Page 109 of Knot Their Omega

She sure knows a lot about tours and shit. Wonder why?

“I don’t like it when you speak logically,” Icarus mumbles.

She spins around to face him, just to slap at his chest.

“I always speak logically!” she argues.

“Not when your ankles are on my shoulders and I’m eating you out like the best dessert in the world,” he says so smoothly, she’s literally flabbergasted into speechlessness. I wish I could see her face because I know it would be beet red. “I rest my case.”

“Ugh! I’m leaving. I can’t be around your annoying ass!”

She’s going to stomp away, but he has her in seconds.

“Alright, I’ll stop teasing you,” he hums and kisses her lightly on the cheek. “Do you seriously want Nathaníel in the pack?” he genuinely asks as they share a look. “Temporarily,” he adds and gives me a quick glare. “Only temporarily.”

I shrug in agreement, though I’m fighting off a smirk.

Unless I’m signing a paper agreement, there’s wiggle room for alterations in this plan.

“Yes,” she emphasizes. “I don’t want him to lose the career he’s worked for, either. He’s helping Omegas all over Europe, and who knows? Maybe that need is here, too? He may not be able to travel right away, but he can keep busy while we’re doingthe tour stuff. You’ll have to figure out the music ghost singing stuff, but if he joins us, it won’t be a big deal. I think the only problem is how similar he looks to Nate Jr. Aren’t people going to question it?”

“I don’t look like this when I ink people up,” I reveal.

“What do you look like?” she asks.

“Won’t know unless you get a tattoo from me, Rebel,” I conclude and shrug before a timer goes off. Frowning, I look at my watch, realizing I gotta take my rut shit.

I hate how it’s like fucking birth control. Take it at the same time every day, or you’re fucked.

No wonder why women hate that shit.

The only difference is rut blockers don’t compete in the grand scheme of ruining our hormones like birth control for women. They do have other long-term effects that I hope will skip me.

Then again, maybe this strike of fate can change the odds.

“Then sign me up!”

I need a moment to register what she just said.

“What?” Icarus questions.

“What?” I repeat the word because I didn’t comprehend what she said.

“Give me a tattoo,” she urges and points to her arm. “I want one. A big one. On my arm. Slide me into your schedule.”

“He’s expensive,” Icarus states as if I need a reminder of my prices.

I am expensive, but no one knows I do a secret rate for Omegas, so any of them, rich or poor, can get one.

I don’t mind working for free if it means giving them strength in their predicament. I can get loads of money from cocky, narcissistic Alphas who spend more time checking themselves out in the mirror than paying attention to their Omega.

“I can afford it,” she reassures him. “Just throw me in there.”

I stare at her for a long minute.

“Fine.”

“Fine?!” Icarus gasp. “You said you’re booked out for two years!”

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