I jump, banging my head on a shelf and wincing. I didn’t know seeing stars was an actual thing.
Hands grasp my hips and tug me backwards. Head spinning, I collapse into a very male, very naked chest.
Oh, wow. That is warm. And muscled.
Swallowing, I blink away the spots and turn slowly, taking a moment to appreciate the sleekly muscled beauty that is Tristan Cohen. His mismatched eyes stare down at me, both impossibly dark as I breathe in, trying not to be too obvious as I grasp for a lungful of scent.
Just a little bit. What I’m getting from them isn’t nearly enough.
“You okay?” he asks, his eyes scanning me. “You’re a bit clumsy, you know.”
And the moment is gone.
Stepping back with a huff, I turn my back on the snack in front of me to do an inventory check on the ingredients I’ve collected. His heat brushes up against me again as he peers over my shoulder.
Seriously. Does he not even realize how hot he is?
There’s only so much an omega can take, so I duck beneath his arm, taking my goods to the counter and pulling out a knife. He follows me, sinking into a seat at the kitchen counter with a yawn.
I’ve never seen him look so rumpled, not even after he stayed with me in the Healers Center. He somehow woke up looking just as perfect as when we went to sleep, but now his eyes are hooded, his hair adorably tousled as he scratches absently at his chest.
My eyes swing down, and I bite back a groan.
Holy mother of gray sweatpants. Those bad boys do nothing to hide the outline of his significant looking cock.
Someone up there has it in for me, I’m sure of it. He looks lickable, and I don’t think he’d appreciate it if I crawled into his lap and followed that tempting line up his throat with my tongue.
Or down in the other direction. My eyes follow the light trail of dark brown hair, ending at the edge of his sweatpants.
Iwant.
God. I suddenly feel completely flustered, my skin heating up as I bite down savagely on my lip until I taste blood.
What the hell is wrong with me? I’m acting like a cat in—
Oh. Oh, no. No, no, no. Not happening.
“Sienna?” Tristan looks a little more awake now, frowning as he leans forward. “Are you okay?”
“Fine!” My yelp is a little too high-pitched to be completely convincing, so I try again, pitching it lower. “I mean, I’m fine. Totally fine.”
He tilts his head. “Do you have a bad throat? You just dropped about four octaves.”
Someone save me.
Thank fuck Jax waltzes through the door, saving me from explaining why I suddenly sound like I’ve smoked fifty cigars.
His eyes light up. “Shortcake,” he murmurs, caging me in with his arms as I shrink back against the counter. “You look like my favorite type of snack this morning.”
On second thoughts, Jax is absolutely the worst of my Soul Bonded for pushing boundaries. I grab the mixing bowl from the counter, shoving it between us. “I’m making breakfast.”
“So I can see.” He prowls after me as I skirt around the counter, trying to put some distance between us. “You smell absolutely fucking divine, you know that?”
I squeak, my scent picking the absolute worst time to erupt out of me like an ice-cream scented waterfall. Jax’s nostrils flare, and he takes another step towards me.
“Sienna.” His own voice drops, his violet eyes dark as he stalks me across the kitchen.
“Pretty, pretty Sienna. You smell like sin, shortcake. Come here.”
