Page 20 of Operation: CuddleDom (The Port Haven Omegaverse #9)

PERFUME

“Stop throwing dildos at our guest!” I yelled into the microphone. “We’re all fucking adults here.”

Another fake cock sailed past my shoulder, bounced off a cymbal with a crash, and landed on a drum with a thud.

Behind the drum kit, Saffo couldn’t contain her laughter.

Cackling, she picked up the toy. With drumstick in one hand and sex toy in the other, she laid down a level beat to keep the show going while Kawaii fingered a complimentary groove on her bass guitar.

On rhythm guitar, Habit kept the flow that we were so rudely derailed from.

I cast a side-eye to the hired gun on lead guitar. This was all her fucking fault. Sure, we expected some hazing from the crowd, but not like this.

It was Hired Gun’s fault because she didn’t have the right vibe.

We all knew it, even she knew it. In the weeks of rehearsal leading up to this show, the tension between her and us had sizzled.

But the show must go on, or so said our manager, who reminded us daily of our contractual obligations.

Hired Gun knew the songs and she could shred. We thought that would be enough.

We were wrong.

I looked over to Hired Gun. If tonight ended well, then maybe I’d bother to learn her name.

“Babe,” I said to her, trying to make it seem we were all buddy-buddy in case the mic picked it up. “Play us in again. I think this crowd is in the mood for some… ‘Ball Gowns and Billy Clubs!”

Hired Gun nodded and strummed the crunchy intro of the wild ode to an equally wild riot. We were halfway through the first chorus when I realized the roar of the crowd was discordant with the lyrics.

I wasn’t thinking right, what with death and dildo distractions. This song had an explosive guitar solo, which I had no doubt that Hired Gun could pull off. That wasn’t the point. Zenith had always added a unique flair all her own. It was never the same twice.

“Zenith! Zenith! Zenith! Zenith!” They chanted.

I glanced over at Habit. She had her back to the crowd. She was still putting her all into her performance, standing low in her power stance, or jumping and stomping around. But she couldn’t bring herself to face our fans.

Zenith’s fans. Habit was Zenith’s biggest fan.

Fuck me. I should have picked something a little more primal. More fucking, less fighting. We were all still so raw from Zenith’s loss that a song praising a riot was the last thing I should have sung.

I pivoted, searched for a matching note, and transitioned the song into…

“I know you want it, the way you whimper and whine. There’s no excitement. You’re a waste of my time. You’re doomed, darlin’, screwed to your role. The way you crave it…”

I held the mic out to the roaring audience, and they screeched back at me.

“SEX, DRUGS, AND ALPHAHOLES!!!”

“Poor omega, so clean and pretty. Bitten. Locked in. But not me, I’m free! The beta life must look so sweet and gold. I get my pick of…”

“SEX, DRUGS, AND ALPHAHOLES!!!”

Another fresh dildo hurtled toward the stage, and Kawaii batted it away with her bass guitar.

It arched in my direction, and I caught it midair.

It was a twelve-incher, neon pink with an LED light in the core and an alpha knot the size of a fucking softball swelling less than an inch from the balls. Expensive.

I held it up like a trophy.

“This what you want, you little maniacs!?” I screamed into the mic.

Thousands of voices, alpha, omega, and beta, all screamed back. An alpha could say whatever they wanted about control, but none of them had the kind of power we had when we were on stage. Sure, your omega might do whatever you ordered them to, but my little maniacs would, too.

And I didn’t even have to bark.

Thousands of voices.

Thousands.

I slowly undid the button on my jeans, then pulled down the zipper.

I turned my back to the audience and when I faced them again, I had the toy flopping out of my jeans.

It was held there by jamming the fly into the narrow space between the knot and the balls, further secured by strapping my belt in front of the knot.

The crowd fucking lost it. In the sex-crazed riot way, not the violent grief-fueled riot way. Which was my intention.

I thrust my hips, and the dildo sprang up and down.

I hopped in place with the beat of the song.

I sang and strutted over to Kawaii in my best alpha swagger.

She turned away from me and jutted out her thick ass, shaking the fuzzy fox tail she always wore for performance.

She twerked her ass while I wrapped the tail around the toy and jerked myself off a few times, rapid and selfish, before tossing her tail away like a used sock.

I sauntered next over to Habit, who was not in the mood for my shenanigans.

Grief wracked her. She should be paralyzed, curled up in a blanket fort with tissues and sappy movies.

But she had a job to do. Not missing a beat, she wrapped her fist around the toy and slid a few lavish palm strokes along the length.

Then she finally flipped me off and went back to playing her guitar.

Saffo gave me the come-hither finger. Almost exclusively interested in pussy, she couldn’t stop laughing as I slid closer and closer. She tapped the toy a few times with a drumstick between giggles, but then dismissed me.

Finally, I marched toward Hired Gun, curious to see what she would do.

She looked at me with dead panic in her eyes, like she’d never seen a fake dick before. She put the pick in her teeth and mimed applause, bows and I’m not ‘worthy gestures’.

What a wimp, but stroking my ego was always a smart move.

Maybe I’d learn her name after all.

Back at center stage, I clipped the mic back in the stand. Like always, my eyes scanned the faces at the edge of the stage, looking for the one face that would never be there. I squeezed my eyes shut, cursing the hope that would never die.