The command pushes me over the edge. My orgasm crashes through me, my cock pulsing as I fill Solana for the second time. My knot swells even more, locking us together impossibly tight as pleasure whites out everything else.
Solana gasps beneath me, her own orgasm triggered by mine. Her whole body tenses and then releases, a moan tearing from her throat. She clamps down around me, milking every last drop from my cock as she falls apart.
Kade continues fucking me through it, drawing out my pleasure until I'm shaking and oversensitive. Then he buries himself deep and stills, his own release flooding me with warmth. The sensation is incredible, being filled while filling, all three of us connected in the most intimate way possible.
Chapter thirty-six
Stefan
I'm a little off kilter after hurriedly walking around the ranch for the past hour, my injured leg protesting every step but adrenaline keeping me moving. I've checked that all the cameras are set properly, reviewed the footage feeds to make sure there are no blind spots, and talked to each of the ranch hands individually to ensure they understand the plan for tomorrow morning.
"Everything has to go perfectly," I told them, my voice carrying the kind of authority I learned from years working for Charles. "No one is allowed at the house. If anything happens, anything at all, you call me immediately. No fucking exceptions."
Every single one of them nodded their understanding, their expressions serious. They're good men, loyal to Kade and Dustin, and they take the security of the ranch seriously. But I needed to make sure they understood the stakes, that with Solana in heat and Morrison's shipment happening at the same time, there's no room for mistakes.
The ranch is bigger than I initially realized, sprawling across acres of carefully maintained property. Fences need to be checked, gates need to be secured, sight lines need to be clear. Kade runs a tight operation here, everything maintained to exacting standards. I can see why Morrison trusts them with high-value shipments; there's no room for sloppiness.
My leg throbs with each step, the bullet wound pulling painfully despite the doctor's assurances that I didn't damage anything vital. The stitches feel tight, the skin around them hot and tender. I should probably be resting, keeping weight off it and taking the pain medication the doctor left. But there's too much to do, too many potential security vulnerabilities to address before I can allow myself the luxury of sitting down.
The ranch hands watched me limp around, their expressions a mixture of respect and concern. One of them, Marcus I think his name is, offered to finish the rounds for me. I declined. This is my responsibility now, my way of earning my place here. Kade is trusting me with the security of his home and his Omega while he's occupied. I won't let him down.
I checked every camera personally, adjusting angles where necessary and making sure the recording system is functioning properly. The setup is sophisticated, far beyond what a simple horse ranch would need. Multiple redundancies, motion sensors, night vision capabilities. Kade has clearly invested heavily in security, probably due to the nature of his business dealings.
The perimeter fence is solid, eight feet of sturdy wood with barbed wire along the top. Not enough to stop a determined assault but enough to slow someone down and give warning. There are three main access points—the front gate, the back service road Morrison will use tomorrow, and a maintenance gate on the east side. All three have cameras and can be remotely locked from the office.
I made sure each ranch hand knew their assignment for tomorrow morning. Two on the front gate, watching for any unexpected visitors. Three handling the actual horse transfer at the back service road. One monitoring the security feeds from the barn office. Everyone else maintaining normal operations but staying alert for anything unusual.
It's more coordination than necessary for a simple livestock transfer, but after what happened with the Volkovs, I'm not taking chances. If Charles somehow tracked us here, if any of Viktor's remaining people come looking for revenge, we need to be ready.
Now I'm heading back into the house, my leg throbbing with each step up the porch stairs. The afternoon sun is starting to sink toward the horizon, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink. It would be beautiful if I wasn't so focused on potential threats and security protocols.
I step into the office and Solana's heat scent hits me all at once, slamming into me with the force of a physical blow. Vanilla and orchid, completely overwhelming, coating the back of my throat and making my head spin. It's everywhere, permeating every surface, seeping under doors and through vents until the entire house reeks of Omega in heat.
A groan tears from my throat before I can stop it. My body responds immediately, every nerve ending lighting up with awareness. My cock hardens in my jeans, straining against the denim in a way that's almost painful. Blood rushes south, my heart rate picking up, my breathing becoming shallow.
I reach down to adjust myself, trying to ease the pressure, but it doesn't help much. The scent is too strong, too pervasive, triggering responses I have no control over. My Alpha instincts roar to life, demanding I find the source of that scent and claim her, knot her, make her mine.
I didn't think I was going to be affected like this. Sure, Solana smells wonderful. I noticed that the first moment I met her, even through the haze of pain and adrenaline. But she's Kade and Dustin's Omega. Their mate. I have no claim to her, no right to respond to her heat like this.
And yet somewhere in my heart, I know that isn't entirely true. That whatever this little pack bullshit is about to turn into, it's about to get way more complicated than any of us anticipated. Kade's words from earlier echo in my mind, about biology and instincts and conceding to him as Alpha. About Solana choosing, about pack dynamics building themselves whether we're ready or not.
The scent wraps around me like a physical presence, making it hard to think about anything except the overwhelming need to breed. My hands shake slightly as I force myself to move toward the desk, trying to focus on the task at hand instead of the primal urges driving me crazy.
Kade pointed out the guns he keeps in the office, showed me where the extra ammunition is stored. Basic security measures in case something goes wrong with Morrison's people tomorrow morning or if any of the Volkovs come looking for Ashton. The weapons are top quality, well-maintained, exactly what I'd expect from someone who takes security seriously.
I check each gun methodically, making sure they're loaded and functional. Three handguns of varying sizes, one shotgun, and a rifle. The shotgun is a tactical model, short-barreled and perfect for close quarters. The rifle is a precision instrument, capable of accurate shots at several hundred yards. More firepower than I'd expect for a simple horse ranch, but then again, this isn't a simple operation.
My hands move through the familiar motions of checking weapons, muscle memory from years of training taking over. Magazine release, check the rounds, examine the firing mechanism, ensure the safety works properly. Each gun gets the same thorough inspection, even though I'm sure Kade maintains them meticulously.
Kade and Dustin run a sophisticated smuggling business alongside their legitimate breeding program, and that requires being prepared for violence. The guns aren't just for show—they're tools that might need to be used to protect what's theirs. And right now, what's theirs includes my stepbrother and an Omega I'm rapidly becoming far too invested in.
I stick one of the smaller handguns in my back belt, the weight familiar and comforting against my spine. The Glock 19 is compact enough to conceal but powerful enough to stop a threat. Years working for Charles taught me to always be armed, always be ready. That instinct is even stronger now with Ashton under the same roof, vulnerable and healing.
The extra ammunition goes in my pocket, three full magazines that add reassuring weight. Probably overkill for the simple transaction tomorrow should be with trusted business associates. But I've learned the hard way that things rarely go according to plan when there's money and illegal goods involved.
A small moan reaches my ears, cutting through my focus and the fog of Solana's heat scent. It's not Solana—I can tell that much from the pitch and tone. This is deeper, more masculine, tinged with distress rather than pleasure. The sound makes my stomach drop, instinct telling me something is wrong.
Ashton.
