Page 84 of Rut Bar

“I could eat. Thanks, babe.”

Jamie gets up and stretches, putting every dip and curve of his Adonis body on full display while he yawns, then heads for the kitchen without getting dressed. His ass is so muscled his cheeks have divots. Handholds, exactly like our omega.

When I turn my attention back to Anthony and the still sleeping Veronica, he’s staring at me with a calculating look. My eyebrows rise toward my hairline. “What?”

His lips curl into a Cheshire grin. Between the dark scruff on his jaw, his messy bedhead hair, the leanly muscled body covered in tattoos, and his blue eyes framed with thick, dark lashes, he looks dangerous. Sinful.

Anthony leans over until his face is next to mine, our breaths mingling as his lips hover as close as they can get without touching. “I’m glad you’re here,” he whispers, his voice low and deep.

“Oh.” My stomach swoops with sudden nerves. He means it. I have a feeling Anthony doesn’t say things he doesn’t mean. “Thank you, I?—”

He silences me with a kiss, his lips firm and dry against the corner of my mouth. I could turn my head and give him my cheek or pull away. For a panicked second, all I do is go still. But he doesn’t push or press. All he does is offer himself with a kiss that’s quite chaste for a guy who looks like he does.

The sounds of metallic banging are faint through the open doorway as Jamie cooks for us, oblivious to his boyfriend kissing me. But if this is a pack trial… My heart thumps in my chest while I process what’s happening and consider all the outcomes.

Anthony pulls away when I don’t return his kiss while I’m thinking. “I’m sorry. I know you said you preferred women. I thought?—”

I thread my fingers into his hair, get a good handful, and squeeze. Anthony stops talking, then sucks in a breath. With my grip on his hair, I drag his face back down to mine and kiss him for real. His lips part for me, for the intrusion of my tongue. I don’t kiss him so much as I fuck his mouth with my tongue, my hand in his hair keeping him where I want him and angling his head perfectly so.

I claim his mouth. Conquer it. There are benefits to being an old man, and having experience is one of them. Anthony moans into my mouth and I swallow the sound before pulling back and nipping his lower lip between my teeth. I drop a kiss to the stinging flesh and stare into his eyes. It’s a challenge. I don’t mind if he wants to dominate the others, but he won’t do that with me. In the bedroom, I’m the alpha.

“If you want me to fuck you, I suggest you get on your knees,” I growl, my voice thick with a held back purr.

Anthony’s pink tongue darts out to lick across his kiss-swollen lips.

“Food’s ready,” Jamie calls from the kitchen. Cutlery clinks as he sets places.

My held breath huffs out, and I chuckle. Saved by the bell. I slide off the bed and stretch the kinks from my body, joints popping. I go to my bag and pull out a pair of old gray sweatpants and pull them on, then drag a soft, faded shirt over my head. Once I’m dressed, I’m more comfortable again.

There’s a wet sucking sound when Anthony finally pulls his hand free from Veronica. She whines in her sleep, but doesn’t stir. Not even when Anthony prods her into a more comfortable position. She’s adorable, with her hands curled under her chin and her knees tucked to her chest. Her hair is a tangled mess. We’ll need to attack it with a wide-tooth comb and lots of conditioner, but she chirps while she sleeps. She’s happy, for now. And sleeping. That’s the most important part.

I go into the bathroom and wet a washcloth with warm water, then hand it to Anthony. He cleans her up, but when he goes to toss it into the growing pile of filthy clothing in the corner, I stop him. She needs the pheromones. They’ve let her keep the nest too clean, and that could be part of why she’s so fatigued.

I take the used washcloth from him and leave it near her face, then tug a blanket from the nest and cover her so she doesn’t get cold. Veronica’s nostrils flare, and she stirs long enough to snag the pheromone-soaked washcloth and curl herself around it. Chuckling, I stroke a hand gently over her hair and lean down to press a kiss to her cheek. I purr for her until she settles again.

“You’re good at this,” he says in a low voice.

I don’t want to admit that most of my knowledge comes from reading. That I read every book I could find on pack dynamics and bonding and nesting. On the off chance I ever found one—though the odds seemed low—I wanted to be prepared.

This is the strangest pack I’ve ever seen, but somehow everyone seems to fit. I think I might have a place here.

Anthony slides from the nest and stretches. Every inch of his inked, toned skin is on display. He has no such qualms about his nudity outside of the bedroom. Instead of dressing, he walks out of the room naked.

I follow the mouthwatering smell of breakfast, and when I join them in the kitchen, I get to watch Anthony have Jamie clean slick-covered fingers with his tongue. Jamie purrs while Anthony slides two fingers over his tongue, and his soft alpha cock plumps with arousal.

Smiling and shaking my head at the horniness of youth, I take my seat and dig into my food. The size of the omelet is enormous. It takes up nearly the entire dinner plate, and it’s loaded with chopped vegetables and bite-size pieces of ham and cheese that turn into strings I have to twirl with my fork. I shove the bite into my mouth and chew, sighing around it. The eggs are fluffy without being dry. It’s perfect.

Anthony and Jamie both look at me with varying expressions of amusement.

“What?” I ask, cutting off a larger bite. “It’s good. You’re a wonderful cook.”

Jamie’s cheeks turn pink from the praise. “Thanks.”

“So when did you start cooking?” I ask, wondering how long he’s been doing it to get this good. Maybe if I start now, I’ll be able to make something passable in a few months. With an omega to take care of, it’s a good skill to have. I could kick myself for not thinking of it earlier.

He glances at the clock over the stove. “About ten minutes ago?”

“Ah…” That wasn’t exactly what I meant. I clear my throat and ignore Anthony’s ducked smirk. “I meant when did you first show an interest in cooking?”

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