Because last night?—
Oh god, last night.
I sink deeper into the bathwater, letting the warmth seep into my muscles that are still slightly sore in all the best ways. The face mask is starting to crack and tighten on my skin, which probably means I should rinse it off soon, but I'm too busy reminiscing to care about proper skincare timing.
I fucked Theodore Wright in the supply closet of The Mistletoe Tavern. At Marcus's bar. Where I work. Where I know half the regular customers by name and drink order.
Theodore. Wright. The ex-military EMT baker with the silver-streaked dark hair that makes him look distinguished instead of old. Those olive-green eyes with gold flecks that look at you like they can see straight through to your soul and all its messy, complicated desires. The one who smells like cedar smoke and dark chocolate and gunpowder and fresh bread in this combination that makes absolutely no sense but somehow works perfectly. The one who makes my hindbrain go absolutely feral and my conscious brain short-circuit.
And not just fucked—we had mind-blowing, life-changing, ruin-you-for-everyone-else-forever sex against a counter surrounded by industrial cleaning supplies and cardboard boxes full of bar inventory. In a space that smelled like bleach and old beer until our combined pheromones took over and made it smell like Christmas and sex and something primal that probably lingered for hours after we left.
Anyone could have walked in on us at any moment. Marcus could have needed something from storage and gotten more than he bargained for. A customer could have wandered down the wrong hallway looking for the bathroom and stumbled onto a live sex show. Another employee could have come back to grab supplies and caught us mid-orgasm with my legs wrapped around Theo's waist and his hand over my mouth to muffle my moans.
And I'm thankful—so incredibly, impossibly thankful—that the timing worked in my favor for once in my disaster of a life. That nobody interrupted during that sacred hour. That we had privacy despite the complete lack of locks or barriers. That we got away with it without consequences or awkward conversations or having to explain why the supply closet suddenly smelled like sex and Omega arousal.
Because I'm not sure I have the confidence or emotional fortitude to live it down if we'd been caught. I can be bold inthe moment when adrenaline and pheromones are overriding my anxiety, but the aftermath? The gossip that would spread through town like wildfire? The knowing looks and whispered comments and judgment from people who already think Omegas without packs are making bad choices? That would break me. That would send me spiraling back into that space where I believe I'm not good enough and don't deserve good things.
I was so bold last night. So fearless and reckless and completely unlike my usual careful self. Suggesting the supply closet like some kind of porn scenario. Telling him exactly what I wanted. Taking control and then giving it up and then taking it back again in this dance of power and surrender that felt natural instead of forced.
I'm not normally like that. I'm the Omega who apologizes for existing. Who makes herself small and convenient and easy to overlook. Who learned through painful experience that being too loud or too demanding or too anything gets you in trouble.
But there was just something about Theo. Something about his calm possessiveness matched with that obvious declaration of claim when Nash and Grayson arrived. The way he pulled me onto his lap in front of everyone—in front of Jasper and Kael's pack—and made it clear that I was his. That I belonged to them.
Theirs. The word sends shivers down my spine that have nothing to do with the cooling bathwater.
The defiance in that moment. The rebellion of it. Claiming me publicly when I'd just been mocked and dismissed by Alphas who thought I wasn't worth their time. It made me want to reward him in this odd, primal way that bypassed all my usual anxieties and insecurities.
And the sex?—
God, the sex.
It was everything I could have asked for and more. Everything I didn't even know I wanted until I was experiencing it. Theo was rough and gentle and demanding and giving all at once. He knew exactly where to touch, how hard to press, when to slow down and when to speed up.
And that man can eat pussy like it's his favorite flavor of ice cream and someone just told him the shop is closing forever so this is his last chance.
I shiver at the thought, the memory so vivid I can almost feel it again. The scratch of his stubble against my inner thighs. The heat of his mouth. The obscene sounds he made like he was genuinely enjoying himself instead of just going through the motions. The way he looked up at me with those eyes while his tongue?—
Nope. No. Not going there right now. I'm already overheating in this bath and that train of thought is not helping.
I dare to wish I could experience that all over again. In slow motion this time. With more time and less urgency. In an actual bed instead of against a supply closet counter. With the freedom to be loud without worrying about being overheard.
I sigh, sinking deeper into the tub until the water is up to my chin and bubbles are tickling my nose. Try not to get horny about the idea. Try to focus on the Christmas music and the face mask and literally anything else.
If only they could be my pack. If only that public claiming last night was real instead of just a protective performance to get Jasper and his asshole friends to back off. If only Nash and Grayson and Theo actually wanted me for more than just one night of bar drama and supply closet sex.
Hell, even temporarily would be enough. Even just for the deal with Evergreen Media that I'm definitely not gettingbecause I don't have a pack to satisfy their corporate policies and liability requirements. Even fake would be better than nothing.
That would be a blessing in disguise wrapped in a Christmas miracle. I could show the world what it's like to enjoy the Christmas holidays in the heart of Oakridge Hollow with three gorgeous Alphas who actually seem to give a shit about me as a person instead of as a convenience or a transaction. Document the small-town charm—the winter festivals and tree lightings, and caroling in the square. The community events where everyone knows everyone and actually cares. The cozy coffee shops and local businesses decorated within an inch of their lives.
Make content that's genuine and warm, and everything people love about my channel, but elevated with better production value and actual budget behind it. Professional photos instead of selfies. Video editing that doesn't look like I did it on my phone at 2 AM because I did do it on my phone at 2 AM. Maybe even some of those fancy drone shots that make everything look cinematic and aspirational.
I could prove to Jasper and Kael and Ross and Harold that I moved on and moved up. That I found a pack exponentially better than them—Alphas who see me as an actual person worthy of love and respect instead of just a warm body to fill a regulatory requirement. That I'm not just some failed Omega who couldn't make it work, but someone who chose to leave a bad situation and built something better.
A pack that could potentially love me. Even if it's fake for the cameras and the content and the brand partnerships. Even if it's just for views and exposure and the professional benefit of looking stable and successful. Even if it ends the moment the six-week contract does and they go back to their lives without me.
The payout would be good. Life-changing, actually. Twenty-five thousand dollars. Enough to pay rent for a year without panic. Enough to afford suppressants without having to choose between medication and groceries. Enough to maybe upgrade to a studio apartment that has a bathtub I can actually fit in and walls thick enough that I can't hear my neighbors having sex. Enough to stop panicking every single time I check my bank balance and see it dropping into double digits.
And if the sex was like last night with all three of them? If Nash is as skilled with his hands as he seems to be with legal documents? If Grayson is as gentle and thorough as his book handling suggests, he might be? I'd be winning the ultimate bingo Christmas experience of professional success and mind-blowing orgasms and maybe—just maybe—feeling genuinely wanted and valued for the first time in years.
