Page 101 of Pack Fever

He steps closer, grabbing the erection tenting his leather pants. “Do you disagree?”

I'm gasping for air, caught between laughter and an overwhelming sense of awe at his approach. “Y-you were amazing out there, by the way,” I flattered as Jasper popped open the button on his pants, eliciting another gasp from me.

His gaze softens for a moment, but the intensity never wanes. He’s in front of me, his hands suddenly on my waist and he walks me backward until my ass hits the desk near my laptop. Next thing I know, I’m sitting up on the table, and he’s nudging himself between my legs, spreading them while pushing my skirt up to reveal my white thong.

It’s in that perfect heartbeat, that my breathing turns ragged, my nipples tighten.

“Jasper,” I moan. “I guess you were serious?”

“Fuck, little mouse, you have no idea.”

That’s when I look down between my thighs to see his huge cock free from his pants, thick and hard, the tip glistening. His fingers are already pulling at my thong and he starts tugging it down my hips. I giggle as I lift myself so he can wrench them off me in his urgency.

The moment his fingers reach down between us, pressing between the soaked folds of my crease, I moan out. His touch is magic as he rubs my clit, then rubs the length of my pussy before pushing two fingers into me.

I completely lose my mind, my legs pushing wider for him. “Yes, that feels incredible.”

“Fuck me, look how greedy your pussy is, sucking down on my fingers. I need it to be my cock,” he affirms while pulling out his fingers and pushing his cock into me.

I’m barely catching my breath, not even protesting, but do I want to? Especially when I’m dying to be fucked by him.

I’m leaning back on the table, the pens and notepads under my palm, while he grabs my hips, tugging me closer to him as he rams all the way into me. I cry out. He growls, and his urgency is driving me crazy.

I cry out my pleasure, my need for more.

Buried in me, down to his hilt, he scoops a hand across my back, heaving me up against him, chest to chest.

I’m breathless while he’s kissing the edges of my mouth so tenderly I want to cry.

“Every tune, every beat of the drum, every fucking thing I did on stage,” he confesses, then licks my lips. “Everything I give out there, it’s for you. Never forget that.”

His declaration, so heartfelt and profound, anchors me against him. Then with a wicked grin, he pulls out then slams back in. And he’s fucking me so hard, the whole table skids across the wooden floor, but that doesn’t stop him.

I’m holding onto him, moaning, knowing that just with a few moments of him coming at me like a savage beast, I’m on the verge of an orgasm.

Jasper’s presence, commanding yet tender, shows me just how deeply he's etched himself into my heart, and in this moment, filled with the raw intensity of his passion for me, I find myself wanting everything he's offering and more, ready to embrace the depth of connection that’s blossomed between us. And in that same breath, I cry out my orgasm just as someone’s knocking on the door, followed by Seth’s voice…

“Fuck, Jasper, no wonder you rushed off stage!”

I burst out laughing as Jasper never relents, but grins at me all knowing, then whispers, “I think I love you, little mouse.”

I gasp out, my words pouring from my mouth automatically. “I love you too.”

Days pass, concert after concert, without missing a beat, I’m there, watching them every night. And I shed a tear each time I listen to them. Truthfully, I love how at the end of each show, Seth and Jasper take turns coming to claim me. Should I be worried how much I’m enjoying them, how addicted to them I’m becoming? Or that fact that I am secretly craving for Reed to finally give in and join.

But I guess he gets his fix, most mornings when I wake up in his bed. Blushing at the thought of how I can’t stop touching him when I’m asleep, I shake away the thoughts.

Today, I’m in the office, backstage, working, my mind still on Jasper and Seth, both of their declarations of love making me smile endlessly.

I’m hunched over my laptop, juggling between drafting social media posts and sifting through an avalanche of emails for the band’s customer service. The inbox is a battlefield, and I’m on the losing side, my cursor hovering between responding and the much more tempting option of outright ignoring the bulk of them.

As I’m about to take a much-needed break, another email notification dings, pulling me back in. With a resigned sigh, I click it open, already bracing myself for yet another request or complaint.

Dear Fever Management.

I am writing to inquire about the possibility of arranging a booking for my Omega daughter, who is nearing her heat cycle. We come from a well-established family, owning a prominent banking institute, and believe she would be an exemplary match for one of the esteemed Alphas of Fever. Your consideration in this matter would be greatly appreciated and urgent.

I stare at the screen, my initial shock turning into a simmering anger. Who do they think they are? With a flick of my wrist, I delete the email, the click of the button harsher than necessary. The nerve of some people, treating the band like some sort of matchmaking service for their personal agendas.

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