet looks at the small pile. “You’re very organized about undressing me.”
“I’m organized about everything.”
“He alphabetizes evidence,” I tell her.
“It was poorly arranged,” Wes says.
“It was chronological.”
“An inferior system.”
Scarlet laughs.
There it is again. Happiness.
I bring her hand to my mouth and kiss her knuckles.
She looks at me with an expression so open that an old wound inside me goes quiet.
I don’t feel like the man she chose because I was easier to trust than an alpha.
I don’t feel secondary. I feel like she’s mine in the way Wes is mine, like we chose each other.
Wes gathers her skirt in both hands and pushes it slowly up her legs.
She watches me while he does it. Wes may be the one removing the layers, but she gives each one to both of us. Her gaze holds mine as his fingers reach the waistband of her underwear.
She lifts her hips, and Wes draws the fabric down. The underwear slips over her knees and ankles into his hand. He folds it over the arm of the couch.
I glance at him.
“They’re pretty. She’ll want to be able to find them later,” he says.
Scarlet stares at the underwear folded neatly over the arm of the couch. Her eyes soften, and her body settles more fully against mine. Then she reaches for Wes and pulls him up for a kiss. He rises enough to meet her, kissing her while I keep one arm around her waist.
When they part, Wes shifts onto the cushion beside her.
I slide out from behind Scarlet and kneel in the space we cleared in front of the couch.
Wes draws her back against his chest, one arm around her middle while I settle between her thighs.
She is naked between us, her armor beside her in a careful stack.
Scarlet reaches for me before I can touch her. Her palm rests against my cheek. I turn my face and kiss the center of her palm. Her fingers brush my lips, curious and almost shy, which is a fascinating contradiction in a woman currently naked.
“You’re thinking too loudly,” she says.
“I’ve been told it’s a gift.”
“It’s distracting.”
“From?”
Her gaze drops to my mouth.
Fair enough.
I kiss the inside of her wrist, then the soft crease of her elbow as I work my way lower.
Behind her, Wes cups one breast and brushes his thumb across her nipple.
Scarlet arches against his chest, her hips shifting closer to the edge of the cushion.
I kiss the inside of her thigh while Wes lowers his mouth to her shoulder and then her breast.
Scarlet’s fingers slide into my hair before turning her face and kissing me.
Her tongue twists against mine while Wes’s mouth closes around her nipple.
The first sharp sound she makes breaks into the kiss, and I swallow it.
Scarlet tastes like tea and want, and the last of the tart berry candy she pretended not to steal from my pocket earlier.
“You took my candy,” I whisper.
Her lips brush mine. “Prove it.”
“There is evidence.”
“Circumstantial.” She smiles into my mouth.
The woman beneath the defenses is warmer, playful. She is no less sharp, only no longer cutting. I’m falling in love with that version too.
Scarlet exhales against my mouth, and I pull away from the kiss long enough to watch Wes slides one hand between her thighs. His fingers move through her slick, parting her pink pussy slowly.
“I love how wet you get for us,” he says.
I know she will try to make a joke if we give her enough room to think. Wes doesn’t give her the room. He strokes her clit with slow, deliberate circles while I kiss along her throat.
Scarlet’s fingers tighten in my hair. “Roman.”
The warning in her voice would be more convincing if a purr weren’t vibrating beneath it.
“Yes?”
She glares at me.
“You called?” I ask.
She tries to answer, but Wes slides two fingers inside her. Her words vanish. His fingers move slowly, opening her with a careful curl.
Scarlet’s head falls back against the cushions.
Wes strokes his fingers along her pussy before he slips them back in, then looks at her face. The omega who watches for every shift in the room has closed her eyes.
I kiss her temple. “You can let go,” I whisper.
Her lashes lift. For one breath, she looks almost frightened by how much she wants to. Then she sighs. It’s barely a movement, but it feels enormous.
I kneel between her thighs.