A YEAR AGO… THE PARADISE HOTEL
I was sittingon one bed watching these two old bitches rub all over one another. My head was just beginning to float. Whatever those Beta groupies passed around wasn’t strong, or at least it wasn’t hitting fast. Tiny ass pill, purplish gray. Maybe an MDMA microdose.
Probably shouldn’t have had three shots of lemon vodka right after though.
One of the women I was supposed to be enjoying started sticking her tongue so far down the other’s throat that I waited for choking sounds.
This was not what I’d been expecting when they’d attached themselves to me backstage after the concert. I didn’t mind a cougar, they were always experienced and eager, but I typically preferred one who was, at the very least, interested in screwing me. The Omega with crayon red hair was recently divorced, if the tan line on her ring finger was any indication. The mark on her neck was barely imperceptible though, and I wondered if she’d had it surgically removed. That was a thing now, though it only took care of the surface. The cleansing process of fading her Alpha’s scent was a longer, painful process. The other Omega, bottle black hair falling in split-end waves down her back, was still actively mated. Her mark even looked fresh, as if she’d renewed her bondrecently. In passing, I wondered if she had an open relationship. Not that I really fucking cared. If she was here and she shouldn’t be, that was her own goddamn business.
“Ugh, why didn’t we do this sooner?” The redhead Omega moaned against her friend.
“Because your mate was a damn buzzkill,” the other breathed out before bending down to suck the redhead’s nipple into her mouth.
“For fucks sake,” I mumbled under my breath. I leaned back, unzipped my pants and yanked out my cock. If they were going to put on a show, I’d just settle into watch. It was a pale imitation of what I’d wanted, what I fucking needed—driving my rock-hard dick into pussy—but I didn’t feel like competing with two horny women who only had eyes for each other.
My gaze drifted past them, taking in the rest of the suite.
The other guys were having better damn luck.
“You’re so damn hot,” one of the Betas purred, running her hand down Tray’s bare torso. She hooked her nail through his right nipple ring and tugged gently.
“Hey now,” Tray winced, squirming against the sofa, “got to have some pleasure with the pain.”
“Oh, I can manage that,” a second Beta offered, sidling over and grabbing Tray’s already undone belt. She yanked the buckle end, slipping it easily from his designer pants.
My eyes caught sight of Mac who was tipping back a shot. Unless we were home, he didn’t drink much. Poor bastard was always stuck playing designated driver and band mother when Catalina wasn’t around. Tonight though, he was trying to cut loose. I think, though he never voiced it, he was suffering almost as much as I was on the inside. Which made sense, the guy was older than the rest of us, almost thirty, and he didn’t have a mate bond either. Uncharacteristically, Mac tossed the shot glass across the room after emptying it. I chuckled when he cringed, and I waited for him to rush over to clean it up. Always the damn sensible one. Yet, he didn’t. Mac let it sit there, amber droplets wetting the carpet, ashe turned his attention to the college groupies that weren’t currently entangled with Tray.
"So," one of the groupies leaned into Mac, her hand trailing up his thigh, “I hear you're the responsible one.”
Mac's jaw tightened, a muscle twitching beneath his skin. “Not tonight.”
His response sent the girls into a frenzy of giggles and whispers. They converged on him like vultures, their hands tugging at his shirt, his belt. They pushed him towards the second couch. Mac didn't resist, but I caught the flicker of something in his eyes—not quite disgust, not quite desire. Just emptiness. We were all becoming the worst versions of ourselves. Slowly, fraction by fraction, in such a way that it was almost imperceptible.
I stroked myself lazily, more out of habit than anything else. My heart wasn’t in it, even though my brain knew I needed to unload. The two Omega women, moaning and sweating and exchanging sloppy, noisy kisses were giving me the opposite of a hard-on. They were fully committed though, which I could respect. Limbs tangled in an impossible way. Fingers sunk in warm, wet places. Eyes closed in pleasure. Butdamn, the air around them was turning foul. They may be hot for one another, but their different chemistries were rebelling.
I wrinkled my nose, the cloying mix of their incompatible pheromones making my Alpha instincts recoil. It wasn't just unpleasant—it was fucking wrong on a biological level. Like drinking orange juice after brushing your teeth, times a thousand. It wasn’t an Omega fucking Omega thing. Hell, Tray and I kicked back now and then for lack of other options. Shit, he’d hate knowing I put it that way, like he was just a last resort. He wasn’t. I loved all my pack brothers, but Tray I loved in a secondary way too. I liked being around the idiot.
These bitches though… they stank purely because they just didn’t mesh.
"I’m going to call reception and arrange a room for you,” I growled out the words, even though I tried to sound nonchalant, as I startedtucking myself back into my pants. Not like I was getting anywhere with this show anyway. My goddamn cock was still soft.
The raven-haired Omega popped up off the bed, gaze wild with need. “Don’t do that,” she nearly begged. “Three is always more fun.”
“It’s not three. It’s two.” I said pointedly, eyes shifting to the redhead who didn’t seem like she cared if I joined the fun.
“Oh, come on, Mister Big Bad Dixon of Oblivion Haze,” the same Omega crooned, “We know your reputation. You like to be the center of attention. We can do that for you.” She crawled to her knees, beginning to shuffle towards me. One tit was popped out of a lace bra two sizes too small. Her thong was yanked to the side, exposing a poorly waxed landing strip. Didn’t think my dick could go softer, but it sure as hell did.
“I’m good.” I stood up, zipping my pants at the same time. Moving around the bed they were on, I headed towards the suite phone mounted on the wall near the kitchen.
“Come one, let us stay,” said one of them behind me. I couldn’t tell which one. She’d made her voice sound girlish and young. Sounded like a goddamn cartoon on crack.
Turning back to face them on the bed—trying to ignore the fact that I’d ruined the fun for everyone else since they were all staring at me now instead of getting their jollies—I cracked my neck and triedreally hardto find my inner fucking peace.
“No.” Was all I managed. Which was enough. Doctor Thorne, our band therapist, said that was a full damn sentence.No. Explanation not needed.
The insipid, toddler-talking bitch frowned. The other rolled her eyes in annoyance. I was trying to keep it together, but if they pushed me, I’d lose it. I was always hanging on by a tenuous thread these days.
“Look at you,” the redhead said sourly, “You’re not young either. Don’t you like a little pre-show before the big event? Just let us have our fun and then we’ll show you what you’ve been missing for decades.”
