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I slip my sunglasses over my eyes and nod, hating that the motion trembles.
His handsome features always look so much hotter, somehow, when he’s broody. We haven’t spent any time alone together, but I’ve started to see that, of all the alphas in the Thorne Pack, their leader is actually the quietest. He only speaks when he really has something to say; and he listens.
The scowl on his chiseled lips quirks tighter as he reads my expression, ocean eyes slowly moving over every part of me. “I could scent-mark you,” he offers, dropping his voice low. “Would that help?”
Shivers of arousal quiver in my core as slick soaks into the special extra-absorbent panties I’m wearing. Spence got them for me to wear; surprisingly, he’s been the most obsessively possessive about making sure others only smell me on him.
Or on his desk. Or his chair. Or his bed?—
“Serena?”
I blink out of my horny haze, thankful for the cover of my dark lenses. “Sorry. Um. Sure? If you think that would help.”
His smile is warm and masculine. Knowing but kind. It reminds me of the way he was when he tended his claiming mark—so proficient and confident yet utterly gentle with me, even when he was on the edge.
“I think it might.”
I hold my breath as he leans over me, bending to graze his mouth across his bond mark before rubbing his cheek against it. My pussy gives a warm, wet squeeze, clamping on nothing.
When more perfume pours off me, Tristan…
Purrs.
His silken, rolling rumble sinks through his suit and my dress, past the lacy black bra cupping my tits. Everything inside of me gels, melting and smoothing and aching.
A large hand cups the back of my head, stroking tenderly when I sway into the hard muscles of his pecs. “Shhh,” he murmurs, “You’re okay, sweet baby. I’m here.”
His fingers sift through my hair, finding his claim to stroke it softly. “Would I ever let you hurt?” he asks, flexing a wave of calm dominance.
He never has. Even on that first horrible night, when it seemed like he wanted to get as far away from me as possible… he didn’t. He stayed in the room the whole time Dr. Monroe examined me. He loomed in the hallway while I met the guys. And he tended his bite with perfect thoroughness.
Shh, sweet baby.
He said it then, too.
I like it even more now.
My Omega turns out to be even more unhinged than I previously thought.
The articles Spencer provided to help prep me for my pre-heat symptoms as a semi-bonded omega mentioned a lot of what I’m experiencing. Shakiness, the constant urge to whine.
It did not, however, warn me about the whole wanting-to-claw-other-women’s-eyes-out thing.
Maybe that’s just a “me” problem?
Either way, it’s a definite issue. Especially since this fancy store has only female employees—and they’re all over Tristan.
While they simper and giggle, he keeps a handsome smile on his face. Ordinarily, the fact that I now know him well enough to know it isn’t his true grin—but some vacant, polished politician version—would help.
Not today, apparently.
The silent sense inside of me whines and nudges. Desperate for me to claim him. Yank him away. Rip his pants off and climb him.
An-y-thing.
But I just keep sifting through the racks, looking for something sexy to wear to Jonah’s pre-season game… and maybe Avery’s first big fight in a couple of weeks. Most of the ones I like are in my pack’s signature black—short and close cut, with metallic accents or glittering beadwork.
Jonah will love being able to see so much of my legs, I think, distracting myself as the shop girls giggle some more.
