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My Damon.
While my consciousness returns, I feel a swoop of fear. Did I just humiliate myself by letting him do that? My Omega seems thoroughly convinced that this alpha is hers… but is Damon mine?
Probably not.
He’s a famous pro-athlete, and we only just met. There’s no way he feels that kind of loyalty to me, yet. I’m supposed to be proving myself worthwhile, and instead, I’m having omega meltdowns and begging him to get me off?
I’m surprised he hasn’t already bolted.
Though, as he sweetly adjusts the skirt of my dress and brushes my hair back, it doesn’t seem like he’s desperate to escape. He doesn’t seem to be looking for the right moment to leave me or tell me I’ve failed some sort of test.
Maybe I need to give our connection more credit. They all came to get me today. That has to be a good sign, right?
I’ll just have to work harder at pleasing them. Keep my focus. Make note of everything they like and don’t like, individually.
Damon clearly likes the idea of corrupting me.
Cassian will probably have his own set of needs.
And Smith?—
Smith will never love me or want me, but surely I can prove myself useful to him in other ways. I’ll be able to impress him eventually, even if it’s just with the cleanest house or the best meals he’s ever seen.
I can do this. I can make them want to keep me.
Damon waits for my body to stop trembling before he gently places me on my feet and pulls his sweats back up. I’m disappointed not to get a better look at him, and his lopsided grin tells me he knows it.
My ruined panties wind up in one of his pockets. He whips his phone out of the other one and frowns at it for a long second before finally breaking into another smirk.
“Sweetness, I think we might be in trouble.”
My stomach drops, reality sinking in. I’ve just basically had sex. With Damon. With the door open…
Did anyone hear? Were we loud? I was so out of my mind I didn’t even?—
Damon cuts off my anxious spiral by holding his phone up, displaying about twelve unread text messages from Smith and Cassian. Or, as his phone says, “Big Hoss” and “Beastly.”
It makes no sense. I fret while we both slip out of the apartment.
Why would Smith blow up his phone? How would he know what we were doing? It’s not like he’s?—
Here.
Standing in the hallway, arms crossed, glaring furiously. And, somehow, the flagrant bulge at the front of his graphite suit pants doesn’t diminish his intimidation. It only adds to the effect.
The pack alpha holds out his hand. A demand, not a request. “We’re leaving.”
chapter
twenty-five
*Pierson Pack Group Text*
Damon
Remi’s upset.
Be down in 10 minutes.
