Page 187 of Scent to the Feral Cowboys

My body was greedy…

Unsatisfied…

More,was all my brain could think.

"Please," I whispered, not even sure what I was asking for anymore.Everything. All of them. Now.

“Wyatt?” Wade’s voice behind me sounded, the cadence of his voice clearly making his twin’s name a question.

Wyatt's eyes flickered over my shoulder to Wade, something unspoken passing between them. Wyatt’s gaze tightened almost imperceptibly. I turned within the safety of muscled arms and watched as Wade cocked his head to one side, his own gaze narrowing. Their silent communication, flowing through the air for several heartbeats, ended with nearly identical nods.

I didn’t know what decision they’d made. I only knew that Wyatt dropped his arms from around me. My legs shook, myinner Omega screaming at the sudden loss of touch, but I remained standing somehow.

Wyatt walked around me, moving toward his brother. When they stood side by side—like one of those ‘find the difference’ puzzles that, at first glance are identical, but then careful inspection reveals numerous varied details—they began to undress, eyes locked on my face.

Their movements synchronized without effort.

Shirts came off in one fluid motion.

Light from the weathered, honeycombed roof snagged on tanned skin and hard ridges.

Their sagebrush tattoos seemed to glow with new colors as the brothers tossed their shirts aside, biceps flexing.

My jaw dropped watching the show.

Herat barely beating.

Lungs barely breathing.

Boots kicked off.

Belts undone, pulled from loops, dropped with metallic clinks to the hard floor below.

Jeans unbuttoned. Unzipped. Pulled slowly, achingly, torturously down their powerful, thick thighs. More tanned skin. Scars I’d never seen. A baby cow tattoo on Wade’s right calf. At any other time, I would have laughed in delight. Yet the clever ink just made me want to drop to the ground and lick every inch of Wade’s lower body. They didn’t remove their skintight briefs after the jeans, and I wanted to scream at them to finish or maybe race forward and pull the underwear off myself. I wanted to see the promise between their formidable legs. It was torment, knowing that the lengths of their manhood were hidden just behind thin cotton. Every part of me fizzed and popped with anticipation. Wyatt and Wade were hard, their dicks pressing against the meager leftover material to create massive mounds that made my mouth water. They could fill myevery cavity, flood seed into my waiting womb, and provide the answer to this heat taking me over.

Wyatt turned to the side, giving me the slightest peek of a jagged, long-healed wound running from just below his right, rounded ass cheek, down to the back crook of his knee. He gazed behind him and his twin at the other three Alphas in their pack.

No, our pack.

My pack.

I watched as Boone, Cooper, and Levi moved forward, drawn like planets trying to align around a new sun.

A sun. A star.

I could be their star.

Bring a piece of Seattle to Wyoming.

Sagebrush Ranch’s Lucky Star.

Guiding them in the darkness.

Keeping them in my orbit.

Their eyes never left mine as they began shedding their own layers.

Boone’s incredibly broad chest bore tattooed symbols that reminded me of hieroglyphs. Arrangements of triangles, lines, solid black squares and diamonds curved down from each shoulder, rivered beneath his pronounced collar bones, and met in the middle of his chest to then trail down in a straight line, disappearing beneath the hem of his boxers. I unconsciously took one step toward him, hands flexing, wanting to touch those markings.