I see it in the quick flicker of his expression before he covers it with a scoff that doesn’t have any force behind it. “I didn’t realize there was paperwork.”
“There can be,” Bishop says. “Hollis loves instructions.”
I turn my head enough to glare at my Beta, even as my cheeks color with interest. “You are actively making me sound worse.”
Jude tracks the way I lean into Bishop a little, my purr trying to make its way out into the open. But I feel like that would be weird, because it wouldn’t just be for Bishop.
“You two are weird,” Jude says.
“Functionally,” I say, because our brand deserves defending.
That gets another small laugh, Jude’s gaze dipping to my lips. Everything in me wants to close the distance, but I wait, letting him decide what he wants to do with the space between us.
His fingers curl in the front of my shirt, and when Jude pulls, I go with him because not going would be insane, but I don’t take more than he gives. His mouth touches mine, pressure there and gone before he changes his mind.
Bishop’s mouth brushes my shoulder. “Breathe, babe.”
I drag in air, Jude’s fingers tightening in my shirt, his mouth parting against mine like that breath did something to him. I can’t hold the purr back after that. It starts low in my chest, soft at first, then deeper when Jude stays right there.
His hand slides from my shirt to my chest, palm flattening over my heartbeat. I hold still while he feels the vibration under his fingers, his eyes closed and his mouth still close to mine. Bishop’s hand stays warm against my spine, and the whole room narrows to Jude’s palm, Jude’s breath, Jude learning me through something other than scent.
The purr travels through his hand, through his bones, through the tiny space between us where touch has to ask permission first. Jude’s fingers spread over my chest, and his forehead tips against mine for half a second before he catches himself.
If the rumors about his scent really are true, I think I’ve found a way he can hear me.
hollis
Judewalksbetweenusback to the room with his hood up and his hands buried in the front pocket of his sweatshirt. Bishop and I live closer than he does, which is the excuse none of us says out loud, and Jude doesn’t ask where we’re going because he already knows enough to hate the answer.
He watches every exit anyway. His eyes flick toward the stairwell at the end of the hall, then the side door, then the empty bend in the corridor where he could cut left and disappear before either of us decided whether following would make itworse. He keeps walking, jaw tight, steps even, and I can feel myself getting louder with every foot of space he doesn’t put between us.
I still can’t believe he actually agreed to come.
The party chaos seems to be making Jude uncomfortable, the longer we sit here, the more antsy the Omega gets, his body leaning toward mine. It’s taking everything in me not to drag him into my lap but his distress is obvious.
“Do you want to leave?” I finally ask. Bishop tightens his grip on my thigh, before running up and down my leg. But I’m not pulling the question back.
Jude glances toward the door and frowns. “With you?”
I open my mouth to start explaining everything we can do before Bishop cuts in. “We can just walk you back to your dorm, Jude. There’s no pressure on what happens tonight. We just wanted you off that stage. That’s it.”
I watch Jude’s expression, the tight smile on his face softening a little. “And if I want something more? Something that’s just tonight?”
Hope blooms in my chest as I start fantasizing about every which way I can put Jude under me or on top of me. Maybe on the side. Maybe...
Bishop squeezes my thigh, bringing me back. “Whatever you decide is what happens next, Jude.”I hold my breath, waiting until Jude nods.
“Yeah, I could use a fuck and you two seem trustworthy enough not to use it against me.”
I don’t like the way he said that but I’m not going to stare the gift horse in the mouth. My hand starts to lift before I think better of it. Bishop catches my wrist. His fingers close warm and firm, and he gives one small shake of his head without looking away from Jude.
I swallow whatever sound is trying to climb out of my chest, but Jude sees it anyway. His gaze drops to Bishop’s grip around my wrist, then lifts to my face. “Do you come with a leash, or is that extra?”
Bishop chuckles as he unlocks the door. “He requires occasional handling.”
My brain trips hard enough that I almost miss the doorway. Jude’s mouth twitches as he steps inside, and I decide immediately that if my humiliation gets that face out of him, I can survive a little more of it.
Our beds are pushed into an L, desk by the window, shoes tucked under Bishop’s side, my sweatshirt folded over the chair because apparently abandoning it on the floor was “not a system.” Jude stops just inside the room, gaze moving over the beds, the window, the door, the space between the three of us.
