"You feel incredible," he groaned, the vibration running through my chest. "So tight. So responsive."
He upped the pace, abandoning the slow seduction for something sharper. He knew exactly how to grind, exactly how to angle his hips to hit the deepest part of me. It felt dangerously good, like eating something poisonous and sweet.
"Please," I sobbed, the pressure building in my lower belly, a tight, hot coil. "Juno, please."
"Take it," he whispered into my ear. "Take it all."
I shattered. It wasn't a crash; it was a dissolution. I fell apart in his arms, crying out his name, my body seizing in waves of pleasure that left me breathless and shaking.
Juno followed me seconds later, a low, guttural sound tearing from his throat as he poured himself into me. He collapsed against me, his weight heavy and warm, his breathing ragged.
We lay there for a long time in the tangle of sheets. The room smelled of sex and that strange, smoky sweetness that lingered in the air like a question mark.
Juno rolled off me, lying on his back, staring at the ceiling. He ran a hand through his damp curls. The mask was sliding back into place, the ethereality returning as his breathing slowed.
"This doesn't change the work," he said quietly.
It wasn't cold. It was a statement of fact. A reassurance that the mission, the takedown of Warson, the protection of the Pack, remained the priority.
"I know," I said, pulling the sheet up to cover myself. The lingering dopamine made my limbs feel heavy, useless. "I didn't want it to."
"Good."
He sat up and began to dress. He moved with the same efficiency he applied to everything, buttoning the shirt, smoothing the trousers. He didn't look at me while he did it, giving me a moment of privacy, or perhaps recomposing his own narrative.
He paused at the door, his hand on the frame. He looked back at me, the amber eyes unreadable in the dim light.
"But I meant what I said," Juno murmured. "You were magnificent tonight."
Then he was gone. The door clicked shut, sealing the silence.
I lay alone in the dark, the scent of him still clinging to my skin, burnt sugar and smoke, confusing and compelling. I stared at the ceiling, the math in my head finally catching up to the reality of my body.
Mateo provided the safety.
Stephen provided the recognition.
Juno provided the... what? The narrative? The empathy?
I had slept with all three of them. I was a Beta manager who lived by rules and boundaries, and in the span of forty-eight hours, I had obliterated every single one of them.
Why? Weren't Omegas supposed to be the ones who acted like this?
I couldn't deny that I was drawn to the three of them in a way I'd never felt before though. After a moment of replaying everything that had happened, I pulled the pillow over my face and groaned.
I had collected the whole set. And I didn't know how I was going to survive the fallout.
FIFTEEN
Juno
I leaned against the kitchen island, nursing a cup of tea and watched the ecosystem of the safehouse settle into a terrifyingly efficient rhythm.
Usually, the morning after a shift in pack dynamics is a mess of awkward glances and pheromonal confusion. Post-coital awkwardness is practically an industry standard. But Rowan Quill didn't do awkward. She did efficiency.
She was sitting at the massive reclaimed wood table, illuminated by the grey London light streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows. She was wearing one of Stephen’s crisp white shirts, sleeves rolled up to her elbows. She looked like a judge delivering a sentence.
Stephen was to her left, sliding a plate of toast toward her without looking away from his tablet. Mateo was pacing the perimeter of the room, a silent, hulking orbit that kept the rest of the world at bay.
