Page 157 of Rut Bar

But my mouth waters every time I glance at it and my sore, battered pussy throbs from the pheromones wafting off it. I ignore my post-heat’s cravings for alpha pheromones and cum.

“Because you’re conscious of it now?” Brendan asks. “Or because you think we’ll judge you for enjoying it? You’re an omega, Veronica. It’s hard wired in your DNA to crave the comfort of your mates’ bodies and their pheromones. You’ll feel better once it’s in your system. But if you’d rather suck our cocks instead, we’re not gonna complain, sweetheart. It’s your choice.”

Brendan kisses my cheek, then piles bacon and scoops some eggs onto his plate. The smell of his food makes my stomach roil with displeasure. Being hungry but food averse is another sucky piece of the shit sandwich that being an omega is sometimes.

It’s going to take me a while to forgive Anthony, but I know how he can start. “I don’t want to eat it.” I level Anthony with the stare that’s made grown men shrink during a negotiation. “I want you to do it.”

Anthony arches a brow. “Me? You want me to eat it?”

“Yeah.” The ceramic plate scrapes over the wood as I nudge it closer to him.

I expect him to argue, to get offended or disgusted, but he shrugs and picks up the cum toast from the plate. “Okay, baby. You know there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you.”

He stares me down as he brings it to his mouth. His lips part, and he takes a large bite, chewing and swallowing it without complaint. I watch as, bite by bite, the cum-drenched toast disappears. Once he’s finished it, he swipes up a droplet of cum from the plate and sucks it clean, then hums around his finger. His eyes shutter, those long dark lashes of his fluttering over his pretty blue eyes.

Am I… am I into this? No. My heart skips a beat and I fidget in my seat. It creaks as I shift my weight. No, I’m annoyed. This was a punishment—it wasn’t supposed to be hot. It’s not. I don’t know if it’s Anthony finally being put in his place in this pack or seeing him eat one of his own schemes, but I’m not prepared to unpack how much I enjoyed that.

“Satisfied, baby?” Anthony asks.

I clear my throat and avoid looking anyone in the eye. “Well, it’s a start.” From the stack of plain toast in the center, I grab another perfectly golden piece and the butter. Crumbs scatter over my plate as I butter it a little too hard.

“Was that not enough?” Anthony asks.

“Should I eat some too?” Jamie asks, confused.

“I’m fine. Everyone eat your breakfast, please.” I gesture toward the collection of plates and focus on adding sugar to someone’s abandoned coffee while trying not to blush.

“Is the coffee a good idea?” Brendan asks with a frown.

“I haven’t had caffeine in four days.” I don’t like the taste of coffee on a good day, but Jamie doesn’t like having energy drinks or soda in the house. He says there’s too many chemicals in them. “You can pry this mug out of my cold dead hands.”

The first sip is full of regret, but I choke it down. My stomach protests every swallow after nothing but cum and flavored protein water for the past four days, but I ignore that too. I need the caffeine to feel like a human again.

They eat while I nibble on toast and drain my coffee mug until twenty minutes later when I’m throwing everything right back up in the bathroom. It’s Anthony who holds my hair back and ties it into a ponytail for me while I’m sick.

“That’s it. Get it all out,” he says while he rubs circles on my back.

“I don’t want to hear it,” I tell him once I’m reasonably sure I’m done. The porcelain is cool against my cheek, and I’m grateful that the first thing Brendan and Anthony did this morning after gathering up the laundry was to scrub the bathroom clean.

“I didn’t say anything at all,” Anthony says in a calm voice, feigning innocence.

He doesn’t need to. I can hear him think it. That if I’d sucked up the weirdness and eaten the cum toast I’d be eating a real dinner tonight instead of buttered rice.

“It was the coffee,” I mutter. It had to be the acidity, or something.

“Hmm.” His soothing shoulder rub disappears and the tap runs at the sink. He presses a glass of water into my hand. “Here.”

“Thanks.” I use it to rinse my mouth out first and spit, then drain the glass. It’s cold in my stomach and refreshing. When it doesn’t seem like it’ll come right back up, I let him help me off the bathroom floor and settle on the sofa under a fuzzy blanket.

Anthony perches on the arm and tugs the hair tie from my ponytail. He works the snags out of my hair and smoothes it away from my face. “How about this... We bought steak and the stuff to make caesar salad for dinner. Why don’t you let Jamie make you one of his special fruit smoothies, and we’ll all pretend it’s whey protein powder and we never have to talk about it again?”

Internally I debate the pros and cons of being stubborn versus eating real food tonight. He’s right that this is the best I’ve felt in years. I thought it was from finding my pack and getting through the audit, but what if it’s more than that? What if it really is a stupid pheromone thing? While I don’t like being fed cum without my knowledge or permission, I also hate feeling like crap for three days during post-heat.

“The parmesan cheese is a block of the real stuff I bought from the cheesemonger my uncle gets all his stuff from for the restaurant. No green shakers of that powdered crap for our omega. So it’s your call, baby. Do you want a smoothie or a protein water?”

My stomach churns with spine-eating hunger, and the desire to eat real food wins over pride. I tuck the fuzzy blanket up to my chin. “If I say yes, that doesn’t mean you’re forgiven yet.”

“Of course not, baby.”

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