Page 160 of Slashed Bonds

Not the way we’ve shared a bed, a bathroom floor, a bottle in a drawer. Literally. The way a pack shares an Omega, which is the thing we’ve never had and never once talked about having, because you don’t talk about the room you don’t have anyone to put in.

Four years that room’s been clean. Cash dusts it. I’ve seen him do it with the door half-open at one in the morning, a cloth in his hand, a man keeping a bed made for a guest who was never coming. None of us has said a word about it. The room’s a wound we walk past.

And here she is, sitting on me in a flooded ring, having said the thing none of us could say, with a shrug, as if it were obvious.

It was obvious. We’re the idiots who needed it said.

And then a second thing dawns, and I have to reach up and turn her face to me to ask it.

“You do anal?”

She blinks.

Innocent. Like I’ve asked whether she takes sugar.

“Which Omega doesn’t?” A tilt of the head. “I mean. Isn’t the point of having three in a pack unit that your Omega gets to be filled in all three holes?”

If speechless had a face, I’m wearing it.

I can’t find a word. Not one. My mouth’s still open and my brain’s gone the flat white of a fresh sheet of ice.

My cock, on the other hand, has opinions. It’s having a twitching marathon under her, growing harder by the second, and she’s sitting on it, and she knows, and the smirk gets wider.

“So…”

Killian. After a full minute of silence, drawing the word out like a man testing ice with one boot.

“Rain check on the food?”

She snickers.

And her stomach growls.

Loud. A sound like the world ending, like something structural in the building giving way, rolling out of her into the wet silence of the ring.

We all look at her stomach.

Then at her face. Those flushed cheeks going a deeper red, and then deeper, until she’s the color of the gloves.

Killian smirks. Lifts the bag.

“Scratch that. Eat first. Fuck after?”

She pouts.

And fuck. I like seeing her pout. Those delicate lips, bruised, pushed out at a man who’s offering her eggs. I’m going to be weak for that pout for the rest of my life.

“Only if you promise to follow through,” she huffs.

Killian doesn’t chuckle. Not this time.

He crouches. Tips her face up by the chin with two fingers, and then he has her in a kiss that goes on for a solid minute. Tongue. All of it. Her gloves come up and land on his shoulders and stay there, and I’m underneath the two of them watching, and I’ve never in my life been less jealous of anything.

That’s new. File it. There’s a lot getting filed this morning.

He breaks it when she’s panting.

“I’d never forget,” he growls against her mouth, “having the opportunity to have you blindfolded and filled with my cock in that hot pussy my boy toy is so obsessed with.” A pause. “I’ve got to see what’s so addictive about it.”