“Doesn’t matter to me,” he says, ushering me inside. It’s nice and toasty, but I still can’t stop my muscles from locking up and my teeth from chattering. “As for the spanking, it’s not a threat if I like it. It’s more…a promise.”
I can’t pretend the next shiver is from the deep chill I’m feeling because I also perfume. Fuck me, just let the floor swallow me whole, please.
Rhodes’ nostrils flare at my scent, but he’s gentleman enough not to comment on it as he leads me upstairs.
“This is your room,” he says, swinging open the door. “We decided to at least put a bed in each room just in case while we’re slowly furnishing the house, but outside of that, we haven’t had time to do more than unpack our storage unit.”
“It’s fine,” I say, waving his words aside. The sun floods this room with light still since it’s just beginning to set, and I get a really good view out the windows.
The room is a decent size with a bathroom through one of the open doors and a closet.
“I left you clothes on the bed, and I have to say we have really good water pressure,” he says with a grin. “The temperature is decent too so that’ll help you warm up. Now, I’m going to let you go before you completely turn into a popsicle, but everything you should need is in the bathroom.”
“Thank you,” I say earnestly, already walking toward the bathroom. I pull my wet sweatshirt over my head, and I hear him inhale sharply.
However, by the time I get free of the clothing, he’s already gone and the door is shutting. Shrugging, I finish stripping and hurry to the bathroom to turn the shower on as warm as possible.
Standing in the hot stream of water does make me sleepy, just like I was worried it would. My movements are sluggish as I clean up, and the towel is fluffy and just out of the dryer when I shut off the water and reach for it. Groaning as if I just spontaneously combusted from how soft the towel is, I run it over my skin until I’m completely dry.
I can feel exhaustion tugging at me as I brush my teeth, and I know there’s no way I’m going to be able to handle being around my team without falling asleep. Knowing they’ll all soon hear about my shit storm of an afternoon, I pull on a pair of sweatpants and climb into bed.
This mattress is fucking heaven and fluffy like a cloud. I never want to get up again.
Goodnight cruel world, I don’t even fucking care that the sun is shining in my eyes, I just put my pillow over my head and pass out.
Rhodes
Holy fuckknots does Koen look good sleeping under my roof. The soft rope ties hold his arms up over his head to the headboard and his ankles underneath the mattress. I made this bed intentionally, and now the universe is rewarding me for it.
He’s also snoring lightly with a huge erection tenting Skylar’s sweatpants. I’ve never been more jealous of an article of clothing before now. My clothing are all too big for him, unless he wants to wear my sweatshirt as a dress.
My lips curl up in amusement for a moment before smoothing out. I have something very serious that I need to do now: cuddle an unconscious omega. Crawling between Koen’s spreadeagled legs, I curl my large body up the best I can before laying my head on his cock.
His scent is deeper here, and I have to stifle a moan before rubbing my cheek on his erection.
“Rhodes,” Skylar hisses, his arms crossed over his chest.
Glancing at him guiltily, I flirt with Daddy and stick my tongue out at him like the brat that I am. I was hoping he wouldn’t catch me, but it took forever to arrange Koen’s body the way I wanted him.
“Shhh,” I say, pretending to be Sky. He hushes me often. “Be very quiet. I’m cuddling an omega.”
“You sound like a hunter from a fucking cartoon!” he hisses.
“Don’t be a snake, Daddy,” I say with a lazy grin as I bask in Koen’s unique scent. When he sleeps, it’s a mixture of both peaches and tobacco, and completely intoxicating.
Koen shifts under my head slightly in his sleep, grunting as I rub my cheek harder against his covered cock. I can tell his slit is leaking with slick just by the scent, and Skylar groans softly.
“You’re going to be the death of me,” he whispers.
“But what a way to go, Daddy.”
“Don’t be surprised when he wakes up screaming,” he warns me, walking away.
I really want to ask him to make pancakes, but I’m already pushing his limits.
The rope makes his muscles flex as he attempts to pull his arms down, and his tattoos look really fucking good as they shift. He has a dragon on his forearm that’s drawn in great detail, and hockey sticks over his biceps. It may be a little cliche, but his life is hockey.
He lives, breathes, and shits it.
