Page 79 of The Rogues

“I wanted to be the daughter they wanted. I tried so hard for so long to be that person, but it was so futile. I was miserable. Playing piano and getting good grades never gave me the parents I wanted. They were still nasty, still unattentive. And still, I wanted to please them more than anything.”

“What changed?” I ask.

She gives me a look, and I already know what she’s going to say. “I met Cleo. She was always herself. She was abrasive, but caring. Strong-willed, but kind.”

“We started a band because I knew it would push Cleo to go after what she wanted. She loved to sing, but she was afraid. She was distrusting of the world, and I wanted to push her any way I could to pursue her dream. And somewhere along the way, that dream became my own.”

“You fell in love with the music,” I guessed, smiling. I was the same. At first, it was a fun way to pass the time with my pack, but then we became more serious about it. We felt the most alive while performing, and it morphed into something greater. Something that could go the distance.

“Yes and no. At first, the music was still hard for me because of my years of forced piano. But guitar was different; it was electrifying. My uncle gave me my first guitar in his will, and my mother hated it. She hated the reminder of my uncle. She hated Cleo. She hated everything that wasn’t prim and proper in the way she wanted. Rock music, tattoos. I guess you could say I started loving it because it gave me the freedom I wanted so badly.” She flashes me a devious smile, one that makes my heart skip a beat. “The more I veered away from the commands of my parents, the less they expected of me. It was addictive. But I won’t lie and say that it hasn’t made me wish my parents would change. I think a little part of me will always wish for them to be the parents I deserved, but I’ve accepted that it won’t ever happen.”

She’s right. Our childhoods were the same. We both experienced the rough burden of our parents’ expectations, so much so that we acted out until they were relieved from us. Something about that makes me feel closer to her. Here we are, sitting as close as we can get, and yet this connection feels like we’re under each other’s skin. The sensation is absolutely remarkable to my alpha, like we’re two souls finally forging our bond after lifetimes apart.

“Who knew we were so alike?” I ask rhetorically, cracking a laugh so I don’t cry, but she sees the emotion anyway. Her smile is gentle, her eyes a little wet. She puts her hand on my cheek.

“I think we did,” she replies. “Deep down.”

Her eyes stray to my lips and they suddenly feel dry under her gaze. She stares with hungry intention, the involuntary focus causing me to breathe deeper so I don’t lose all the air in my lungs.

I don’t have any reason to be scared anymore. This person is meant for me, meant for my pack, and she has shown it in more ways than one. Nothing can ruin this, not her friend that hates me or our controlling labels or even the public when they decide we’ve committed the ultimate sin of betrayal. Not our influential parents, or our own fears and concerns. None of it matters, because she is here, looking at me like I’ve hung the moon and stars.

And for her, I’d take them all down and put them back up again if she asked.

Josie pulls her eyes up to mine once more, her mouth parted, chest heaving. She carries every emotion, her heart plain to see on her sleeve; I can see the rush of soul as clearly as I can feel my own. She wants this, she wants me, and that’s enough to eradicate any doubt from before.

She furrows her brows, apparently seeing me just as candidly, seeing every thought and feeling even without a bond. Her eyes flash as I lean forward and kiss her for the first time.

TWENTY-SIX

The kiss is intense from the very first touch of our lips. Deep-seated desire rises right to the surface; heat spikes in my core and moves through my body, flushing every bit of skin. He’s slow, calculated, and—most importantly—in control of the dance happening between us. I feel passive and relaxed in his arms as I hand over my sovereignty completely.

I know I am safe with him. I have never felt so innately sure about something in my entire life.

I’m not sure how it happens, but I’m suddenly on my back, our lips still fused as the kiss becomes hurried and fervent. Our scents tackle each other, fighting for dominance before deciding to morph, the heady champagne and bitter chocolate becoming a cocktail of temptation. He settles between my parted thighs, one hand holding my cheek while the other trails down my neck and to my breast. He cups it, massaging it feverishly as everything heats up, and I find myself moving my hips forward, trying to feel his hardness in just the right spot for relief.

My body finds it, my core sliding over the perfect length of him. He growls, eyes becoming heavy-lidded as I continue to thrust myself against him. Our bodies work in tandem to alleviate the ache, every movement pulling heated sounds from our throats. His hand moves underneath my shirt, the skin-to-skin contact enough to ground me in place.

“Do you want to go to my room?” he asks, the pads of his fingers feathering over the skin beneath my shirt; pondering, waiting.

“No, I can’t wait,” I tell him, and his pupils dilate even more, the black taking over the deep azure.

“Naughty girl,” he teases, already disposing of my clothes without any more encouragement. The hand sprawled on my stomach lifts my shirt over my head before he undoes the button of my jeans. “Would you like it if one of your scent matches came out here and found me having my way with you?”

I only groan, his words spurring me on even more as I’m left in my bra and hipster panties. His eyes dart over me, from my breasts falling out of my bra, to my hip bones, to my stomach, to the apex of my thighs where he’ll surely be able to see a light wet spot from my slick. He groans, unable to pinpoint which part of my body he wants to focus on first, before moving back over me and kissing my lips.

A moan tumbles out against his lips, our tongues teasing and taunting each other with expert skill that leaves me breathless and panting. Every bit of skin lights up, burning for this alpha from the inside out. He reaches around and unclips my bra, tossing it aside as his lips trail away from my mouth and down my neck, his kisses leaving heat in their wake. When he gets to my chest, he wastes no time and pulls one of my nipples between his teeth, licking so softly that a mewl escapes me.

He moves to the other one and gives it the same treatment. He pulls the skin underneath it into his mouth, sucking until it burns deliciously. A moan escapes me, knowing the mark will remain, knowing that it’s a claiming. I beg him to do it again, and he does, finding another section of bare skin on my mound. This time, with my permission, the sting is even more prominent, and it shoots pleasure all the way to my core.

“If you let me, Omega,” he rasps, “I will mark every single sliver of skin until it isn’t a question that you are inexplicitly mine.”

He sits back, his fingers hooking into my panties, and he pulls them down, tossing them over his shoulder. He moves down, bending my legs back so he can look at me, bare and vulnerable for him.

My skin flushes as I wonder what he’s thinking. My mind goes over every little imperfection; how one labia is slightly longer than the other, how they protrude and cover my clit, how I haven’t shaved in a while because who wants to do that in a tour bus shower?

Maybe I should have shaved a little bit⁠—

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he says just before he closes the space and licks me right on my clit.