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For a second, she looks confused. Then she feels my fingertips skirt the edge of her underwear. A tiny grin flashes over her face.
“Hmm. You figured it out, so I guess you should do the honors.”
Mm.
Best girl ever.
I can’t help the grin stretching across my face as I yank Meg’s panties off with one sharp tug. The sweet, juicy miracle that is her scent instantly explodes, easily ten times more potent without the special fabric covering her core.
Archer’s mouth drops open, his pupils expanding like mushroom clouds. If he had a reset button, now would be the time to press it. I think we might have actually broken his brain.
Ronan, on the other hand…
He roars.
The sound is unlike anything I’ve ever heard—and I’ve played a violent sport entirely made up of alphas for a fucking decade.
This isn’t a sound of anger or dominance, though.
It’s pure, feral possession.
Need.
Our alpha’s control has finally snapped.
chapter
forty-six
I should be afraid.
The old Meg would be terrified.
There’s a massive, tattooed alpha looming over me, brimming with the kind of dominance that normally makes my head swim.
And Ronan is intense.
The laser focus of his silver stare. The way every muscle in his chest and shoulders pumps, full of fight. The curling black ink winding down his left arm—almost as thick as the sweet smokiness smoldering off him.
By all accounts, I should be petrified when he rises onto his knees and damn near tackles me into the headboard.
But I’m not.
I’m safe.
His large, hard frame lands on top of me. His face immediately goes to the curve of my neck, lips open over my thrumming pulse. And all I feel is safety.
Teeth graze my throat, harder than any of the others have dared. “You’re mine,” Ronan growls, licking the scrape away. “My omega.”
Archer and Theo both tell me to follow my instincts, that they know better than any of us do. And, right now, mine tell me what to say.
“Yes, yours,” I soothe.
Tingles skirt down my arms when I press my palms into his bare back. He’s so ridiculously fit. And there’s so much of him. Under his trim-cut suits, with all their carefully tailored lines, it’s easy to miss how muscular he is.
Not now. I feel each twinge and tweak in every hard slab covering his shoulders; his sides; and even, um, lower…
My greedy touch under his boxers seems to snap him back to reality. A bit of the fog clears from his gray eyes, leaving that silver intensity I know so well. His mouth pulls into our secret half-smile.
