Page 9 of Sweet Heat

“And absolutely never, ever fuckinginsulther.” With that, I twist his wrist painfully, feeling the vibration of the fine bones grinding together until they finally give way with a crunch. He screams loud enough to wake the dead, falling to his knees in the crowded bar.

It’s still not enough.

Although he’s wailing, cradling his arm to his chest, I lift my leg and slam it into his gut. Dry heaving, he doubles over, laying his cheek on the sticky floor.

Die. Die. Die.

My eyes zero in on his exposed neck—it’d be so easy to snap it. End his miserable life. With a snarl, I raise my footonce more, coiling my muscles for the stomp of a lifetime. And as my leg begins its descent, two pairs of hands grab me from behind, knocking me off balance.

Twisting wildly in the air, I lunge toward this new threat. Roaring fills my ears, blood rushing through my veins, and I slam into a solid wall of muscle. One I know well.

“Calm down there, Killer.” The familiar voice and name break through the moment. Crimson laughs, and the haze slowly lifts. “Take a few breaths. You got him.”

Peering around, I notice the disaster zone. Flipped over tables. Smashed bottles.

When did all that happen?

“I think it’s time for you boys to go…” the owner says, making his way over to us with a frown. He carries a broom, ready to clean up our mess, and shame settles in my gut. “They’re pricks of the highest order—always in here harassing the ladies. Go ahead. Get out of here. If the cops want you, they’ll come find you.”

He nods at all the people recording on their phones, and with a sigh, I nod.

“Send me the bill.”

“Already done,” he chuckles, sweeping the shimmering shards on the ground.

Bone-deep exhaustion settles over my body as Owen steers me toward the doors. The cool air swirls around us as we step out into the night and head for our cars.

“Wanna come for breakfast at my parents’ tomorrow?” Owen asks, and I quickly agree. Gotta see my girl every chance I get.Although I’m not an official member of Pack Moore, I’ll always be an honorary son.

And one day—son-in-law.

Chapter Five

Iwish I could say the scent of bacon woke me for Sunday brunch, but of course, it didn’t. Instead, it was the incessant banging of pots and pans that roused me from Dreamland. The loud clanging is purposeful, a not-so-subtle reminder that my mother would love my presence downstairs, helping her instead of snoozing the morning away.

Omegas take care of the family. The glue that spreads love everywhere.

And in this home, we show our love through food. A fact that’s become stranger and harder for me since losing my sense of smell. I used to love cooking with my mother, sliding my white stool next to her as a child so that she could teach me all her secrets. Bubbles at the top of the pancakes mean it’s time to flip.Bake the bacon instead of frying it so you don’t get burned by flying grease. And most of all, hum while you work—it bakes the love right in.

Now, though, food only brings me stress. With every bite, my parents watch me, wondering if today will be the day that something clicks and returns to the way it used to be. The doctors have all said there’s a good chance I’ll get my sense of smell back, but it hasn’t happened yet. So, eating kind of sucks. Yes, some foods still have a flavor, but few are anything like my memories.

Only churros and caramel sauce remain untarnished.

The ruckus below gets louder, and I watch the blades of my fan spin overhead, rotating around and around like my swirling nerves. The soft blue-and-pink cotton sheets surrounding me feel like heaven on my sensitive omega skin, and truth be told, I don’t want to move. My eyes flutter shut, and the image of Miller, his eyes wild and vengeful as he stared down those assholes yesterday, comes to mind. His thick thighs, taut butt, and all that silky black hair I want to rub my fingers through until the end of time.

Desire writhes within me like a livewire, and my clit lights up, pulsing with need. Slick dampens my silk sleep shorts, and my eyes dart to the doorknob, making sure the lock is firmly in place before I let my hand glide over my belly.

The swell quivers as I move lower, slipping my fingers below the elastic waistband.

It’s wrong. It’s so freaking wrong. He’s my brother’s best friend. And he fucking hates me.

Blue eyes flash in my mind, and I thrust my fingers between my soaked folds to coat them in my juices. A desperate moanclimbs up my throat when I bring them back to my aching clit. My skin flushes, heat crawling through my veins as I circle the tender bundle of nerves. Slick pools between my legs, and a faint pleasure flows through me with barely any stimulation. This is going to be a quick one.

Allowing my eyes to flutter closed, I conjure the image of Miller—hips thrusting as he went through his stretches yesterday. My mouth waters instantly, and I spread my legs wider, bringing a finger down to my aching core.

“Posie! Are you awake yet?” my dad shouts, banging on the door. The sound makes me jump, and my cheeks heat with embarrassment, even though there’s no way he could know what I was doing. Yanking my fingers away, I stare at the door, willing the knob not to turn. Thankfully, he doesn’t go that far, instead knocking again. “Posie. It’s almost breakfast. Time to get up, lazybones.”

Clearing my throat, I finally manage to answer.

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