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We ate in silence, and I could still feel the shifting of her scent, that big bundle of confused emotions that couldn’t quite make up its mind.
“I’ll give you some space. I have some work to do. I want you in my office at five pm. You’ll be dressed and ready for the event.”
I only had a few things to catch up on today, but I’d spent the night with her, blown her fragile little mind, and now I wanted to step back and see what she did next.
I had to re-calibrate, and I didn’t think smothering her was the answer, as much as my instincts rioted at that conclusion.
So, I stood, tucking a strand of her raven hair behind her ear, pressing a gentle kiss to her temple, and made myself leave.
Later, I found Rogue in the multi-purpose room in the basement he spent most of his time in. It was massive, partly taken up by a gym space, the other a living space, with a set of couches, a TV, and mahogany bar and kitchenette. In the far corner was the only true standout feature: the black iron bars of the cell he ended up in when he rutted, or if I was feeling particularly irritated with him. There were cuffs and chains attached to the wall, and a barebones washroom attached.
Beside the cell was a rack with muzzles (because who didn’t need different colours and metals to choose from?), a lineup of weapons—from guns, to batons, to knuckle dusters—and a big old box full of rut drugs in case shit got too out of hand.
Even I’d had to use the drugs in there a few times since our lifestyle didn’t bring us in contact with Omegas nearly enough. That, however, wasn’t an issue anymore. I was practically lathered in the scent of frosted moonflower.
Rogue had his feet kicked up on the ottoman as he watched a crime show on the massive TV spanning the wall. The muzzle was still on his face, and I had no intentions of relieving him of it yet. He had a can in his hand, and the sight of Rogue forced to drink beer via straw to work around the muzzle would never not be fucking hilarious. Though it was only the early afternoon, and he wasn’t a massive drinker, so I took that to mean he was stressed.
Good.
He glanced at me as I entered, then rolled his eyes and returned to the show.
“What do you want?” he asked.
Grinning, I crossed toward him and dropped down on the couch, kicking my legs up and crossing my ankles on his thigh.
“What do you want?” he asked again, a rumble of irritation in his voice. Those piercing teal eyes burned just briefly as he looked at me.
Music to my ears.
“Nothing.”
“You said I could have the week off.”
“I’m not asking for anything. She’s getting ready for tonight. I’m bored.”
He didn’t dignify me with another glance, though his focus was far too intent on the show. Her scent was really fucking strong, and it definitely smelled like frosted moonflower and sex.
“You opened my picture.”
He grunted. “Said I had to.”
“Not true, actually.” Specifically, I recalled saying I’d double her punishment if he didn’t. “No… questions? Not even a little curious about her reaction when she heard about that death switch in your neck…?”
His eyes darkened the way they always did whenever I mentioned the device in his neck that kept him under my thumb.
“Why don’t you go do some fucking… painting or whatever?” he asked.
I scowled.
That would mean having to step foot in that stupid room again.
Nah.
This was way more fun.
Well, it was, until Rogue paused the show, turned the Xbox on, then jammed his headset over his ears.
I got to my feet, peering around the space as he loaded up a racing game. It looked messier than usual. Rogue was an oddly neat human if left to his own devices, but the innards of one of the punching bags were spilling out and hadn’t been cleaned up. There were a few pots scattered across the counter, and—now I came to think of it—the faintest smell of burning.
