Page 2 of Traded

A single finger traces the red cotton covering my nipple, and I arch into the offer as every line on my carefully curated plan vanishes into smoke beneath the immediate, aching need that clenches my stomach.

“Rosie,” Carter prompts. Amusement fills his voice. “Focus.It’s opening night.”

It could be the end of the world as we know it, and I wouldn’t care right now. I have one alpha’s teeth playing perilously close to my pulse, another’s finger circling my breast, and Carter teasing me with the barest trace of heavily calloused fingers against my pussy.

My hands twist into the bedding as Carter shifts back and nudges my legs apart with tattooed hands that look impossibly huge against my not insubstantial,definitely-prefers-a-snack-to-a-workoutthighs. His fingers sink into my skin as he holds me open. “You said it’s time for breakfast?”

My rapid nodding is on the eager side. “Yes. Please. Full spread.”

Jonas laughs softly into my hair. “Five AM was the right idea. Nobody likes rushing breakfast.”

The smallest hint of awareness filters into my befuddled brain. “Sneaky, sneaky alphas.”

“That’s because we know what’s best for our omega.” Liam’s hand finds my hair, tugging it back lightly as his wrist pins me in place until I can’t move. Eyes of steel and storms sink into mine. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

The first long, curling lick of Carter’s tongue makes me arch. But Liam and Jonas hold me still, their hands finding my knees and spreading me wider as Carter settles in to play. “Oh—oh—yes. Full agreement. Whatever you say.”

Liam’s approval is a warm balm against my sticky skin. “Good girl.”

By the time we finally make it to proper breakfast—orsecond breakfast, as Jonas cheerfully names it while kissing my neck as I fret over the cold buffet laid out across our kitchen island—my hair is little more than a raggedy scarlet bush. Several marks line my freckled neck and throat, courtesy of Liam. He brushes oneas he strolls past me with a banana in his hand and a smirk on his lips. “This is my favorite version of you. All messed up and obedient.”

I toss a kiwi at him that he catches with the flash of a grin, biting into the skin. I wrinkle my nose. “Ugh. Not theskin.”

“Full of nutrients.” He comes to stand beside me, surveying the spread I got up a whole hour before them to organize. I wait silently, my legs twitching. “Breakfast looks good. Here. Try this.”

His thumb nudges my chin up, and I doubtfully eye the kiwi in his other hand.

“Rosie,” he murmurs. His fingers stroke over the marks on my throat. “It’s good for you.”

He’s so damned bossy. We might still be standing here for puck drop if one of us doesn’t give in. And nothing puts him in a better mood thanmegiving in.

Sighing, I cross my eyes and make a face at him before leaning in and biting. He watches me with approval as I chew with a grimace. “See? Not that bad.”

“It’s hairy.” I swallow it with effort. “Hairy. Hairy fruit is an insult to fruit lovers everywhere.”

He kisses my cheek as he lets me go and circles the table to pull out a stool. “Half of one every morning, please.Includingthe skin.”

Ugh.I shove my tongue into my cheek, considering my protest, but he raises his eyebrows and I suck down the instinctive refusal. But my half-shrug-half-nod-half-headshake is noncommittal. We can battle it out tomorrow.

If he wants me to learn to bite hairy round things, he’d better be careful what he wishes for. That’s all I’m saying.

Pavlov, take notes.

But not today. Today is a big day, and not because my pack started it by fucking me like their road to playoffs depends on it. “Where’s Carter?”

“He’s coming.” Jonas pats the seat beside him, batting ridiculously pretty green eyes. He looks like he should be filming an underwear commercial, not slamming his opponents into the boards with the force of a speeding train. “Sit by me, Rosie girl. I need all the luck I can get today.”

I watch him arrange his plate in meticulous order. Jonas grins when he catches me watching him. “All perfect.”

As it should be. Each of my alphas have their own game day routines—hence my possibly over-zealous planning of our day—and they must goperfectly.Especially today, when the season officially begins.

Eighty-two games across the next seven months are waiting for us. My mind wanders to Carter again, and the faintest hint of unease settles on my shoulders.

Warm fingers slip beneath my tangle of hair and squeeze lightly. “This looks amazing. Almost as good as the breakfast I had earlier.”

My cheeks flush as Carter settles himself into the tall stool beside me. A low sound echoes in his chest as he stretches his right arm out for bacon.

I clench my teeth with admittedly Herculean effort as he eyes me.