“Let them watch,” I whisper, the words bold on my tongue even as old ghosts try to crowd in. Fifteen years of coaches telling me my scent would ruin a locker room. My mother’s voice insisting Omegas belonged in curated packs, not on ice or in the back of luxury cars chasing pleasure. I shove the memories down, grinding my hips in a deliberate circle. The tip of him catches, slips just inside.
“Fuck,” Archie hisses. His fingers flex on my waist, holding me steady but not forcing. Never forcing.That’s the difference.That’s why my body opens for him instead of locking up.
I sink lower, inch by inch. The stretch burns sweet, a slow fire that licks up my spine and settles behind my ribs. Mythighs tremble with the effort of controlling the descent. I’ve got stamina for days on the ice, legs that can power through suicide drills until my lungs scream, but this is different. This is deliberate. This is me choosing every millimeter, claiming the pace while the twins watch and Archie’s breath catches in his throat.
“Goddamn, look at her,” Rowan breathes from the opposite seat. His hand moves in lazy strokes along his cock, already flushed and glistening at the tip. Smoked oak and black pepper spike sharp in the enclosed space, mixing with the juniper-and-sea-glass coolness rolling off Ronan beside him. Their combined scents wrap around me like a second set of hands. “She’s taking you so pretty, Cap. Slow like that. Making a whole production out of it.”
Ronan chuckles, low and rough, his own fist working in measured pulls.
“She knows we’re watching. Look at that little smirk. Our Omega’s putting on a show.”
I bite my lip to keep from grinning too wide. The praise lands warm in my chest, chasing away the flicker of uncertainty that tried to creep in. *Our Omega.* Not a liability. Not a scandal waiting to happen on the roster.Just theirs. And mine.
I sink another inch, feeling Archie throb inside me, thick and perfect. My walls flutter around him, greedy after weeks of teasing and tension.
Archie groans, head tipping back against the leather.
“That’s it, Sage. Just like that. Fuck, the way you move… like you were built for this. Built for me.” His voice drops, praise turning filthy and fond all at once. “Four weeks I’ve been dying to feel you ride me. Four weeks watching you dominate drills, bark at the twins during line rushes, and all I could think about was how that same fire would look wrapped around my cock.”
I rock down fully, taking the last inch until my ass meets his thighs.
The fullness punches a gasp out of me. My clit grinds against his pelvis, sending sparks skittering up my belly. I brace both hands on his shoulders and start to move, slow rolls at first, testing the angle, finding the rhythm that makes his jaw clench, and his cedarwood-amber scent floods the cabin like smoke from a victory bonfire. Graphite and paper notes thread through it, sharp and precise, the same focused intensity he brings to game tape breakdowns.
Behind me, the twins’ breathing grows ragged. Fabric rustles as they stroke faster.
“You’re gonna be so nice and ready for them,” Archie says, voice strained but steady. One hand slides up my ribs, thumb brushing the underside of my breast through the thin tank. “Gonna take their cocks so well after this. Yeah?”
I moan, nodding frantically as I pick up the pace.
The drag of him inside me is exquisite, every ridge and vein dragging over sensitive spots I didn’t know existed until tonight.
“Yes. Fuck, yes. Want them too. Want all of you.”
Rowan groans loud enough to vibrate the leather.
“Hear that, Ro? She’s already planning the rotation.”
“Shut up and stroke faster,” Ronan shoots back, but there’s laughter in it, the easy bickering that makes my chest feel too big for my ribs. “She’s clenching every time you open your mouth. Keep talking. She likes the commentary.”
I laugh, breathless, the sound breaking into a whimper when Archie thrusts up to meet my next roll. The motion jostles me forward, and my nipples tighten into hard peaks against the fabric. He notices. Of course he does. His green eyes drop to my chest, dark with intent.
“Been dying to get my mouth on these pretty pebbles,” he admits, voice rough as gravel under skates. “Since the first timeyou peeled off that compression shirt in the dorm after practice. They’ve been taunting me through every layer you wear. Let me taste them later, Wildcard. Let me suck them while the twins take turns between your thighs.”
The image detonates behind my eyes.
I ride him harder, chasing the friction, the heat building low and liquid in my core. My stamina holds, thighs burning but steady, the same muscle memory that lets me hold a defensive gap for full shifts on the ice now keeping me upright while pleasure coils tighter.
Four weeks of fighting the fear that this pack would see me as the weak link, the Omega who might go into heat and shatter team chemistry. Four weeks of proving on the ice that I could read plays three passes ahead, strip pucks clean, and still be the first female Omega to earn a roster spot.
This moment feels like the payoff.
Not a distraction. A foundation.
Archie’s hands slide under my tank, palms cupping my breasts, thumbs circling the tight buds exactly like he promised he would later. The dual sensation, his cock dragging deep inside me and his fingers teasing my nipples, rips a broken sound from my throat.
The twins curse in unison.
“Shit, she’s glowing,” Rowan mutters, fist flying faster. Black pepper sharpens, smoky and urgent. “Look at her hips, Ro. That’s power-forward grind right there. Bet she could ride like that through overtime.”
