19. Vayda
Isettle across Simon's thighs. His arms lock around my waist. He buries his face in my neck and takes a long breath. Wally sits on the sofa right beside us. Kel drops onto the cushion on my other side. We group together, bracing for whatever fallout comes next.
Kel pulls his phone out of his jeans pocket. His thumb swipes across the screen, going straight for the comment section on social media.
I brace for the worst. The image of fans demanding the League expel the Canval Reapers burns in my mind. They love pristine athletes. They hate messy scandals.
"Holy shit." Kel stares at his screen. His jaw drops.
A flinch rocks my body. I squeeze my eyes shut and press closer into Simon's chest to hide from the mess.
Simon lifts his head. He shifts his weight beneath me, preparing for a fight. "Read it."
"It says, 'Sin Bin is trash. Leave the Reapers alone.'" Kel scrolls down the page. His thumb moves fast. "Here's another one from a verified fan account. 'Look at Simon defending his Omega. That is top-tier Alpha behavior. We stan a protective king.'"
Wally leans over me to peer at Kel's screen.
"Keep going." I open my eyes and stare at Kel. My heart pounds against my ribs.
"They're tearing the paparazzi apart." Kel barks a rough laugh.
He scrolls through another page. "'Imagine harassing a disabled man in a wheelchair for a clickbait headline.
Lock the so-called journalists up.' Another one says, 'The Reapers just secured the Cup.
They've got the ultimate motivation now. Do it for the Omega.'"
Kel looks up from his screen. A massive grin spreads across his face. "They're with us." He tosses his phone onto the sofa next to him. "The whole fan base is rallying behind the video. They're treating you like team royalty."
The tight ache in my chest releases. The terrifying vision of destroyed careers and revoked contracts fades away. The fans embrace the truth. They see the protective instincts of their star players and applaud them. The scandal holds no power when the truth lives in plain sight.
Simon relaxes beneath me. He drops his chin back down to my shoulder and lets out a long breath. Over by the tray table, Brendan hums a low, rumbling note. The calm settling over the house suits him.
I lean my head back against Simon. The fans cheering for us does little to settle the guilt twisting in my stomach.
Finding a second match is a miracle, but moving on still feels like a betrayal to my old Alphas.
I spent the last four weeks terrified. Losing my Alphas gave me rejection sickness, and running away now that we shared my Heat means giving the sickness to them.
Every nightmare scenario I imagined came true tonight.
The media tracked us down. The chaos landed right on my front porch.
But sitting here surrounded by them, I recognize the shift in our reality.
We crossed the point of no return during my last Heat. The panic in their eyes tonight proved they need me to survive. Seeing the devotion on their faces washes the old doubts away. I have to stay.
Wally shifts closer on the cushion. Kel leans in. The tension drains out of my limbs. Tomorrow brings the blood tests and the official League paperwork, but right now, safe with them, none of that matters.
An hour after dinner, the adrenaline fades. The guys insist on staying the night. They need to stay close to know that I'm okay.
Wally and Kel pass out within minutes. Wally sprawls on his stomach with his thick arm thrown over my waist. Kel curls on his side near the edge, his soft snores filling the dark room.
I lie flat on my back, staring at the ceiling fan. My pulse races. The afternoon and evening replays in my head. The banging on the windows, the flashing cameras, the guys claiming me on a live broadcast. My skin tingles with residual nervous energy, keeping me awake.
A shadow shifts on my right side. Simon rolls onto his back, his chest rising and falling in a waking rhythm. I turn my head. The faint moonlight coming through the window blinds catches his green eyes. He watches me in the dark.
I reach out across the sheets, wrapping my fingers around his thick wrist to tug his arm.
Simon takes the hint. He slides off his empty side of the mattress and stands beside the bed in a pair of gray boxer briefs.
I slide out from under Wally's arm and lead Simon out of the bedroom. My bare feet hit the cool hardwood floor of the hallway. The house is quiet except for the low hum of the kitchen refrigerator.
We reach the living room, and I guide him toward the sofa. I sit on the edge of the cushions. Simon drops onto the seat next to me, leaving a few inches of space between our legs.
"Trouble sleeping?" Simon rests his elbows on his knees.
"My brain keeps spinning." I pull my knees to my chest. "The shouting outside. The cameras. Everything happened fast."
"We handled it." Simon shifts closer, the scent of amber and sea breeze rolling off his skin. "The team supports us. The fans are rallying. We own the narrative now."
"It still feels reckless. You put a target on your back for me."
"We claimed our Omega." Simon turns his body toward me. His green eyes lock onto mine. "I'd do it again tomorrow."
The tension spikes in the quiet room. Simon reaches out and frames my face with both hands. His thumbs stroke my cheekbones.
"I don't regret anything." His thumb traces my lower lip. "Meeting you fulfilled me. No matter how long it takes for you to realize we aren't going anywhere, I'll keep waiting."
He leans forward and captures my mouth. The kiss starts slow. His tongue sweeps past my teeth. He tastes like mint and musk.
I twist my body, swinging my legs over his lap to straddle his thighs.
Simon groans low in his throat. He catches my hips in his large hands, pulling me flush against his chest.
I lean into him, wrapping my arms around his neck to fist my hands in his hair.
We kiss for a long time, our tongues tangling together in a hot, demanding rhythm.
His hands slide up from my hips, slipping underneath the hem of my sleep shirt.
He drags his palms up my bare ribs and cups my breasts.
His callused thumbs flick across my nipples.
A jolt shoots straight down to my center.
I break the kiss to gasp for air. I grab the hem of my shirt, pulling it over my head to toss it onto the coffee table. I stand up and hook my fingers into the waistband of my sweats and underwear, sliding the fabrics down my legs to step out of them.
Simon tracks the movement. His pupils dilate. He grips the waistband of his boxers, shoving them down his thighs and kicking them aside. His cock springs free, thick and rigid against his stomach.
I straddle his thighs again. Simon catches my hips. He holds me in place above his lap. He slips his right hand between our bodies.
His index and middle fingers brush over my swollen center. A gasp rips from my throat. He strokes the sensitive spot, spreading the slick gathering between my thighs.
"So wet." Simon watches my face.
He pushes both fingers inside my opening. He curls them upward. He hits the sensitive spot that makes my hips buck against his knuckles. He slides his fingers in and out of my core a few times, drawing the hot slick down to coat my tight entrance and make sure I can take him.
I brace my hands on his shoulders. My head falls back. The friction builds a hot coil of tension in my stomach.
Simon leans forward. He nips at the sensitive skin of my neck, right over my unclaimed scent gland. He laves the mark with his tongue.
"You smell perfect." He withdraws his fingers. He drags his hands back down to my hips. "You smell like ours."
He aligns his hips, guiding the thick head of his cock against my slick, swollen entrance. He pushes upward, sliding inside me with a slow, tight drag of friction. He fills me to the knot.
I throw my head back. A hushed moan escapes my lips. The stretching fullness replaces all the chaotic thoughts in my head.
Simon sets a slow, grinding pace. The knot at the base of his cock swells as the tension builds.
He withdraws until a fraction remains inside, then drives upward, stopping right before the thick ridge of his swelling knot forces its way inside.
He repeats the motion, creating a steady, rhythmic pressure.
The thick base nudges against my slick opening every time I come down. He keeps it outside my body, teasing the sensitive nerves.
I dig my fingernails into his shoulders. I ride the slow thrusts as my core tightens. The tension builds in my stomach, chasing the intense friction of the knot rubbing against my entrance.
"Fuck, Vayda." Simon grips my ass and pulls me down harder onto his upward thrusts. "You feel so good."
His pace quickens. The wet slap of our bodies echoes in the quiet living room. He hits a sensitive spot deep inside me, sending a shockwave through my limbs.
I clench my thighs around his waist and bear down on his cock. The orgasm rips through my body in crashing waves. I cry out his name as my slick drips down his shaft.
Simon lets out a harsh shout. He drives upward one final time, forcing the thick, swollen knot past my tight muscles. He buries himself as deep as possible. The thick ridge pops inside me, locking us together. His hips snap against mine. His cock pulses hard, spilling his hot release within me.
I collapse against him. Simon leans back into the sofa cushions, supporting my weight. My chest heaves against his. The frantic buzz of anxiety is gone, replaced by a deep exhaustion. We rest on the couch in the dark, waiting for his knot to go down before heading back to the bedroom.