Page 40 of The Florist and Her Alphas

“I’m just...” I smile, but the smile feels brittle on my face. “It’s been a really long day, and I’m a little tired. The wedding…and everything. I should probably call it a night.”

They don’t push for an explanation.

Julian immediately starts gathering containers. Cole rinses plates in my tiny sink without being asked. August wipes down the table with a dish towel, his movements careful, his eyes on my face like he’s reading something there.

Ezra is the last to leave. He stands in my doorway, one hand on the frame, his tall body blocking the light from the hallway. His gray eyes search my face.

“I’ll give you my number,” he says. “In case you need us. For anything.”

Oh no, I don’t want this to get serious at all.

I can’t be around alphas again and put myself in danger ever again. But I’m already pulling out my phone, my inner omega wolf compelled to obey the alpha before me.

I save his number and give him mine.

“Thank you for helping me today,” I say, meaning it.

“Goodnight, Lia,” says Julian, kissing my hand and making me blush.

“Night,” I say, my stomach doing somersaults from the dark look he’s giving me. They all leave my apartment one by one, and I let out a long sigh after they’re all gone.

The cramps in my belly intensify as I lock the door and slowly lean against it.

My hand presses flat against my lower abdomen, feeling the heat building there, the ache deepening. Slick is running down my inner thighs. My pussy is pulsing, clenching on nothing, hungry and empty and starting to burn.

I make it to the bathroom. Dig through the cabinet for the pain meds I keep for exactly this purpose. Swallow two dry, leaning against the sink, watching my reflection in the mirror. My cheeks are flushed. My eyes are too bright. My straightened hair is coming undone at the temples, dark auburn waves fighting their way back.

I strip the red dress off and let it fall to the floor. As I stand in my underwear, barefoot on the cold tile, I could feel the heat building under my skin like a fever.

My bed. I need my bed.

I crawl under the covers in my underwear. The sheets are cool against my overheated skin. The pain meds haven’t kicked in yet. The cramp rolls through me again, deeper this time, and I bite my lip and press my hand between my legs, not to touch, just to feel the heat there, the slick soaking through my cotton underwear, the hungry, empty ache of a body that knows exactly what it wants and can’t have it.

I close my eyes, hoping that by tomorrow morning the pain will pass.

Ten

LIANA

Iwake up, feeling like I’m on fire.

My throat feels like sandpaper. My skin is literally burning.

Every inch of me is hypersensitive—the sheets against my legs feel so rough, my nipples ache against the cotton of my bra, and between my thighs my pussy is throbbing so hard I can feel my pulse in it.

I am most definitely in heat.

I’ve never been in heat before, and I wasn’t prepared to feel this full-blown, raging, fuck-me-now heat. Oh my god.

I kick the sheets off. They’re soaked.

My hair is a wet mess on the pillow, and my underwear is drenched. Slick has soaked through the cotton, pooling beneath me on the sheets, warm and thick. My scent of roses is thick, and the room feels humid.

If any alpha were in the room with me right now, it would send him into a rut and make him lose his mind.

I press my hand between my legs without thinking.

The cotton of my underwear is soaked. My pussy is so wet the fabric clings to my folds, and when my fingers find my clit through the damp material, the sensation is electric.