Page 14 of The Florist and Her Alphas

The sheets beneath me are wet with slick, the evidence of my own desire pooling under my hips. I lie there panting, my heart hammering against my ribs, my pussy still throbbing in gentle aftershocks. My fingers are wet as fuck.

I press my face into the pillow and smile. My pussy is still pulsing, and I’m already wondering when I can touch myself again, and it’s all the fault of Ezra Frostwood and his brothers.

Four

JULIAN

Ipace the length of our penthouse living room, scotch sloshing in the crystal tumbler, my shoes leaving damp prints on the dark hardwood.

Rain hammers the floor-to-ceiling windows, turning the city of New York into a blur of wet light and shadow.

My shirt’s still sticking to my back from the walk home, but I don’t give a fuck.

“She’s an omega,” I accuse. “She’s hiding. And you want to bulldoze her shop and leave her penniless?”

Ezra stands at the window, his back to me, shoulders rigid under his black cashmere. The glass reflects his face—pale gray eyes, the scar through his eyebrow, that cold fucking composure that makes me want to throw something.

“We’ll give her money if she comes around,” he says, his voice flat and secretly afraid of change.

Cole leans against the bookcase, arms crossed. He hasn’t spoken in twenty minutes. His slate-blue eyes track me like I’m a target he’s not sure he wants to hit.

“The scarring,” Cole says suddenly. Quiet. “On her arms. You all saw it.”

The room goes still.

Ezra turns. Slowly. His jaw tightens.

“What scarring?”

“Old marks,” Cole says. “On her forearm. She tried to hide them, but the sleeves rode up when she reached for the folder.” He pauses. “There was another mark. On her collarbone. Teeth.”

The word hangs in the air between us. Teeth. Anger fills me at the thought of someone deliberately hurting her. On purpose.

Ezra’s expression doesn’t change, but something shifts behind his eyes. A calculation. A recalibration.

“We’ll pause the acquisition,” he says. “Formally. Cole, I want you on this. Full background. Who she is, where she came from, who did this to her. Everything.”

Cole nods once. Doesn’t need to be told twice.

I drain my scotch. The burn feels good. Necessary. “There’s something different about her.”

Ezra raises an eyebrow. “Like what?”

“Like fated mates,” I explain before I can stop myself. “She could be our omega.”

The silence that follows is absolute. Then Ezra laughs.

“Not happening.” He wipes his eyes. “Not with that stubborn attitude of hers. We can’t even agree on a simple deal. Can you imagine trying to take her out on a date?”

Something snaps in my chest. Hot. Bright.

“Shut the fuck up.” My voice drops. Low. Dangerous. “You’re just acting like this because you know she affects you too.”

I set the empty glass on the coffee table hard enough to crack the crystal. Turn. Walk out.

The elevator takes forever.

My reflection in the brass doors is wild-eyed, jaw clenched, my lemon scent spiking so sharp I can taste it. When the doors open to the lobby, I push through the revolving door into the rain.