Page 43 of Roulette Rodeo (Jackknife Ridge Ranch #1)

Her fingers stroke slow, coaxing, somehow knowing exactly how hard to grip and when to release, and the relief is so raw and perfect I have to bite down on my own wrist to keep from snarling like a wild animal.

Holy shit. No one has ever done this for me.

Every Omega I’ve been with has flinched at the sight of a fully knotted cock, or made a face, or tried to push me away before the damn thing even finished swelling.

I always thought it was just biology—that we were the monsters and they were the escape artists.

But here she is, stroking and squeezing my knot with a kind of fascinated reverence, like she wants to know what it feels like for me, like she wants to own every part of what I am.

The pressure that’s been building at the base of my cock starts to fade, a slow melting that leaves me shaking and weak.

It’s not just the physical high—it’s the shock, the delight, the way her touch anchors me here and now in this bed, in this hour, in this world.

I look down and see her face—flushed, grinning, a little bit wicked—and I can’t believe how lucky I am that she’s mine, even if it’s just for today.

The last of my orgasm pulses out, slick and easy, and her hand keeps working me until I’m whining with oversensitivity, flattened by the aftershocks.

I must look like a complete wreck, sweat-damp and red-eared and trembling, but I don’t give a fuck.

It’s worth every second just to see the smug, proud gleam in her eyes as she wipes her hand on my thigh, then trails her palm up to my chest like she’s petting a beast that finally wore itself out.

“Thank fucking heavens,” I gasp, collapsing beside her, my knot still throbbing but less angry now. “Don’t ever stop doing that.”

She laughs, breathless and wild, and wipes some of my come off her belly with a fingertip. “Did that actually help?” she asks, wicked and sweet.

“Helped more than you know,” I groan, still catching my breath. “That thing would’ve taken ten minutes to tame otherwise.”

“Noted,” she says, all business, and then leans over to kiss me with her come-slicked mouth. “You’re not half-bad at this, soldier.”

“High praise coming from a woman who just milked my soul out through my cock,” I shoot back, unable to stop the shit-eating grin on my face.

She snorts, rolling her eyes, and then settles her head on my chest like she’s always belonged there.

We stay like that for a few minutes, letting the world return to normal speed.

The air in the room is thick with sweat and sex, the combination almost sacred in nature.

Eventually, I break the silence.

“Five minutes,” I say. “Then I’ll help you clean up.”

She groans, burrowing deeper into my side.

“Let’s make it ten,” she murmurs, already half-asleep.

“Deal,” I say, and for the first time in years, I mean it.

By the time Red’s breathing evens out, her whole body slack against my chest, I’m so spent I feel like I could pass out for a week straight.

She’s a boneless miracle, draped across the sheets with come drying in ridiculous white lines on her stomach, a smile caught in her sleep that makes her look about seven years old and victorious.

I stare at her for a full minute, watching the way her lashes tremble, the little twitch in her fingers as she dreams.

This is the best morning of my life, and I’d die before admitting it to a soul.

She grumbles and rolls away, mumbling something about “five more minutes, Mom,” and I snort, carefully untangling myself from her octopus grip. She doesn’t even stir when I leave the bed.

I grab a towel from the bathroom, run it under the hottest water I can stand, and wipe her down as gently as I can manage, trying not to wake her.

She shivers at the first touch, then relaxes again, pressing into the warmth with a sigh.

Once she’s clean, I pull the comforter over her, tucking the edges tight.

She’s so damn beautiful like this, vulnerable but invincible, a paradox wrapped in hotel-quality sheets.

I want to say something corny, like “Sleep well, little cherry,” but instead I just smooth her hair away from her face and stand there a minute, memorizing every freckle, every scar, every moment that led to here.

Damn. I really am smitten for this Omega…

I go take a shower, because I smell like sex, sweat, and a little bit like her, and the rest of the pack will know the second I walk out if I don’t at least attempt to mask the evidence.

The bathroom is thick with the ghosts of our bath—vanilla, bubbles, a hint of blood from the bite on my shoulder she left in the heat of the moment, which I don’t even remember honestly.

I step under the spray and close my eyes, letting the water run hot enough to burn.

It doesn’t wash her off me, not really, but it does settle the animal in my chest enough that I can pretend to be human for the next few hours.

By the time I towel off and pull on fresh jeans and a long-sleeve tee, the sun’s fully up. I can hear the distant rumble of a tractor, the yapping of Duke in the yard, and—more telling than anything—Talon’s loud, hyena-laugh bouncing off the kitchen walls.

I check on Red one last time before heading out. She’s curled up, fetal, hugging the pillow like it’s a teddy bear. I shake my head, smiling, and pull the door shut behind me.

The house is warm, brighter than usual, and the kitchen smells like burnt toast and scorched bacon.

Crowne’s already at the island, mug of black coffee in hand, eyes glued to something on his tablet.

Talon’s perched on a stool beside him, shoveling bacon into his mouth with zero shame, crumbs raining down onto the hardwood.

Talon looks up when I walk in and lets out a whistle so loud it should break glass.

“Well, well. Could you be any louder, grunting like a mule in rut?” He doesn’t bother lowering his voice; the whole county could probably hear him.

Crowne doesn’t even look up.

“Congratulations on the decibel record, by the way. That was impressive.” He pushes a mug my way. “You want coffee, or are you sticking to Gatorade this morning?”

I grunt, half annoyed, half too tired to care.

“Just black. And lay off the commentary.”

Crowne grins, but there’s nothing mean in it.

“Thought you were supposed to be the quiet one,” he says, sliding the mug across. “But damn, Shiloh. Glad we walked in during the afterparty cause you must have been loud during the main course.”

I roll my eyes and pour myself half a cup.

“She’s still sleeping. Keep it down.”

Talon snorts.

“Bet she is. You going for round two later, or you gonna let her recover before the branding?”

“Round Three,” I correct, allowing them to groan and whistle like they’ve lost some sort of bed amongst themselves.

Crowne raises an eyebrow, finally looking up from the tablet to Talon.

“You’re not pissed?” he asks, voice dropping to something closer to serious. “That he was first?”

Talon shakes his head, and for once there’s nothing predatory or smug about it.

“Why would I be pissed that the Omega we risked our asses to save trusts you enough to let you take her virginity?” He says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“You were the right call. Her connection was with you first, and technically, you proved to her she was worthy of the wait by saving her from a situation that I’m positive no other Alpha has dared tried.

She’s going to have a bond with Shiloh before any of us.

Only makes sense to let him be the one to claim her innocence.

He has to be the one to walk for us to run,” he pauses and looks my way.

”And, I assume, she was?” He cocks his head, waiting for the confirmation.

That she was a virgin…keeping to her word.

I nod, suddenly uncomfortable under the focus.

“She’s most certainly a virgin. Or, well, was.” I pause, then add, “Not anymore.” The pride in my voice is embarrassing, but I don’t bother to mask it.

Crowne lets out a low whistle, but it’s not the same mocking one Talon uses.

“A hundred million dollars, and the legend’s true.”

“It’s truly an anomaly,” Talon agrees, making a sweeping gesture like a game show host. “A pack that gets to be a real first for an Omega. You know what that means?”

I set the mug down, more tired than I want to admit.

“It means we don’t fuck it up.”

Talon’s smile grows. “It means we don’t fuck it up,” he repeats, echoing me, but then gets serious in a way that makes me sit up. “We’re not like the packs in the city. She’s not a collectible, and she’s not a trophy. She’s family, now. You get that, right?”

I nod, slower this time.

“I get it.”

Crowne taps the tablet.

“And if anyone from the city comes sniffing around? We make sure she’s not an asset. We make sure she’s a person.”

There’s a beat of silence, the kind that fills up every available space in the room.

Then Talon claps his hands together, breaking the tension.

“Good. Now eat something before you pass out. Your blood sugar’s probably in the negatives.”

I roll my eyes because he makes it sound as if I’m a geriatric patient of some kind.

I reach for the stack of toast, which is more carbon than bread, but it’s food, and I’m starving. We fall into a rhythm, the easy banter of three guys who’ve known each other long enough to read the undertones in every word.

After a while, Crowne leans in, dropping his voice.

“So how was it?”

I level a glare at him, but he just sips his coffee, eyes never leaving mine.

“Was it better than with Sophia?”

The name is a live wire, but I let it hang.

“It was… different,” I say, and that’s the only truth I have.

“It was real. She wanted it. She wanted me... and I’m not used to that.

” I think about it long and hard, and neither of them rush me as I gather my honest thoughts.

“I’ve never been with a woman who genuinely saw me with eyes of awe.

That admired my body not for what it could do, but for what I’ve been able to survive.

She cared about knowing my scars and tattoos, even through intimacy, I can see how she holds and touches me, but not in a condescending way like I’m bad or tainted.

It’s hard to explain, really, but the connection is raw.

True in nature versus with Sophia…well…that shit felt fake as fuck.

Maybe that’s why it could never bloom into something more, no matter how much effort I tried.

Talon lets out a low whistle, my admission clearly hitting hard.

“Hot damn,” he says, shaking his head. “Don’t let Rafe hear you say that.”

Crowne laughs, but it’s the kind that has a little sadness on the back end. “He’s not up yet.”

There’s a scrape at the back door, and I know before I turn around that Rafe’s about to make an entrance. He’s always precise, always perfectly on time, even if there’s nothing to be on time for.

The door swings open, and he’s there—black hair slicked back, face scrubbed, shirt tucked so neat he might as well be reporting for duty.

“Morning,” he says, scanning the room. His nose twitches. “Why does it smell like a brothel in here?”

Talon grins, showing all his teeth.

“Ask Shiloh.”

Rafe narrows his eyes, but I can see he’s doing a calculation.

He knows what happened, or at least the broad strokes of it.

He’s facial expression is neutral, but I can see the conflict in the root of his eyes.

There’s anger there, sure, but maybe there’s a pinch of relief that he’s trying to hide.

As he was worried he’d have to be the first one to pop the bubble in this dynamic.

He nods at me, once, and pours his own coffee.

“Is she awake?”

I shake my head.

“Sleeping it off.”

Rafe hums, considering. “We need to talk when she wakes.”

Talon and Crowne both tense a little, but I just nod.

“We will.”

Rafe stares a second longer, then shrugs, letting the moment go. “I’ll be in the office.” He walks out, as silent as a ghost, door clicking shut behind him.

Talon leans over, voice low.

“Think he’s okay?”

I think about it, about the look in Rafe’s eyes, about the way he didn’t look angry or hurt, just… resolved.

“He won’t have much of a choice in the matter,” I confess the obvious cause after the night I had, there’s no way I’m backing out of this.

We finish breakfast in a kind of silence that’s comfortable, even if the air still thrums with tension.

After a while, I stand up, stretch, and grab my coat from the hook by the door.

“Where are you going?” Talon asks, stuffing another piece of bacon in his face.

“Duke needs a walk,” I say, pulling on my boots.

Crowne grins.

“He’s already outside.”

“Perfect,” I say, and step into the cold morning, knowing there’s no other out there for me now but the girl sleeping upstairs. Our new Omega. Little Cherry, who’s about to be the center of our world.

And if we’re lucky, the future we get to build together as a pack is going to be one fucked up hell of a show…