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Chapter sixteen

Clay

I blink through the stars behind my eyes, focusing on the limp body hanging off my knot and the panting, whimpering noises from underneath Mitch.

His ass is cinched tight around my knot, swollen bigger than normal with the satisfied scent of our sated Omega drenching our bed.

Mitch’s face is pressed into her neck, where he’s breathing heavily.

He twitches, hips thrusting a fraction in an erratic pattern.

Roan’s got tears in her eyes.

“Sugar, look at ,me” I rumble, drawing on sound deep in my chest. Her eyes meet mine, a little lost and unfocused. “Are you hurt?”

“No,” she sniffles.

“Can I touch you?” I ask softly.

“Please,” she whimpers again, eyes closing as tears slip free.

I slip my arm around all of us, my shoulder pulling hard at the stretch.

I know in a few hours I’ll be paying for it, but it doesn’t matter.

My Omega needs me. I roll us on our side.

We’re all still stuck together, and will be for a few more minutes, but this will help take the weight off her.

The hand not trapped between her body and Mitch’s reaches for me.

It’s shaking as they grab hold of my fur, trying to pull me into her. I reach out to swipe away the tears, and she huffs.

“So unsexy.”

“What is?”

“Crying,” she says, sad humor in her voice. “Had the best time of my life and I—”

She chokes on a little sob, and Mitch wraps his arm tight around her waist. He is still too fucked out to wake up. I haven’t taken him this deep in a long time, and I didn’t think it would happen tonight, but the action does soothe Roan a touch more.

“Your brain is telling you to release all that euphoria,” I try to explain. “It’s kinda normal. We’ve both cried because the sex is that good.”

She looks at me slowly drying eyes. “It was the best. You were amazing.”

Her praise hits me in the chest, even if I feel it’s slightly undeserved on my part. My knot twitches, shooting more cum into Mitch as my cheeks heat. Her tone is insistent though, like she won’t hear anything else.

“You look so gorgeous, sugar,” I say, turning the conversation back to her instead. “Perfect Omega.”

“Yeah?”

I don’t miss the way her voice dips, a slight uncertainty in her question. “Yeah, Roan. Words can’t describe what you mean to us. Even if things don’t go as planned, you’ll still be perfect to us. Mitch and I are set on you, sugar. So long as you want us, you’ve got us.”

There’s a spike of sweet blueberries, and then the finger curls deeper into my arm. We lay in silence, but the more it stretches between us, the more something settles inside of me.

Maybe I didn’t want to admit it before, but I’m scared.

Now more than ever, I’m scared that I’m going to fuck this up and ruin two people’s lives because I’m a horrible Alpha.

When we’d tried dating, looking for an Omega who we could connect with, it hurt when it didn’t work out.

It was always mutual, always because our scents just didn’t match.

But the three of us smell like we’d make the perfect bake.

I can’t fuck this up.

“Alpha,” Mitch grumbles, finally rousing enough from his fucked-out snooze. “You smell like burnt toast, stop it.”

“Oh,” Roan says. “I thought that was just in my head.”

“Smells like that when he’s being a dickhead,” Mitch explains, nuzzling into Roan more while also shoving his ass back into me.

“I won’t have none of that,” she says.

“Such a good Omega,” he praises her.

“It ain’t gang up on your Alpha hour,” I groan, my knot deflating quicker with my worry.

It slips out of Mitch easily, cum leaking onto his furry cheeks.

He and Roan both make a noise when his dick is released from her pussy, the condom hanging on for dear life now.

I reach between them and gently peel it away to tie off.

“Let’s get cleaned up so we can cuddle.”

“I call dibs on being in the middle,” Roan says with a grin.

It’s damn near impossible to drag myself out of bed a few hours later.

Going forward, dates need to be in the afternoon.

I require at least eight hours of sleep, so that when I wake up to my Omega’s ass smooshed right against my hard dick when my alarm goes off, I get to savour it a bit rather than get growled at by two grumpy mates.

Both of them huff and snuggle into each other, not even waking up as I roll out.

As I throw on clothes, my heart screams at me to get back in bed.

My fucking eyeballs are begging me to be shut for just a little longer.

I’m exhausted, a zombie of a Wolven trying to force their meat suit to leave what could very well be my new pack’s nest. Watching the two of them snore and cuddle in their own weird way makes me want to wrap them up in my arms and never work again.

But that’s not how the world is. It doesn’t stop moving, bills aren’t forgotten, and people are still depending on us, even if we are a simple café.

I kiss each of my mates on the forehead and lock the back door as I leave.

Hallow’s Cove is an odd place. I imagine in most towns, this early in the morning, it’s quiet and deserted.

But in the wee hours of the morning here, night school is ending and nocturnal monsters are rushing off to get a bite to eat before sunrise.

Some shops down Main Street are closed, others are still open.

Ted’s is perpetually open. I can’t remember the last time they were closed completely.

The bright lights of the bakery’s kitchen are especially blinding today when I start prepping.

I set up my doughs that need to rest first, then move on to bakes that will need time to cool before I can place them on platters.

Usually I try to make one new thing every day, something that will keep customers coming back other than my perfect pastries.

As much as I like a schedule, a routine, I do have this one small creative bone in my body that likes to try new recipes.

The troll I apprenticed with and eventually bought the café from left me an ancient book of recipes.

Their handwriting is atrocious, some of the recipes have faded with age or are covered in stains, and others are downright awful.

But for whatever reason, my tired brain decides today is the perfect day to break out one of these old recipes.

I pull down the fireproof box I keep them in and start gingerly flipping through the pages.

None of these scratch the itch I’ve got.

Finally, I get so frustrated with that, I close the book and my eyes, and then open up to a random page.

“Siren’s Lucky Nipple.”

I can’t be reading that right. It makes no sense, but there at the bottom of the page is a crude drawing of a boob shape with a berry pressed in the middle.

Sometimes, I wonder if this thing is cursed.

The recipe is clear enough though, so I pull out all the ingredients and to shape the boobs, I pull down my rarely used madeleine pan.

That’s almost what this recipe is, just with a more pervy name.

Following the recipe keeps me awake, though, vigilant to my timer and the need to open up the front door.

Ted’s face is pressed hard into the front glass as I step out of the kitchen.

Eager bastard. I flick on half the lights and set up coffee to start dripping first, just to spite him.

I’m going to have to wash that window now to make sure the imprint of his big face doesn’t scare off customers.

“Wasn’t sure you’d be open this morning.” He winks at me as he comes in.

Jeremy follows closely behind, but goes to his regular table by the counter. He’ll pay for his cup of coffee once Ted’s secured his bread order for the day.

“Why wouldn’t I do the same thing I’ve done for over a decade now?” I ask.

“You left your window open last night. Lerana overheard some… activities.”

My ears flatten and my haunches rise.

What my pack does in our house is our fucking business. I don’t want the whole damn town gossiping about my Omega or Beta having a nice time.

“Ted, watch yourself.” It’s all the words I can get out. I’m getting too emotional about this.

He raises his hands, pursing his lips like he’s not going to tell the whole damn town about our date.

We are a group of adults, all consenting.

It’s fine that people know we had a good time.

But I saw Roan’s reaction to the first bit of gossip Ted shared.

She doesn’t want people thinking ill of her.

“Just saying, might be good to keep it down.”

As he says it, the faintest scent of blueberry pancakes walks through the front door.

Roan’s all wrapped up in my big flannel shirt from last night, her dress just peeking out from buttons she hasn’t closed around her hips.

She’s not swimming in it, but the sleeves are so much longer than her short arms that it looks adorable and sexy all the same.

Her unlaced boots clomp as she walks up to the counter, eyeing Ted.

“Morning,” he says.

“You alright?” she asks.

“Yup, just reminding Clay about respecting his neighbour’s peace and quiet.” He doesn’t wink at her the way he did me. It’s not a playful insinuation. It’s just fucking rude.

She doesn’t flinch, doesn’t look away from him when she makes a noise in the back of her throat. Thankfully, my timer goes off.

“That’ll be your bread. Roan, can you help me for a second?” I ask because it’s polite, but really I’m trying to tell her to come to the kitchen with me.

She smiles brightly when she looks at me, already heading behind the counter towards the door.

I open the over doors and pull out the tin loafs for Ted before I glance at my mate.

She looks sleepy, but not exhausted. I wonder how long this jet lag stuff lasts if she still has hours like mine, but my question is forgotten when she wraps her arms around my waist.

“Morning,” she whispers.