Page 4 of Rook

“Alright man, stay strong,” I say, though words feel cheap. He’s in a pit deeper than any drug can drag him out of.

“Later, Rook.”

The line goes dead, leaving me staring at the screen, a ghost of concern etching my face.

I shove the phone in my pocket, already feeling the itch of irritation as the walls start shaking from the acrobatics happening upstairs. Aisling and Oberon are at it again, their passion a constant soundtrack in this house that was never meant to be an erotic stage. I consider marching up there, laying down some ground rules about shared spaces and soundproofing.

But hell, what’s the point? They’re tangled in whatever mess fate threw at them, and I’m just the guy who gave them a room.

With a sigh that feels like it’s dragging the weight of my frustration behind it, I grab a bottle from the rack and pour myself a glass of wine, the crimson liquid looking like blood in the dim light of my kitchen. The wine doesn’t taste as good as it looks, but it does its job well enough, sending warmth through my veins.

I head up to my room to at least try to catch some sleep, flicking on the TV and putting my glass down before stretching out in bed. The screen lights up with some cop show rerun, all hard faces and endless chase scenes. It’s background noise more than anything, something to drown out the rhythmic creaks and moans filtering through the ceiling.

But they don’t stop.

Aisling’s pleasure-laden sounds weave through the dialogue on TV, and Oberon’s growls punctuate every line. I set my wine glass on the nightstand, the clink of it louder than I expect. My thumb moves over the phone screen, half-hearted swipes through a feed of nothingness—memes, ads, the occasional rant.

None of it holds my attention.

And then there’s this heat curling inside me, unbidden.

My body’s reacting to them, to the sheer animal intensity of their coupling. An image flashes in my mind—hot, vivid, undeniable.

Aisling, with her pale skin glistening.

Oberon, all muscle and intent, their bodies locked in a dance as old as time.

Can’t say I haven’t noticed; I’ve never been one to turn down a good time, alpha, beta, or omega…and they’re both gorgeous. If it weren’t for the fact that all my friends seem to be going nuts for her, I’d have had Aisling’s number the moment I laid eyes on her.

But I’m a beta—and she’s got four alphas at her beck and call.

Gunnar. Oberon. Luka. Even Vance.

Not gonna take them on.

I slam my eyes shut, press the heels of my palms into them until I see stars. My heart’s kicking up a fuss, doing its damnedest to keep pace with the relentless cadence of Oberon and Aisling going at it like the world’s ending just a few doors down.

“Jesus,” I mutter, my voice barely a thread in the thick air of my bedroom. It’s just lust, just the primal part of me reacting to their frenzy. But something about the image—the rawness of it—sticks like tar.

In my head, the scene unfolds sinfully clear. Aisling, her grey eyes clouded with desire, lips wrapped around me. Oberon, towering and powerful, driving into her from behind. The moans, the gasps, the slick sounds of flesh on flesh—they blend into a rhythm that’s got nothing to do with the cop show still playing on TV.

It’s a shock, really, this heat stirring in my gut. Being a beta means not getting rocked by the same carnal storms as alphas or omegas, right? Wrong, apparently. ‘Cause here I am, my hand betraying me, slipping down below the waistband of my sweats.

“Fuck it.” The words slip out ragged as I wrap my fingers around myself. There’s no point fighting it—not now. I’m all in, the illicit fantasy too strong, too damn enticing. I start to jerk off, rough and without finesse, chasing down a release I hadn’t known I was desperate for.

The pictures keep coming.

Aisling with tears of pleasure in her eyes, legs spread. I wonder what she’d taste like…fuck, better than anything in my liquor cabinet, that’s for damn sure. My pace increases, the friction good…but not enough.

Not enough, when I can hear her moaning all day and all night, and Oberon snarling as he comes…

It’s happening now. Their voices grow to a crescendo, panting, rocking, growling. Fuck, fuck—

I come without expecting it, ruining my damn pants with the most powerful orgasm I think I’ve ever had. My back arches and I curse, rocking into my palm.

I slump back to the bed, using my free hand to rake my hair back, still charged up with sensation.

Fuck me.

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