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Shit… Pulling out the dildo, I fall back on the bed, staring at the ceiling, panting hard. The dildo rolls off and thuds to the floor. I can’t bother to pick it up, clean myself up, do anything but breathe.
A small meow sounds from the floor, then a small shadow jumps onto the bed.
Potato sniffs at me.
“Oh, shut up,” I mutter, closing my eyes, “and come to bed. It’s way past your bedtime, kiddo.”
26
KYRIAN
Something is written in printed script under the doorbell. I squint at it, but my vision goes sort of blurry. It has to be Sawyer’s name.
My damn heart stands pounding. Why do I get like this when I try to read something? I know the letters. But every time I try to sit down and read something, my body reacts like I’m about to jump off a building.
The door is painted black with a white design in its middle. Is that a dragon? I didn’t expect the cute omega to be so… artistic.
No idea why not. Because he runs a business? I know practically nothing about him. Only that he likes books, coffee, and Brinlee.
Which are good things to like.
He’s pretty damn impressive, running that shop and… and reading.
Fuck, now I sound like a complete idiot. Everyone reads, I tell myself, except for you. You’re the odd one out, the failure.
Anger rises, and I raise my fist, thump it on the black door. “Sawyer! Open this door! Sawyer!”
I also ring the bell for good measure, anger still rippling through me—for my shortcomings, the lack of communication with my men, the worry that drove me here.
After a while, the lock jiggles inside and the door whines as it opens. The hinges need oiling, I think, and someone should take a look at that lock, and holy fuck.
Sawyer stands in the opening, those hazel, cat-like eyes heavy-lidded, his dark hair messy. He’s only dressed in soft gray pants and a white T-shirt, the clothes clinging lovingly to his body, outlining narrow hips, a lightly muscled chest and arms, a nice set of shoulders.
This man looks edible.
And smells like… it’s hard to work it out because his apartment smells like coffee and… bleach? But it’s there, underneath it all, especially now that he’s so close, a sweet marshmallow and cider aroma mixed with faint male musk that makes my mouth water.
“Kyrian?” He’s staring at me now, eyes wide, cheeks flushed.
“Good morning. Or should I say, good day?”
“Um? What?” He blinks long, dark lashes. Damn, he’s distracting. “What are you doing here?”
“I drew the short straw, what does it look like?” I snarl. “I was worried. I mean, the guys were worried.”
“About me?”
Why does he have to look so… innocent and confused? Dammit!
“Yeah, about you,” I say. “What’s going on, man?”
“Nothing? I’m good, thanks.”
“Good? You’ve been cooped up in your apartment for how long?”
“Since yesterday?” He glances behind him as if to somehow confirm. “After you dropped me off, I cleaned and… and did stuff.”
“What stuff?”
