Page 108 of Roulette Rodeo
She groans, burrowing deeper into my side.
“Let’s make it ten,” she murmurs, already half-asleep.
“Deal,” I say, and for the first time in years, I mean it.
By the time Red’s breathing evens out, her whole body slack against my chest, I’m so spent I feel like I could pass out for a week straight. She’s a boneless miracle, draped across the sheets with come drying in ridiculous white lines on her stomach, a smile caught in her sleep that makes her look about seven years old and victorious.
I stare at her for a full minute, watching the way her lashes tremble, the little twitch in her fingers as she dreams.
This is the best morning of my life, and I’d die before admitting it to a soul.
She grumbles and rolls away, mumbling something about “five more minutes, Mom,” and I snort, carefully untangling myself from her octopus grip. She doesn’t even stir when I leave the bed.
I grab a towel from the bathroom, run it under the hottest water I can stand, and wipe her down as gently as I can manage, trying not to wake her. She shivers at the first touch, then relaxes again, pressing into the warmth with a sigh. Once she’s clean, I pull the comforter over her, tucking the edges tight.
She’s so damn beautiful like this, vulnerable but invincible, a paradox wrapped in hotel-quality sheets. I want to say something corny, like “Sleep well, little cherry,” but instead I just smooth her hair away from her face and stand there a minute, memorizing every freckle, every scar, every moment that led to here.
Damn. I really am smitten for this Omega…
I go take a shower, because I smell like sex, sweat, and a little bit like her, and the rest of the pack will know the second I walk out if I don’t at least attempt to mask the evidence.
The bathroom is thick with the ghosts of our bath—vanilla, bubbles, a hint of blood from the bite on my shoulder she left in the heat of the moment, which I don’t even remember honestly. I step under the spray and close my eyes, letting the water run hot enough to burn. It doesn’t wash her off me, not really, but it does settle the animal in my chest enough that I can pretend to be human for the next few hours.
By the time I towel off and pull on fresh jeans and a long-sleeve tee, the sun’s fully up. I can hear the distant rumble of a tractor, the yapping of Duke in the yard, and—more telling than anything—Talon’s loud, hyena-laugh bouncing off the kitchen walls.
I check on Red one last time before heading out. She’s curled up, fetal, hugging the pillow like it’s a teddy bear. I shake my head, smiling, and pull the door shut behind me.
The house is warm, brighter than usual, and the kitchen smells like burnt toast and scorched bacon. Crowne’s already at the island, mug of black coffee in hand, eyes glued to something on his tablet. Talon’s perched on a stool beside him, shoveling bacon into his mouth with zero shame, crumbs raining down onto the hardwood.
Talon looks up when I walk in and lets out a whistle so loud it should break glass.
“Well, well. Could you be any louder, grunting like a mule in rut?” He doesn’t bother lowering his voice;the whole county could probably hear him.
Crowne doesn’t even look up.
“Congratulations on the decibel record, by the way. That was impressive.” He pushes a mug my way. “You want coffee, or are you sticking to Gatorade this morning?”
I grunt, half annoyed, half too tired to care.
“Just black. And lay off the commentary.”
Crowne grins, but there’s nothing mean in it.
“Thought you were supposed to be the quiet one,” he says, sliding the mug across. “But damn, Shiloh. Glad we walked in during the afterparty cause you must have been loud during the main course.”
I roll my eyes and pour myself half a cup.
“She’s still sleeping. Keep it down.”
Talon snorts.
“Bet she is. You going for round two later, or you gonna let her recover before the branding?”
“Round Three,” I correct, allowing them to groan and whistle like they’ve lost some sort of bed amongst themselves.
Crowne raises an eyebrow, finally looking up from the tablet to Talon.
“You’re not pissed?” he asks, voice dropping to something closer to serious. “That he was first?”
