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She moaned, rubbing into me like a cat.
I threaded my fingers into her hair, cupping the back of her head, holding onto her. I never wanted to let go.
“You’re not angry,” she whispered.
“No,” I breathed. “But you might be angry with me. I need to talk to you about Rohan.”
Her eyes opened.
I let go of her.
She backed away. “Let me change.” She disappeared into her walk-in closet.
I wanted to watch her change. Hell, I’d never seen this woman naked, not yet, and I was already upending my entire existence for her. It didn’t seem fair to me. And if I hadn’t said that shit about Rohan, then maybe I would be in there, seeing her beautiful, bare skin for the first time.
But we didn’t really have time. We needed to be downstairs for makeup, wardrobe, and prep. I shouldn’t distract us. Of course, Rohan and whatever he was going to be in this thing with us, that was a distraction, too.
Rohan and I were close. I didn’t know entirely how to define whatever it was with us. I’d been sexually attracted to alphas since presenting as an adolescent, and there had never been any shame attached to any of that for me, even though the truth was that the royals were a little bit backwards when it came to same-sex interactions.
It was often difficult for me to sort through my feelings on that. Was I more attracted to women than men, or did I have some latent social pressure to deny my inherent bisexuality in favor of a more palatable narrative?
For Rohan’s sake, maybe I wanted it to be the second one.
But deep down, I think…
When I was with a man, I always had a feeling as if something was sort of missing. And the thing, you know, was a pussy. Or maybe a pretty set of breasts.
But I loved Rohan. And we were close. And if it hadn’t been for the fact that I felt I needed to keep applying the brakes to that, I might have called him my boyfriend.
However, there was the fact that I felt I needed to apply the brakes. Constantly. Every movement closer with him instigated in me a necessity to pull back. I knew this about myself. I even felt guilty about it. I wasn’t trying to be a dick to him.
Truthfully, I would have loved to give in and for us to just be together. I would have committed to him, the whole nine yards, but I couldn’t help but feel as if it wasn’t fair of me to tie him down in that way. Sure, Rohan was in love with me now, but eventually, he would realize that he could do better than some defective alpha who couldn’t knot for omegas. I needed to let him be free enough to sever the connection when he did.
Rohan deserved better than me, because I was damaged, that was the way I thought about it.
Now, though, with Eleri, I was waking up to the idea that maybe I wasn’t actually damaged at all. Maybe all along, I’d just been waiting for her.
On the other hand, since I didn’t knot for any omega except her, maybe that meant something about my connection with her. It must be singular and special, and I needed to honor that. How did Rohan even fit into it?
He loved me, though. I loved him and he loved me, and we let each other get by with shit that maybe we shouldn’t let each other get by with.
And it would rip out part of my heart to leave him behind.
A long time ago, he and I had fantasized about bonding an omega together, the way the Queen currently had bite marks from all five of her alpha harem consorts. Omegas could have more than one bite, after all. But back then, neither he nor I had understood what it was like with an omega. I think we’d thought of the omega as an accessory to our relationship, his and mine.
But the omega was the center of everything.
So, ultimately speaking, if she did ask me to give Rohan up?
Whatever she needed.
7
rohan
WHEN I GOT into the bullpen, as we referred to it, Devlin and the new omega had been there for hours already. The bullpen was the room where the army of staff for the royals got us ready for public appearances. It was a series of small rooms that once must have been bedrooms or something, but now were set up with mirrors and blow dryers and makeup. There was one room in the bullpen where we’d all sit on very fluffy couches and get drilled with practice questions. The couches were fluffy but that was the only thing comfortable about that room. The staff would be critical of everything, from the way we inclined our heads to the way we curved our smiles. There was no better way to get a complex about your mannerisms and appearance than to have them critique you.
I was hungover, because I’d promptly gone back to my place last night and had several shots of whiskey. I was staying in the Windsing Palace on the other side of town. They tried not to keep all the royals under one roof in case of, you know, a bombing. Which was also so very reassuring to think about. While drinking the whiskey, I’d jacked off.
