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Cassian looks marginally better when he sets Remi back down. “You need me to carry anything down the stairs?”
She shakes her head. “The furniture isn’t mine. It stays in the apartment. I’ll just go up and double-check that I didn’t forget something, grab my purse, and we can go.”
I offer to walk her up, doing my best to deflect from the ready-to-rip-each-other’s-arms-off vibe between Smith and Cass. They’re still scowling at each other when I open the building’s front door, shooting them both a frantic get your shit straight look over her curly head as she floats past.
There’s another edge to her scent today. Thankfully, I spent most of the night Googling. So, now, I know that the bit of slice edging her sweetness either means she’s in need, or she’s stressed.
And, unless she has a cardboard fetish…
This must all be very stressful for her. She’s lived here for years. Days ago, she didn’t even know we existed. There must have been a better way for Bulldozer Smith to go about this.
It’s too late for that now, but her stress has my Alpha nudging me harder and harder with every step up the stairs.
Or maybe that’s the sight of her hips swaying. Difficult to say.
Outside her door, she pats my arm softly and offers her small smile. “I’ll be right out.”
I want to go with her, but she must already feel suffocated enough by all of us. Deciding to leave it, I cast her my easiest smile as I agree, “Okay, sweetness.”
Minutes pass. My foot starts to bounce. Then my fingers start tapping against my thigh.
Is she okay? Should I go in?
When it’s been more than five minutes, I tap on the door. “Remi? You ready, pretty girl?”
There’s some scuffling behind the door and then an ear-splitting whine cracks the air.
I’ve been a pro-athlete for most of my adulthood. But when I tell you I have never moved so fast in my life.
In a blur, I race into the tiny, empty apartment.
It looks so different than it did yesterday. Without Remi’s special touch, I see what Smith is bitching about. This place is rough.
And I grew up in a trailer that didn’t even have a toilet. So.
Remi is in her tiny kitchen. She leans against the cracked countertop, her eyes closed, and both arms wrapped over her body.
It looks like she’s in pain. I lunge in her direction, sucking in a gasp that stops me dead in my tracks.
Oh holy shit.
This room smells like sweet-soaked sex.
Honey-drenched, horny heaven.
Fuuuuuuck. I want to drop to my knees. Bury my face between her thighs and stay under her twirly skirt for hours.
The razor-edge of her sweetness cuts right through my control, carving out any tiny bit of reason I may have had. I groan, gripping my rock-hard cock through my sweats in an attempt to strangle it into submission.
Remi jumps, her eyes big and round as they fly to mine. The pretty blues flutter, unfocused. “Alph—Damon. I don’t feel so well. I—I think?—”
She cuts herself off, wincing in pain. Her hand floats up to cover her lower abdomen as if she has a cramp there.
Fuck.
Google mentioned that, too.
Omegas are in pain when they need relief from an alpha and they don’t get it. It usually happens during heats, but some of the articles mentioned that heat spikes happen more often in scent-sensitive packs. Especially ones that aren’t bonded.
