Page 146 of The Rust in Her Hair

I squeeze my knot one more time at the sight, and a last spurt jerks from the tip, splattering right on that fancy rug. I shudder through it, my body wrung out.

Adrian's already moving. He tucks his cock away and yanks his slacks up, then he scoops Lyra's dress off the wrecked couch and brings it to her. He helps her into it, working the straps up her shoulders, gentle with her now that the frenzy's spent, while I take my time getting dressed.

My heart is still slamming when Lyra finally bends down and buckles the little sandals at her ankles. Then she straightens, and looks around.

Her honey-brown eyes go wide at the mess we’ve made.

At the couch she gutted, its stuffing scattered across the fancy rug. At the shattered decanter and the papers strewn everywhere. Then at the desk and the fluids, the three of us left running down the side of it.

Her face goes scarlet and her shoulders curl inward. I feel deep shame gripping her all at once, the old reflex to shrink and apologize.

Not tonight.

I move to her and grip her chin, tipping her face up until she has no choice but to look at me. And I do something I've never done to her. Something I swore I'd never do to any omega without good reason.

"Listen to me, omega." I let my alpha voice settle under the words, low and absolute. "You are not allowed to feel bad about a single thing that happened in this room. None of it." I hold her gaze, I raise my voice, making sure my words hold for as long as possible. "For the rest of tonight, you will only feel the excitement, and the relief, and nothing else. Do you understand me?"

I watch the command land.

Her pupils go wide, then the tension bleeds out of her shoulders all at once, the shame smoothing off her face like a hand wiped it away. It won't hold. A command like this never does, it'll wear thin in a few hours, and she'll have to make her own peace with tonight the way the rest of us do.

But for now, for tonight, I want my omega to walk out of this house feeling good.

"Yes, alpha," she breathes.

And she smiles, and I can’t help but do the same. "Good girl." I lean down and kiss her lips once. "Are you ready to go?"

She nods, the movement clumsy.

"You got everything?" Adrian asks as he takes Lyra’s hand.

I nod, then we head out. The heavy door makes a thunking sound when I unlock it, then push it open.

The faint scent of smoke still lingers in the air. There’s no music, but I can definitely hear the sound of raised voices all overlapping one another. I pull out my phone and quickly text Mack and Owen, telling them to meet me by the door.

We move quickly through the house, back the way we came, Lyra's hand tucked in Adrian's and my own hand light at the small of her back. She's loose and easy as she floats down the hallway, still riding my command.

We come out into the grand entryway, and I pull up short.

Lavinia's near the front doors with her back to the hall, her attention fixed entirely on Mack. A small cluster of guests drifts in around the edges of it, watching from around the corner. She hasn't clocked them either. She thinks this is private.

"How dare you," Lavinia snarls.

She's got Mack backed up against the wall, or she's trying to, jabbing one manicured finger up at his chest while he looms over her, all six-foot-three of easy, unbothered muscle. Her white hair has come loose on one side. There's a wild, furious color in her cheeks, and she's moving the champagne flute around while she talks like she forgot it's in her hand.

"You did this." She's nearly shrieking. "I know you did this. You started that fire."

"Ma'am." Mack’s mouth falls open with exaggerated shock. "Is this the thanks I get for trying to put it out?"

"You made it worse!"

"I was trying to help."

A young man in a server's vest speaks up near the door, careful, apologetic. "Sir, you, um. You threw vodka on it."

Mack turns to him slowly, brow furrowed, the picture of a man working through a hard problem. "Vodka don't put out a fire?"

The server shakes his head.