Faith & the Dead End Devils (Sweet Omegaverse, #8)(53)

I could just see inside of the nest from where I sat, Chance's slack body, chest rising and falling with weary breaths.

Bear was trying to make me a pack, but he couldn't convince King to be my alpha while he was busy fucking me through oblivion. I recalled the icy stare of the other alpha as Bear had carried me out of his office, and my body responded immediately with fresh arousal and a demand for more attention.

I glanced at the door of the room. I hadn't walked around the clubhouse on my own yet. The idea felt both illicit and dangerous, like I might be snatched by Omikron the second I stepped outside on my own.

But Omikron hadn't found me yet. And the risk might be worth the reward. I needed a pack, and a pack needed more than one alpha.

It was time to catch King on his throne.





20. KING





I'd considered changing rooms at least a dozen times since the omega had arrived at the clubhouse. I wasn't sure if I was imagining it or not at first, the gentle bleed of her scent down from Bear's room and into mine, but I knew for certain now that the walls, the carpet, my sheets, and the very air of my suite was infected with her perfume.

I woke with my cock hard every morning, already leaking, knot swollen. This morning I closed my eyes, allowing myself a brief moment of listening to them above me.

The moans, now hoarse after five days of fucking constantly. At least at night it seemed constant. I spent my days—and late evenings, and early mornings—in my office, escaping the evidence but not the knowledge of what was taking place in the omega's nest. I could've, or should've, slept on the couch in my office too.

Weakness dragged me back to my bed. My lungs craved her scent. My ears…

Above me, the delicate woman cried out in relief and I groaned in denial, wrapping one hand around my erect cock, squeezing hard on my knot, before pulling away.

Release meant nothing. I'd be hard again in minutes listening to her.

I rolled out of bed, hissing at stiff muscles and aching joints. Why did I feel older than ever these days, sore and tired like I'd been riding with the others?

This was hell.

And hell was the icy water of the shower striking my feverish skin, my brutally stiff cock, providing only a temporary reprieve from the angry desire lurking in my chest. Hell was the pit in my stomach, the ache in my jaw from clenching my teeth. Hell was the way I grew twitchy as I marched my way down the hall to my office, my body protesting the separation of proximity to her.

It would've been impossible to believe that Bear and Chance had survived the heat, if I wasn't painfully aware of their continued efforts. Their nuts had to be shriveled raisins by now.

Except that I'd jerked off more in the past week than I had when I was a teenager, and I was still as swollen and trigger-happy to come as I was on day one.

I'd fucked Katie the night we found the omega, thought I'd just been itching for a little relief. But the sex had left me craving more rather than satisfying any urge, and now, with the club girls out and the real object of my interest locked away…

I fell back into my desk chair with a groan, pressing the heel of my hand over my half-hard cock.

Hell was answering emails and texts and calls with a cock that just wouldn't quit, reminding me that I hadn't gotten what I wanted yet.

I settled into business, almost used to this tortured state by now, let the mundane tasks eat away at the hours. Guys like Rider wanted my crown, wanted pussy and power and the reputation that came with being prez of a good club. What they didn't realize was that the reality was fucking bureaucracy and tedium, negotiating with pricks who thought they were better than you every bit as much as they were afraid of you.

There were a few exceptions, at least, I decided as my phone rang.

"Waylon," I greeted, relaxing slightly.

"Hey, King. Got a good crop for you when you're ready," the man drawled.

Waylon Deans was a rancher northwest of Dead End whose land I'd looked into buying. What I'd found instead was a small pack of men I actually respected—rare for me—and a ready-made facility for the exact purposes I'd been planning. Rather than buy the land, I'd struck a deal. Waylon used Last Chance Ranch to grow me a good clean crop of weed, and I helped keep him floating along, holding onto his land.

"Guys will be back in a few days. I'll arrange the pickup," I said. "How's…how's your pack?"

I trusted Waylon and Hank, who ran the bar I used for neutral territory conversations. I didn't know the others in their pack well, but I had a feeling they had that same noble thread running through them as the two alphas I worked with. They might be a good fit for the omega upstairs…if there was a chance Bear would give her up.

"You making polite conversation now?" Waylon asked, low voice chuckling.

I grunted but pushed. "You guys start looking for an omega?"

"Shit no," Waylon laughed. "We can barely keep the lights on—and no, I'm not asking for more work or more help. We're fine as we are."

I might've offered, like he suspected, but I'd just caught a lick of sweetness on the air, my cock kicking in my pants in eager greeting.

"Better off without, in my opinion," I muttered, but my tongue went dry in my mouth at the soft, shuffled footsteps from the hall. "I gotta go. I'll call you when I get the guys assigned."