Page 90 of The Florist and Her Alphas

LIANA

Iwake up to the smell of coffee.

Then I notice the sunlight streaming into my room, and the memories from last night stream into my mind. I immediately roll over to find Julian, but he’s not there.

My heart pounds faster, but then I hear clanging in the kitchen and him cursing. Aw, he was trying to stay as quiet as possible. I smile with tears in my eyes. The sheets are still warm on his side, and I bury my face in the place that smells like him—like lemons, sweat, and the faintest ghost of last night’s sex.

My body is sore and loose and humming with something that is definitely not just post-orgasmic bliss. I feel different. I feel safe with him there.

I lie there for a few seconds, listening to Julian humming softly. I slowly get out of bed, my body sore as fuck.

My hair is a disaster, and my mouth tastes like last night’s wine. I brush my teeth in the bathroom, splash water on my face, try to finger-comb the worst knots out of my hair, and give up.

Julian is standing at the stove with his back to me, and he is shirtless. His shoulders are broad and tanned, the muscles in his back shifting as he flips something in the pan. He’s wearing nothing but a pair of black boxer briefs that sit low on his hips, and his hair is damp, like he’s already showered, dark brown with those sun-streaks catching the morning light.

He turns, spatula in hand, and sees me. His eyes go soft. The dimple appears, just a hint of it, and he looks at me like I’m something he’s been waiting to see all morning.

“Hi,” I say. My voice comes out small.

“Hi, gorgeous,” he says, and my stomach flips. He sets the spatula down and turns fully toward me, and god, he is devastating. The lean cut of his waist, the trail of dark hair that disappears into his boxers, the way he stands with the easy confidence of an alpha.

He picks up a plate from the counter. Scrambled eggs, golden and fluffy. Crispy bacon arranged in a neat fan beside them. A piece of toast, buttered.

“I went out,” he says, smirking as he sets the plate on the small round table. “You literally had nothing in this kitchen except a lemon and half a stick of butter. You were out like a log.”

My heart is beating so hard I can feel it in my throat. My palms are sweating. It’s now or never.

“I think I love you,” I blurt.

The words come out in a squeak. I wince. He blinks.

“What was that?” he says slowly.

I try again, quieter. “I love you, Julian.”

He stares at me for a full second. Then a slow, crooked smile takes over his face, starting at the corner of his mouth and curling up until his whole face is glowing. He sets down his mug. He leans across the table, grabs my face in both hands, and kisses me so hard I nearly fall out of my chair.

“That’s good, because I love you more than anything,” he says when our kiss ends.

Blushing, I jump up and wrap my arms around his neck, and he stands, picks me up like I weigh nothing, and spins me in a slow circle in the middle of my kitchen.

“It feels good to finally say it,” I say.

He sets me down gently. Presses his forehead to mine. His eyes are so close I can see the flecks of gold in his irises.

“If you ever stop loving me, I will make your life a living hell. I will haunt your dreams and buy all your favorite flowers out from under you so you can never have them for your shop again. You understand me, Lia?”

I giggle, choking on the tears that have just started to prick at my eyes. “I’m pretty sure that’s the worst threat I’ve ever received.”

He kisses my nose, my cheeks, my eyelids. He kisses every part of my face until I am giggling and gasping for breath. Then he sits down, pulls me onto his lap, and holds me there with one arm across my waist.

“You’re mine,” he whispers against my skin. “My Lia. My gorgeous girl. My omega.”

“I’m yours,” I whisper back, and then I kiss him on the mouth, properly, and he kisses me back. His lips are warm and soft, as he slides his tongue against mine. I can taste the coffee on him, dark and sweet, and his eyes, when he pulls back, are glowing. Literally glowing with the faint alpha gold rimming his pupils, and it makes my pussy clench.

He picks up the fork. Loads it with eggs. Brings it to my lips.

“Open,” he says. The eggs are fluffy and rich, seasoned with something I definitely did not have in my kitchen, and I close my eyes as I chew, leaning back against his chest. His heartbeat is steady against my shoulder blades.