AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I quickly scan backroom four; with a private glassed-in stage, two long leather couches, and a couple of small tables and chairs, it's perfect for a private show. I hesitate for a minute about inviting my brothers, but they likely won't leave her side until some shit is resolved, so I send them a quick text. Then, I type a message on the tablet requesting Imogen's presence and to leave on the angel wings.
Someone else will probably read that message before she does, and that's not exactly the under-the-radar vibe she'd requested, but I'm hoping she'll forgive me.
Red and Cass show up first.
"What are we doing here, bro?" Red asks, like he doesn't already know the fucking answer.
Ignoring him, I type into the keypad and try to find a song more fitting for Imogen. She seems like she'd be into classy lounge music, old school stuff. Music filters through the speakers, slow at first; it's loungy, sultry, and gritty. A woman's raspy voice bellows out in expressive, dulcet tones about her long-lost love.
Then the door opens with a tentative knock, and I'm hit with her potent cherry scent. She looks nervous, biting her lower lip, eyes wide beneath the mask, wearing her wings, with her bra back on. Snatching her wrist, I pull her inside, and she squeaks in alarm. Slamming the door shut, I push her back against it, crowding her in.
I meant to give her a minute, we obviously have some shit we need to talk about, but her perfume blooms and it's heady, and talking's overrated anyway. Running my nose along her neck, behind her ear, I listen to the hitch in her breath, and that sweet cherry scent gets stronger. I know she's slick and soaked between her legs.
The song playing is soft, and I wish we had somewhere nicer to bring her. But I like this, too. It's gritty and raw. It's a declaration of how fucking desperate I am for her.
Imogen gulps, her lovely long neck on display, but she straightens her spine, stringing confidence fueled by desire. The potency of that slick dripping between her legs makes my teeth burn, but I've had more than one pep talk with my alpha over the last twenty-four hours, and I am not going to fuck this up. I will not bite her without her permission.
Tonight, I'm in control.
Imogen only swears when she unleashes herself, when she's lost to heat, to need for her mates, for pleasure. I think it's the only way she can take off that perfect cloak she wears, the one with the straight spine, sweet tongue, soft voice, and expensive clothes.
She's wrestling with that tight grip on her control, but her omega begs to let go. She needs an alpha to take over, to let her relax and feel safe. Maybe it's a wild guess, and I'm way off, but even the way she tried to let us down yesterday was so rigid, tethered in this need to hold herself together.
The more I watch her reactions as I breathe her in and tease her, crowding her in at the door, the more I suspect I'm right.
Her knees are weak. Lips painted red and parted, breaths ragged, heaving her chest, swelling her tits with every inhale. It's not even about the sex. It's because she's scared, and tired, and lost. Her scent, so subtle I almost missed it, is laced with insecurity and fear.
When I see how much she needs this, my urge to bite her fades away. I suspect it'll return in the morning, but my alpha's giving us a chance to earn her trust.
"You look beautiful with your wings, angel," I tell her, crossing my arms, tilting my head, giving her body a slow perusal after pulling her away from the door. "Did you do that on purpose? Dance on stage like that, spreading your legs so the room could see what's ours? Show everyone these beautiful tits?"
Imogen stands between us, trembling, legs pressing together. It's so subtle, like she's trying to hide her need. That won't do.
"I could smell your perfume from across the room. Very bad girl, letting other alphas scent your sweet cherry pussy."
Imogen whimpers, gaze darting between the three of us. Walking around her, I reach out, barely caressing her neck, and she shivers beneath my touch.
I can't help taking her in; her long legs and strong calves, highlighted by the six-inch high heels she so effortlessly walks around in like she was born to stand tall. Damn, her ass looks amazing in those black panties, round, firm, and creating a small dimple in her lower back.
My fingers itch to touch, so I do, and she pushes her ass toward me, her body moving on its own, seeking release.
I slide my hand around her waist, pulling her close, and let my fingers dip inside her panties. The wings press against my chest. I thought she was the Angel of Death when I first saw her, and maybe she was. The death of all the baggage I carried, thinking I couldn't control myself around someone like her. But I can and I will. I'm fucking determined to be someone she's proud to call her mate.
Yeah, she's too good for me, too sweet, too kind, too special. But she's mine. Maybe Cass was right, too. Imogen's the Angel of our Salvation. We'd have lived and died a dull existence had we never met her.
Whispering in her ear, she shivers against me. "Which is it, Imogen? Are you a bad girl?" She shakes her head quickly. "No? But you let all those alphas scent what's ours."
"I-I couldn't help it. I f-forgot my—" she swallows, like she can't think straight, can't form a coherent sentence. "Scent-blockers. I forgot my scent-blockers. It was an accident."
"Are you scared, Imogen? Are you scared of how we'll punish you?"
She shakes her head no. I trail my hand up her body, across her stomach, ghosting over her tits, chuckling when she arches her back, looking for more touch, but all I do is slip off her mask, untying it from beneath her long golden hair, and hand it to Red.
"She has no reason to be scared, brother," Cass says, sandwiching her between us; she quivers, her omega whimpering in need, her perfume so strong I can taste it. And fuck, I love cherries.
"But she's shaking like a leaf," I muse.
Imogen growls impatiently, clawing at Cass's chest, her long fingernails scratching at his t-shirt, down to his belt buckle, in frantic need, trying and failing to undo it. Getting frustrated, she drops to her knees.
