“Good thing we're in Nevada. Betas can’t be persecuted for sex work,” Tray said. “Bet they'd even let you marry one in Vegas. Fucking federal mating laws. Goddamn bullshit.”
“Absolute bullshit,” Dixon parroted. “If someone wants to makemoney with their bodies, shouldn’t be anyone else’s damn business. Beta. Omega. Alpha. Live and let fuck, I say. Same with marriage.”
Tray snorted. “You would feel that way. You’re still technically married to that poor desk lamp from last time, Dix.”
“Shut up.” Dixon’s eyes were trained on the television as his fingers massaged his tip.
“Didn’t even properly divorce. Just shoved the poor thing into the storage room when we got home.” I chuckled and heard Dixon mumble something in response, but I didn’t hear him clearly. My focus went hazy as my cock began to respond to the movie and my touch, lengthening and hardening. I wanted this tonight. I might even enjoy myself.
“Poor Tiffany,” Tray feigned sympathy, shaking his head a little. It had been an old-style Tiffany lamp; I’d forgotten that. Stained glass shade featuring an elaborate pattern of red, orange and yellow blossoms. Patinaed bronze base. We should pull it out of storage, give it a little place of honor with a “Missus St. James” name plate.
“Stop talking or I’ll make you.” Dixon took his hand off his now engorged member, then grabbed the back of Tray’s neck and pretended to force him down.
“Dix,” Tray pursed his lips, “don’t threaten me with a good time.”
This was normal for them. Tray loved to give and Dixon—despite his brooding, brutal exterior—had a soft spot for receiving. I don’t think Dixon got off on it because it was Tray, more so that a mouth was a mouth. The same applied to anal. Dixon once shrugged me off with a‘I can’t see who the fuck’s behind me’. Sometimes though… I wondered if Dixon hadn’t told us the unveiled truth—that part of him loved Tray in that way, but he just wasn’t ready to say it out loud.
I’d never tried anal, but sometimes watching giant, muscled Dixon get absolute lost in the euphoria of it made me curious.
I turned my attention back to the television as Tray was dropping to his knees between Dixon’s legs. Tray had pulled his pants down around his knees, giving me a full view of his naked ass. Not my thing, but the Omega getting absolutely railed on the TV definitely was. I focused onthat now, forgetting the others in an effort to give myself the chance to enjoy. Even when thoughts ofherwanted to force their way in, I pushed them back brutally.
Spitting into my palm, I worked myself over. Base to tip, tip to base. Firm pressure alternating with lighter. The first drops of pre-cum bloomed just as one of the Alphas pushed the Omega on her back against a hockey uniform in the middle of the ice rink. He spread her legs wide and buried his face against her pussy. The Omega tilted her head back, eyes nearly closing. They flashed open again seconds later as another Alpha approached her, cock ready to press between her supple, pink lips. The third Alpha straddled her stomach, squeeze her tits and playing with himself while he waited for a hole to fill.
A groan of pleasure called my attention back to Dixon and Tray. Dixon was kneeling on the floor now, upper body folded down against the cushions and one hand reaching between his legs to touch himself. Tray’s cock pushed in and out with slow, methodical thrusts. The sight sent a jolting throb through my own dick. Funny how shit turns you on even when you want to deny it. I flicked a glance at Mac. He too was lost in the moment, pleasuring himself solo. Unlike me, he wasn’t tempted to look at our fornicating pack brothers.
Focus on the movie. Eyes on the damn TV, idiot.
Don’t think of her.
Don’t think of the other guys.
Just lose yourself, dammit.
The film had progressed. The Omega was riding one Alpha while another positioned himself for double penetration. The third Alpha was straddling the one beneath the Omega, kissing her and helping her lift and lower her body with firm hands wrapped around her waist.
“Jesus,” Tray moaned. “Forget the groupies. Who fucking needs them?”
“Shut up and keep moving,” Dixon commanded. I wondered if he was imagining someone else fucking him from behind.
“Spoilsport,” Tray teased.
Mac’s controlled elegance wavered and even he grunted as his efforts began to bear fruit.
I stroked myself faster. The movie was shifting to the barely believable sequence of engaging in a sixty-nine situation while ice skating. I closed my eyes, not fighting the direction my brain wanted to take me.
I let the memories seep inward.
The vision of her flooded my mind. Startling eyes. Delicious lips. Curves that I wanted to explore forever. That kiss. That kiss thatburned.It was the push I needed. The guttural sound that escaped my mouth as I came in a hot, relentless stream sounded primal.
Seconds later, as the last jolt of orgasm rocked me, the inside of the bus filled with the telltale sounds of release. I didn’t look at the others. I knew what I’d see if I did. Mac’s neat, cultivated persona fracturing as he did the unspeakable act he’d grown up thinking was a sin. Tray’s hands would be clawing into Dixon’s hips as he filled the condom. Dixon would be shoving his face against a couch cushion, holding back a yell of pleasure as he milked himself. Their bodies would shake together. If I had a nickel for every time they started out solo acts, only to wind up in a dude duet, I’d have… a fuck ton of nickels. The aftermath was always a little awkward. Dixon, no matter how much he acted like the giver didn’t matter, always seemed a bit sheepish. And Tray, game to play around with anyone he found attractive, would walk it off like the most normal thing in the world. Someday, I was just going to flat out ask Dixon for the truth. Maybe I needed to tell him that he didn’teverneed to hide who he really was. Not with me, not in the safety of our pack.
As the rapture faded, we all packed away our dicks and sat silently as the movie wrapped up. Aside from Tray who’d worn the necessary protection, we were a mess of sticky, quickly drying fluids. Mac silently retreated to the bathroom first, coming back ten minutes later looking good as new wrapped in his monogrammed robe. Tray went next. Then Dixon. When the movie credits were rolling, I powered down the television. Tray and Dixon were back on the sofa, now separated by a cushion. Mac was half-asleep in the recliner. I took my turn in the bathroom.
When I was standing in front of the mirror studying the flush of color in my cheeks, but also the five o’clock shadow and purple bags under my eyes, I realized that for the first time in almost a year, I felt a little better. I wondered how long it would last.
7
TESSA
