25. Sawyer

25

Brinlee danced for all three members of the McGraw Pack but stayed well away from me. I won't fucking lie, my feelings were hurt. Because I have strong feelings about this—about her—apparently.

Was she avoiding me?

Is she upset because I came here, the McGraw Pack tagging along?

Did she think that getting a table to watch her dance was my idea?

Damn, I wish it had been.

She was incredible. I never thought of her as a dancer, but she's a ten, moving like a naked flame, sexier than anything I've ever seen. I was going to come in my pants like a teenager, I swear. Anxiety forgotten, anything else but her, gone.

And now she's fallen into my arms and I can't believe my luck. I'm fucking holding her, she's sitting in my lap, and her arms wind around my neck. Her wide eyes lift to mine.

She's… whoa, she's even sexier, even prettier up close, even with all that makeup on. She looks real under the exaggerated rouge and lipstick, her hips solid under my hands, warmth radiating through the fabric of her dress. It's a scratchy, starchy fabric. A corset-like contraption circles her middle, and her tits all but spill out of the cleavage on top, soft and round. Her legs tense and draw my gaze down to the black lacy stockings and Betty Boop heels.

This girl is totally doing it for me. As a nerdy bookworm? Oh, yeah. As a hot pole dancer? Yes, please. Gimme everything. I love every side of her.

And as she squirms in my lap, a crease forming between her perfect brows—the shock wearing off to let realization dawn, I guess, of where she's landed and how this looks—I realize she must be feeling me.

Feeling how hard I am.

How hard I'm gripping her hips.

How much I want her.

Incongruously, I briefly worry about my cat and what will happen to him if I go to jail for touching a dancer. Will he be okay?

But of course that won't happen, I don't think.

Only, that's not my only worry. Heat flares in my gut. I'm not only hard, I'm burning. Burning for her.

Oh fuck, I hope I'm not about to go into heat right here and now, today of all days. It's just… it's as if their proximity—the guys', and now Brinlee's, so very goddamn close—is a trigger, and my body is responding, red alerts blaring.

This is a damn bad idea. What am I doing? I should lift her off me, get up, get out?—

"Thanks for the show," Archer says, looming over us, holding something up. It's the wad of cash I realize after a long, confused moment. He offers a hand to Brinlee who, after another moment, takes it, letting him pull her to her feet. He presses the cash into one of her hands. "You were amazing."

She was, I think. She is.

The loss of her sweet weight and warmth is jarring. I'm reaching for her, to get her back, even though deep inside I know I can't.

This is the end. We have gone too far. She'll probably call security next time she sees us. And no matter what Archer says, we can't keep coming here, imposing our presence on her, when she doesn't want us around. Paying to have her do lap dances for us? That's sick. Unethical. The mother of all bad ideas if we want more from her, if we want her to be our girl.

Because, yeah, that's the thing, isn't it? The reason we're here is clear. We want her to be with us. It's obvious from the guys' reactions.

But that's impossible. All this is insane. We're just thinking with our dicks, and that has never led to a happy ending.

So I watch her take the money, staring down at it as if she doesn't know what it is, and then stalk away, heading back to the dressing room, a dancing flame in the dimness of the club. I know my heart will never be the same after this. My stupid, stupid heart that never wanted any girl but Brinlee is now confused and torn.

When she vanishes, it's as if the light is extinguished from the world.

Why the fuck did I have to go and fall for a girl like that?

What the fuck am I doing with these guys who are too hot to be real, in this fucking club?

What am I doing, period? I should be at work, I should be trying to find a way to appease my parents and not lose my shop, find a pack to be with.

A pack I want to be with.

A pack that smells so delicious, like the guys beside me, like the girl who just walked away from us. A pack that smells like home, but also like filthy sex and the best glass of wine you've ever had.

Like…

A hand closes around my wrist. "Come on, Say, let's go," Roman says.

"Name is Sawyer," I growl, "not Say," even as I draw a lungful of that spice that sets my blood alight, sending sparks through me. "And yeah, I'm going."

Roman winks at me, and I can't help but notice he's flushed, his dark eyes bright. He's walking kind of funny, too. And now I'm paying more attention, all four of us are. We're hard as a rock for this girl. At least, we have that in common.

We're so fucking nuts about her. This girl is our catnip.

I wonder what my cat will have to say about that.

We take another Uber, and the guys drop me off at the Book Café—reluctantly agreeing to drive on home.

"But we need to talk," Roman says. "Don't you want to talk about all the shit that went down today?"

I give him the excuse that I have to take over from Bee and then close up shop—which is true, by the way—but mainly, I need time to think on my own.

Also, I need to feed my cat. He probably thinks I've abandoned him to die of starvation. He can't stand to see his food bowl empty. It gives him palpitations.

Thinking about Potato is a good distraction from obsessing about "all the shit that went down today" as Roman so eloquently put it: Brinlee as Baby Doll, the guys, and the attraction and chemistry going around.

Bee greets me with a bright smile from behind the bar. "Hey, there, stranger. Holding the fort, as you requested. It's been a quiet evening."

"Thank you," I tell her, "you're a lifesaver. Gimme just five more minutes to feed Potato and then I'll take over."

"Say hi to the kitty for me." She's nibbling on a cookie. "Tell him I'm dying to meet him."

"Will do! Love you."

"Right back atcha." She winks at me, and it makes me smile, because she's my friend, and yeah, I love her.

But it's not that heart-pounding, body-clenching, mind-crushing feeling I get around Brinlee. Or the guys. This is affection, that is… I dunno. Infatuation. Lust. Passion? Probably.

What I'm trying to say here is that I'm one hundred percent fucked.

Potato comes mewing at me, complaining loudly and bitterly about my mistreatment and lack of consideration for his hunger pangs. This kitten eats his weight in food every few hours, I swear. When I kneel on the carpet, he climbs all over me, headbutting me and biting my fingers when I stroke him, as if to say, What are you doing on the floor? Go serve me some food, hooman! Stop procrastinating!

So I put my need to cuddle my furball aside in favor of saving him from starvation.

He's actually gained quite a bit of weight since I got him. He looks good, his body strong, his fur glossy. He jumps around me as I open the can and scoop out some cat food, then when I apparently take too long, he starts climbing my right leg. Those claws are small but wicked.

"Ow, dammit, Taters. It's coming right up, okay? You're my most demanding customer, I swear. Ow, spicy kitten. Get down!"

Potato doesn't care about anything but the food, though, and only jumps off me when I put his bowl back down on the floor. Then he fucking dives into it, face and paws and all.

"Fuck." I sigh, then laugh. "You'll need a bath after that, and Bee is waiting downstairs. What am I going to do with you?"

He makes little cute growly noises as he inhales his food.

Being so cute should be illegal.

Does liking kittens mean I like babies? Does that mean I want children? Is it a sign that I should find a pack and be part of a family—a family unlike mine, unlike my parents who are so pushy and oppressive—and discover the joys of being a father?

Would Brinlee like babies?

Fucking hell, Sawyer. I hit my forehead with my fist, one, two, three times. Gently, so as not to rock my already rocky brain. Stop it. You, with babies? You can barely hold your business together, don't know how to flirt, your OCD is all over the place, and the people you've fallen for are either spoken for or don't seem interested in you that way.

Grow up.

Eric was right. I need to get my shit together, find a good pack, pay off my loan, and focus on my business.

And family.

But the thought of having children with a pack like the Ulfrig Pack doesn't appeal. I can't imagine it. I can't desire it. What the hell am I doing?

It seems to be the question of the year. Hell, the question of my life.

With a soft curse, I leave Potato to his meal and head back downstairs. Better relieve Bee, let her return to her loving pack, and clean up my station, scrub those counters until they gleam.

Then head back upstairs and bathe the cat.

Back to normal.

Even if it doesn't make me happy.

Two hours later, the café is spotless and locked for the night, the last customer having left right after Bee. I have wiped down all the tables the chairs, the bar of course, and the work counter, cleaned the coffee machine, dried all the cups and glasses and put them away, and mopped the floors.

My body aches, in a more or less pleasant way, from all the cleaning and mopping, and the anxiety ruling my mind has gone down a notch.

It's like a dragon curled up inside my head. When it's restless, I'm restless, too. It wants everything to gleam like freshly-minted gold, and that's what I strive for. Then, when that is done, sometimes it curls up once more and we can both rest.

A bit like Potato, actually, only difference being that Potato is the one making the mess and I have to go after him to clean up. That restlessness, though. That insane energy for good or bad, or both, and crashing on the couch or the carpet afterward…

That's how it is for me, too. And only if I manage to switch off my brain as perfectly as Potato does. Not a given. My nights… aren't good. They aren't peaceful. They never were, but lately, they're worse, a damn weird mixture of nightmares and sexual fantasies—starring you-know-who. A certain pack and a certain girl.

I know, right?

My mind is my own true enemy. Kumbaya, brothers. Yeah.

But as I roll out of sleep once more, the third time in the night, a raging hard-on burning in my pajama pants, I know sleep won't happen anymore tonight.

Not with this rocket in my pants, anyway. I've been hard for ages, images of Brinlee dancing, sitting in my lap, her arms around my neck, her lips parted and lashes lowered, her cleavage, her warmth, her scent…

Damn. I shove my hand into my pants and pull my cock out. It's hot, hard as a rock, and my ass is slick and clenching. I really can't afford to go into heat right now. I grit my teeth as I close my fist around my cock. It's so sensitive I shiver. Every inch of my skin feels oversensitive, itchy and hot, but my hard-on is impressive. Two drags of my fist down its length and I'm gasping, hovering on the edge of my release.

Hunched over the edge of my bed, I grip my hard cock, staring into nothing, Brinlee's face flashing in my mind, her round tits over the corset, her wild blond hair. I feel Roman's grip on my arm, see Kyrian and Archer towering behind him.

And I lose the battle.

Was it ever a battle?

It doesn't matter. I surrender with a groan, my cock jerking in my fist, my cum spilling over my fingers, hot and sticky. Pleasure rolls through me, sharp release unclenching in my gut.

But I'm still hard, still aching. I hiss as I drag my hand up and down my cock. Thank God Potato hasn't wandered into my room to see what the hell I'm doing. But no matter how I work my cock, I can't come again. I need more, more stimulation.

After a moment's hesitation, I open the drawer of my nightstand and pull out a dildo. I've bought a couple, but have rarely used any. I've experimented with them once or twice, but never really needed them.

Tonight, though, I feel like I need it.

Heat spreads over my neck and into my cheeks as I lift it. Dammit, I feel like a teenager all over again, us omegas whispering in each other's ears about heats and knots and penetration. It felt heady, then, when we'd gotten our examination and our designation letter was stamped in our ID, knowing that eventually we'd find a pack.

And get fucked. That was the reason for all the whispering and snickering. It was exciting.

It still is, only now I'm scared I might go into heat and not have a safe place, not have the people I need around me.

Stop thinking, Sawyer. Jack off till you drop, then sleep.

Do I need lube? But when I touch the dildo to my ass, behind my balls, I'm so slick it slips over my skin. Fuck, I'm so wet. Never been so wet in my life.

Don't think!

Fine. Fuck. I grip my cock in one hand, slide the dildo with the other until the rounded head is pressing between my butt cheeks, against my opening.

Yeah, I need it… Damn, it feels good… I push it inside and a hiss escapes me. Yeah. Good. Fuck, this is what I needed…

Release rips through me with a violence I didn't expect from my second orgasm of the night, tearing a cry from my throat as my cock jerks, and I spill all over my hand and my legs.

Shit… Pulling out the dildo, I fall back on the bed, staring at the ceiling, panting hard. The dildo rolls off and thuds to the floor. I can't bother to pick it up, clean myself up, do anything but breathe.

A small meow sounds from the floor, then a small shadow jumps onto the bed.

Potato sniffs at me.

"Oh, shut up," I mutter, closing my eyes, "and come to bed. It's way past your bedtime, kiddo."