Page 167 of Saddle and Scent
Wes, for his part, hung back a moment, letting the rest of us take the brunt of the public congratulations. It occurred to me that in spite of his brashness and financial pyrotechnics, he was still the same kid who'd preferred to work with his hands, who'drather muck out stalls or stitch up a goat than take credit for a win.
When I finally broke out of the group hug and caught his eye, he just tipped his imaginary hat and gave me the softest, stupidest smile I'd ever seen, like this was all he'd ever wanted for me.
“Thank you,” I mouth to him as he gives me a loving look.
“Always, Junebug,” he mouths right back.
I hugged Piper again, and she squeezed me so hard that my ribs protested, but I wouldn't have traded it for anything. Around us, the celebration was taking on a life of its own—people from every corner of Saddlebrush laughing, shouting, some even openly weeping as the shock gave way to real, roaring joy. The old guard was shaking hands with the new, boundaries blurring and reforming around a shared future none of them could have predicted even a month ago.
For the first time since I'd set foot back in Saddlebrush, I felt the absolute certainty that we were exactly where we belonged, doing exactly what we were meant to do, with exactly the right people standing beside us.
And at the center of it all, surrounded by three Alphas who've just publicly declared their intention to bond with me and a town that's chosen to trust us with their future, I finally understand what home really means.
It's not just a place you come from—it's a place you choose to build, with people you choose to stand with, fighting for things you choose to believe in.
In the end, all of this, is exactly what I choose.
Saddlebrush Ridge is truly my forever home.
EPILOGUE: FULL CIRCLE IN THE WORLD OF SADDLES AND SCENTS
~JUNIPER~
If you want a snapshot of what it feels like to be the last Omega in town, post-pack declaration, try this on for size:
I’m face down, ass up, three-quarters feral, shivering with heat and held together by Wes Carter’s hands like he’s the only force of nature between me and total collapse.
The air smells like sex, baking bread, and the kind of Alpha pheromones that should be illegal in at least seventeen states. I’m sweating everywhere, my heart’s pounding like it’s being chased, and I’m pretty sure if Wes doesn’t stop narrating exactly what he’s doing to me in that slow, farmboy drawl, I’m going to black out from the sheer idiocy of how happy it makes me.
The sheets are already a war crime.
Splotched with sweat, streaked with enough slick to fill a bathtub, and probably going to be renamed “Omega’s Last Stand” in the Saddlebrush local legend files. My arms are shaking, but Wes is kneeling behind me, perfectly content to hold me up with one hand fisted in my hair and the other palming my hip like a grapefruit. His knot is locked so deep I can’t even remember what it feels like not to be full. Thepressure is both incredible and just this side of too much, and all I can do is moan and shake as he rocks into me, slow and measured, like he’s got all the time in the world and wants to make sure I feel every possible second.
“—can you feel it, Junebug?” Wes croons in my ear, his voice gone wrecked and gritty, all that sunshine-boy affability burned down to the raw, animal core. “That’s my girl, squeezing down on me. You’re gonna milk me dry, sweetheart, swear to god.”
He punctuates this with a roll of his hips that makes me whimper, my breath hissing out between my teeth.
I can’t talk. I can’t even form a real thought, just vague, desperate animal noises and the word “more,” which keeps bubbling up whenever my brain gets enough oxygen to fire off something basic.
His thumb finds my clit, and I swear I see stars.
My thighs jerk, my back arches, and I let out a sound that is both mortifying and deeply, deeply satisfying.
“Atta girl,” he growls, and then he’s bending over my back, licking a stripe up my spine before biting down on the tendon of my neck. Not hard enough to break skin, just a warning shot. “You gonna come for me again, or do I need to keep fucking you stupid, baby?”
I want to tell him that he’s already succeeded, that my IQ is currently lower than the town’s average pollen count, but all I can do is whine.
He seems pleased with that answer.
He starts up a rhythm, gentle but relentless, every thrust grinding his knot right against my insides. I’d say it hurts, but it doesn’t. It’s just intense, like every nerve ending I own is tuned to the exact frequency of his cock and nothing else in the world matters. He keeps up the dirty talk, alternating between praise and filth like he’s conducting a masterclass in Omega Ruination.
“Look at you,” he murmurs, pressing his chest flush to my back, “so greedy for it. Wasn’t enough the first two times, huh? Gotta make sure you’re really full before you’ll relax. Knew you’d be a handful, but damn, Junebug, you might actually kill me.”
I want to answer, to sass back like usual, but my brain is pure static. All I can do is gasp, eyes squeezed shut, hands clutching the edge of the mattress like I’ll fall into orbit if I let go. And for a second I almost do—white heat builds low in my belly, rising in a wave so fast I barely have time to brace.
When I come, I scream, not words, just pure release, and Wes holds me through it, shuddering with his own orgasm as his knot pulses and floods me again.
I go limp, utterly boneless, my face smashed into the pillow and my whole body tingling. It takes forever for the world to come back into focus, and when it does, Wes is still holding me, one arm slung around my waist, the other massaging my scalp in slow, lazy circles.
