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Orien pulls back to study me. “What’s wrong, trouble?”
“I missed you,” I breathe into his mouth, my hands clutching at his shoulders.
Orien’s palm cups my ass, fingers digging into the firm muscles, pulling me closer as his mouth moves to my jaw, then my throat, just above my backup nape guard. “Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere.”
The words send a shudder through me as pain builds behind my sternum. No, Orien’s not going anywhere, but I am.
His other hand slides beneath the hem of my sweater, palm flattening over the small of my back, and I arch into the touch with a moan.
Orien smiles into the curve of my throat. “Hush, trouble, it’s not crowded enough for you to be making those noises.”
His hand moves up my back, tracing each vertebra, and I bite my lip to keep any more sounds from escaping. The music seems to fade around us, the voices at the bar blurring into a meaningless hum as my world narrows to his hand on my back, his thigh under my ass, and his mouth on my neck.
I curl my fingers into his collar, tugging at the soft cotton, and his grip tightens in response, one hand moving to the back of my neck as he pulls me into another kiss, deeper this time, more demanding. His tongue thrusts deep, the kiss almost bruising in its intensity, and I melt into it, a helpless whine slipping free.
The lights are dim in this corner, the booth tucked far enough from the bar for us to be half-hidden in shadow. The edge of the table digs into my spine, and pain flares from my bruises, but I ignore it, all my focus on the way Orien’s hands roam over my body, one dipping beneath my turtleneck to trace the line of my ribs.
My breath comes faster, my heart hammering as his thumb brushes my nipple. I want his hands everywhere at once, want him to touch me until I can’t remember what it was like not to be touched.
The knowledge of the approaching end drives my need higher. I don’t want to go back to being just Levon, my brother’s spy and my uncle’s inconveniently designated nephew.
For right now, I want to be Lee, desired for himself and not for what he can do or how he can be used. I want to be the Omega who commands Orien’s full attention.
That ache drives me to shift closer, my hips rocking over his as I wrap my arms around his neck. The movement brings us flush together, his erection hard beneath my ass, and I break the kiss with a gasp, my forehead dropping to his shoulder as I try to steady my breathing.
“Hey,” Orien says, his hand coming up to brush my hair back from my forehead. “You okay?”
I nod against his shoulder.
His free hand settles on my waist, thumb stroking a slow circle through the fabric of my sweater, and I melt into the gentleness of the gesture.
No one has ever touched me with such tenderness.
The thought brings me back to myself, a cold splash of reality in the midst of heat and want. I can’t keep this. In no world can I take Orien home to meet my family.
Because the moment he finds out I’m a Vartanian, he will never believe any of this was real for me, and he’ll kill me for spying on his people.
The realization settles into my stomach like lead, heavy and inescapable. I lift my head to memorize the exact color of his gray eyes in this light, the small scar at the corner of his mouth, the way his hair falls across his forehead.
“I’m good,” I say, steadier than I have any right to be. “Just got a little—”
The front door crashes open, the sound violent as a thunderclap in the quiet room, and a man stumbles through the entrance, and I catch the telltale bulge of a gun under his jacket.
16
The second I recognize the danger, I jerk forward, putting myself between Orien and the intruder as my hand drops to my waist before I remember Lee doesn’t carry a gun.
The intruder braces one hand on the doorframe as he shouts into the room. “Where the fuck is Rowan?”
I flinch, remembering where I am, and when I turn back to Orien, I find him studying me, his usual reserve firmly back in place, all hint of gentleness gone.
Slowly, he draws me backward, stuffing me back into the booth behind him, in the position of the person who needs to be protected.
“Rowan!” the intruder shouts again, louder this time. “Get your fucking ass out here!”
The chess players react first, pieces sliding into their pockets and closing the board before they slip toward the back exit without a word, leaving their drinks half-finished on the table.
Two other regulars, a woman in a leather jacket and a man with a scar down one cheek, follow suit within seconds, moving like it’s a fire drill, as if stepping out for air rather than escaping a potential shootout. No rush, no panic, just quiet efficiency as they vanish through the same door the chess players used.
