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Chapter twenty

Roan

The smell of cake wakes me up, buttery soft and covered in vanilla icing. I moan into the warm cocoon of blankets and soft fur that surrounds me. This has been the first good sleep I’ve had in a week. If I just try a little harder, I can get back to that dream I was having about Clay and Mitch.

“Darlin’, you keep rubbin’ on me like that and we're gonna have a mess to clean up,” Mitch grumbles behind me.

“C’mere, Omega,” Clay groans. He wraps his arm around me and drags me the short distance across the bed, until I’m plastered to his soft belly.

His nose presses into my neck for a long inhale.

My fingers curl into the fur that trails down to his hip, but he stops me before I can touch his stomach. “Now, are you ready to apologise?”

Clay takes my wrists and pins them above my head, his grip gentle. My eyebrows scrunch together, and I look over at Mitch as he puts his glasses on. A lazy smirk forms on his lips when he meets my eye.

“I didn’t get a taste of you last week, and I’ve got such a hankering,” Mitch says. “Will you let me?”

I bite my bottom lip and nod.

Mitch’s tail wags high in the air as he crawls between my legs. He spreads me open, kissing down my thighs until he reaches my panties. My sleepy eyes follow his movements and he drags underwear down painfully slowly. Clay presses a kiss into my neck, and I turn my head to him.

“Keep your eyes on our pretty Beta,” he murmurs, angling my chin down just as Mitch tucks the band of his boxers under his balls. His dick is hard and dripping already.

He’s a gorgeous sight, but…

“I want you too,” I say.

I think I see something cross his face. Is it worry? I'm not sure, but Clay shouldn't have a single concern in the world. I want him to be happy and relaxed.

Mitch watches our interaction, but he doesn't say anything.

“Now ain't about me, Omega. It's about you, and soaking our bed with your cum. That's all I'm thinking about right now. All I want. Is that good for you?”

“Yes.” The but never makes it past my lips.

Mitch dives for my core, his mouth eager to drink me in. My breath hitches as his tongue flicks across my clit. I want to push him down harder, grind on his tongue and teeth, but Clay keeps my wrists held above my head.

“How's he doing, sugar?”

I moan, back arching to push his mouth harder against me. “Yes, that feels good, so good, Beta.”

Mitch’s claws dig into my hips. His tail wags hard when I compliment him, ass shaking with his excitement. I lick my lips, trying to decide if the words that come to my head are sexy or not. Is it hot to sound like I'm praising someone's work if that work is eating my pussy like it's dessert?

“Keep talking to him,” Clay instructs me, his hand moving to massage my breast.

“Oh, fuck,” I gasp when his tongue spears into me. “Yes, yes, Beta, fuck your tongue into me. Such a good boy.”

At my words, Mitch moans. His body drops to the mattress, and he starts to roll his hips with every thrust of his long tongue. My mouth opens and all the praise, all the encouragement, all begging I can muster falls from my lips. Every fibre of my being is ready to burst with my need.

Clay presses his muzzle into my neck just as he pinches my nipple. My back comes off the bed as stars burst behind my eyes.

“I'm coming,” I screech when neither of them let up.

My pussy clenches hard and fast as Mitch licks my folds, continuing to tease my clit. He hasn't stopped grinding against the bed. I've finished, why aren't we changing positions?

“We're gonna need at least six more, Omega,” Clay whispers into my ear. “You were gone so long, we need to make up for all those nights we spent worrying about you.”

“Please, Roan,” Mitch says, pressing desperate kisses against my flushed skin. “Never want to stop licking your pussy.”

I look between my two Wolven. Their eyes are desperate for my pleasure, pleading for me to grant them more of my body. I sink into the pillows and relax.

“I'm all yours.”

Is this what I thought it would feel like? The weight of my mother’s expectation has been lifted off my shoulder at last, and her all-seeing eyes have finally left me. I don’t need to think about her opinion. I don’t need to invite her to shows, if I ever land one again.

I simply don’t need her.

And yet.

Almost every choice I’ve made since that phone call, I’ve doubted. Nothing feels right. I can't trust any decision I make, and I'm constantly looking to Clay and Mitch for some kind of approval, even when they've got no idea what I'm asking about. They are the only choice I’ve made that I trust.

I’ve slowly been sharing what my life was like. The opulence that mixed with the constant loneliness and disapproval, stories about realising how deep my family’s name protected me and why I came here in the first place.

“What’s this tattoo of?” Clay asks one afternoon as we sit on my newly thrifted futon. His claw traces the shape, and a little zip of pleasure shoots through me.

“It’s a sprite from an animated movie I loved as a kid.” I smile a little. “I haven’t watched it in ages.”

“We should do a movie night then,” Mitch says instantly, ears perking up. “Oh, we can make popcorn balls, and…”

If I could throw open the balcony windows of the Cove Art Centre and profess my love for Clay and Mitch into the street, I would. They are patient with me, listen to my worries without trying to slap on a quick fix, and more importantly, they just accept me as I am.

But screaming at the top of my lungs is not professional, and that certainly isn't appropriate behaviour in front of a decent-sized group of art students.

Barnaby has let me borrow several chairs he had stored in the back of the bookstore, and I found a few decent plinths in the first floor storage of the Arts Centre, so the makeshift classroom I set up looks convincing.

“This is a great first crowd,” Louise whispers to me.

It's strange seeing the mayor dressed more casual in jeans and a fuzzy jumper. She's got an apron tied around her waist to protect her clothes, but she looks almost mumsy now. It’s cute in a weird way.

“Thank you,” I say, my smile shaky.

Yeah, it is a great crowd. It's so great and wonderful.

Not at all distressing to see so many Hallow's Cove residents in a building that has become my safe haven. For a community that seems so tightly knit together, it’s not often you see them out and about rather than working.

My life hasn't been hard, I've not had what the world considers a “real” job, but I feel like the community here works too hard and doesn't give themselves a lot of leisure.

Shops are open almost every day, quite a few with long hours to accommodate the night-dwelling monsters.

This is something I can provide, easy and safe and laid back. There is no judgment here, and it’s short enough that you don’t need to worry about closing your business for too long to give yourself something rather than giving to others.

It’s a good project, to start.

So why do I feel like there is another shoe just about to drop?

Everyone chats and mingles while we wait for any stragglers and the model to arrive. I've arranged the first floor to be private, but I’m also heavily relying on the afternoon sun bringing in some of the pale lights of autumn. It’ll create gorgeous shadows on the model.

Who should have been here by now.

The model, Mal, came highly recommended.

When I called around at the art schools in Stonebridge, everyone said they used the same Demon shapeshifter for their classes.

One charity art centre was kind enough to give me their number, and they were gracious enough to squeeze us in on a Saturday afternoon. I can't wait to meet them face to face.

Hopefully.

As the clock rolls over to our start time, people begin to take their seats, and I have no choice. I excuse myself and head upstairs, where I have my laptop plugged in on an ancient dial- up line. It takes an age and half to get my mailbox to load, but when it finally does, I see an email from Mal.

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Re: Life Model Request

Hey,

I won't be able to make it today. My agency double booked me with a magazine gig and I can't back out.

Sorry,

Mal

Do I just jump out the window now? Is this floor even high enough? This is my chance to prove that I'm not a scammer, and now I have no model. Everyone is just going to think I pocketed the money. They're going to hate me.

“Roan?” Clay's voice makes me jump.

I gave the lads a key to the back loft door a few days ago, when I got tired of asking them to come over in the afternoons. Now, after the café closes, they tidy up and come sit with me while I work before we go back to their apartment for the evening.

Clay sniffs a little, and concern clouds his features. It's a look I've grown to know very well. He's always so worried about everything, and I'm coming to realise there is very little I wouldn't do to make him feel better.

“Isn't your class about to start?” he asks.

“Yes,” I answer, panic rising. “But I don’t have a model for my life drawing class. What are they going to draw? Clear air? The white walls?”

He sets a bag of pastries down on the counter and comes to where I’m hunched over the futon on the floor. I probably look crazy. My thoughts are spiralling from worst-case scenario to even worse scenario. This is awful.

“Sugar,” Clay places a warm hand on my back. “It’s all gonna be okay. Take a deep breath.”

“I can’t,” I stutter, hands trembling while it feels like the carefully constructed plan I had crumbles to pieces. “Everyone is waiting for me, and I can’t let them down.”

He closes my laptop and sits down. Rather than letting me up, Clay arranges me between his legs so I’m kneeling between them. His thighs are spread wide and his belly spills into the space between them, and really any other time, this would be hot as hell.