Page 81 of The Rogues

“Oh, baby.” A strangled sound escapes him and then his thumb is near my crease, trailing down. “That’s so fucking hot. You want me to play with your tight, little hole, Omega?”

The pad of his thumb taps me there, one, maybe two times, and a moan escapes my throat. The vulnerability of it makes my stomach flip, along with the intimate notion that this is my scent match, my prime. I have nothing to worry about, which is confirmed when an extra dose of his delicious chocolate scent permeates the air, indicating his enthusiasm for my wanton desire.

His thumb moves more deliberately, his thrusts just as powerful as before. He reaches down, collecting some of the slick between us around his thumb, and then presses firmly against me. When he breaches the barrier and pushes past the ring of muscle, my entire body bristles, waiting to feel the fullness I so desperately need.

“Do you like that, baby?” he whispers, his teeth nipping at my shoulder. My omega whines, losing all inhibition. “Just wait until one of your other mates are around, then you can have one of us in both of your greedy holes.”

I let out a loud cry, his words sending electric shocks down to my clit. His thumb continues its movements, the pressure of it so divine as his thrusts kick into a higher gear. He pushes further in my ass, and I feel the base of his hand as his thumb is absorbed all the way inside. I nearly croak, my head going back as I let the feeling overtake me, my pussy squeezing around him.

“Yes,” Cyrus barks, his body straining with the pleasure between our bodies. “I can feel it. You’re so fucking close. Can I knot you, baby? Let me fill you for the first time. Let me show you how good it is.”

I can feel myself pulsing, my head moving with every movement. “Please. Please. Please,” I cry. “Please knot me, Alpha.”

Without pulling his thumb out, he pushes all the way in on his next thrust, his knot stretching me. I can’t think of anything but the overwhelming explosion of pleasure that it sends through my body as I come, the abruptness of it shocking as I fall over the edge face first. The cry that flies out is so loud there is no way the other guys can’t hear us, no matter how drunk they were when we returned. The thought spurs me on rather than hinders me, though, as I let it burst out of me in waves.

I want them to know how good their prime is treating me, how much I want this exact feeling with each and every one of them.

Every movement of his knot inside of me sends aftershocks. He pulls his thumb out, the movement making me feel empty and exposed. Cyrus’s hips falter as a low hiss escapes him, his cock pulsing inside of me. We bask in the aftermath of our climaxes, the feeling of being together for the first time blending with every touch to heighten our pleasure.

He maneuvers us so we’re side to side on the couch, its soft material now embedded with our scents. He holds me close, his breath heavy in my ear.

Fuck, I could come again if he just kept⁠—

And he does, his hips moving in tiny thrusts, almost by instinct as he groans into my shoulder. I cry out again as my body spasms once more, the feeling so good that I could do this with him forever. Gently gyrating and pulling gratification from each other. I feel his cock twitch again, another spurt of come spilling into me.

When we finally catch our breaths, we come back to our little bubble. Everything feels different as we look at each other. We are literally morphed together, forever changed by this step we just took.

“Fuck,” he whispers. His blue eyes peer into mine with a softness that I’ve never experienced before. It’s intimate, gentle, vulnerable; it’s something I’ve only ever seen in old romantic movies.

“Fuck,” I echo, my fingers combing through his hair in a slow, careful pace.

There’s no going back. My omega knows it—this is our prime, and I’m going to do whatever I can to be the omega he deserves by his side.

TWENTY-SEVEN

WINNIPEG, MANITOBA, CANADA

“Where the fuck—” I pull everything out of my suitcase again, my omega whining in my chest.

I’m not sure how I misplaced my favorite shirt. It’s not something special or expensive either; it’s just a black shirt with a skull that I’ve had since high school, but it’s the perfect cotton and sits on my arms the perfect way, and the fact that I can’t find it makes me grit my teeth with frustration.

Not to mention, I was wearing it when Cyrus and I were together for the first time, and I’m desperate to inhale any remnants of his delicious scent off it. My omega needs it like catnip, and I can’t focus on my writing if I don’t get my daily dose of leftover chocolate.

I push my suitcase to the side with a frustrated hmph. How could this happen? We are allowed very limited personal clothes on tour because the weight of the bus has to stay in a specific range. Anything new that we wear is provided to us by our stylists and the wardrobe department, so we don’t have to worry about our personal styles or brands, but anything sentimental or valuable to us is our own responsibility to take care of.

I made sure my suitcases were full of all the cozy essentials. My favorite shirts, my trusty black jeans, and my normal rotation of my three comfiest shoes: my combat boots, my high-top vans, and my chucks. Nothing should be missing, and the fact that it is makes my omega feral in my chest. Did I not zip my suitcase all the way closed before one of the roadies carried it upstairs? Is it lying on the seafoam green carpet in the lobby?

I’m going to freak out.

This wouldn’t be an issue if I didn’t know Cyrus’s scent was embedded in the material of the shirt. Now my mind is conjuring up images of someone finding said shirt and inhaling all the leftover pieces of my scent match from it. It makes me clench my teeth so hard, I’m at risk of breaking one. My chest flashes hot, and my fists scrunch into little balls of fury.

That hypothetical person better hope I never fucking find them.

There’s a knock at the door just a second before Lark strolls in, her auburn hair pulled up into a messy, thick bun. She looks at the bed first, her brows furrowed, before her eyes find me curled up on the floor.

“Is everything okay?” she asks tentatively.

I sigh. “I lost my favorite shirt.”