Not the performed version Blake's pack had demanded. Not the broken thing that had crawled from the ashes of their betrayal. But someone real and whole and worthy of being kissed like the world was ending.
My men.
The thought comes again, stubborn as a weed in concrete. Maybe not yet or ever.
But here in the morning light, with my body still humming from remembered touch and my heart racing with possibility, I let myself imagine it.
Just for a moment.
My thoughts tangle like wild vines, growing thick and untamed as I imagine what those lips could do beyond kissing, and my body becomes a perpetual crooked line of want that I'm tired of denying. The fantasy unfolds without permission—Cole's mouth trailing down my throat, his stubble rasping against sensitive skin, those careful hands becoming demanding as they map territories I've kept hidden for too long.
In my mind, we never left the truck.
In my mind, he lifts me over the console with that easy strength, settling me in his lap where I can feel exactly how much he wants me. His cock presses against me through our clothes, hard and insistent, and I grind down because in fantasies I'm brave.
In fantasies, I take what I want without apology or fear.
"Been thinking about this," fantasy-Cole growls against my collar, teeth scraping where shoulder meets neck. "Want to taste every inch of you, Willa. Want to lay you out in the truck bed under the stars and lick you until you scream."
The image sears through me—naked under the Montana sky, his dark head between my thighs, those storm-gray eyes watching my face as his tongue works magic I've only imagined. My hips shift restlessly against the sheets, and I can feel how wet I've become just from thinking.
The slickness between my legs is undeniable evidence of needs too long ignored.
I slide my hand down my stomach, hesitating at the waistband of my sleep shorts.
When was the last time I touched myself like this? Not quick, furtive moments in the shower, but really let myself feel pleasure without shame?
Blake had made it clear early on that Omega self-pleasure was "unnatural," a sign of an unsatisfied pack.
Liam had been blunter—"Why would you need to touch yourself when you have four Alphas ready to serve?"
But they'd never served.
They'd taken, demanded, performed just enough to trigger my Omega responses without ever satisfying the deeper craving.
They'd flood the room with pheromones during pack meetings, getting me wet and needy, then act disgusted if I tried to find relief later.
"Greedy," Blake would say, his voice dripping contempt. "A good Omega waits for her Alphas."
Well, I'm done waiting.
Over denying myself because men who never deserved me decided my pleasure was inconvenient.
My fingers slip beneath cotton, finding slick heat that makes me gasp. I'm soaked, more aroused than I've been in years, and it's from nothing more than a kiss and the memory of being wanted.
I grab a pillow with my free hand, pressing it over my face to muffle the sounds I know are coming. The house feels too quiet, too full of potential witnesses, but I can't stop now. My fingers find my clit, circling slowly, and the sensation arrows through me like lightning finding ground.
In my fantasy, Cole's tongue replaces my fingers. He's patient but thorough, learning what makes me shake, what makes me beg. His hands grip my thighs, holding them open when I try to close them against the intensity.
"Let me see you," he rumbles against my pussy. "Let me taste how sweet you are when you let go."
I work myself faster, two fingers sliding inside while my thumb maintains pressure on my clit.
The dual sensation has me arching off the bed, the pillow barely containing my moans. I'm close already, embarrassingly fast, but my body is desperate for something it's been denied too long.
The fantasy shifts—now it's not just Cole. River's there too, his green eyes dark with want as he watches Cole pleasure me. Austin's sunshine smile turned wicked as he palms himself through his jeans. Even Mavi, usually so controlled, looking at me like I'm something worth breaking rules for.
Not taking turns like Blake's pack, not performing dominance, but working together to take me apart.