Josie: Have fun tonight! You deserve this
Baby: And for the love of God, if the opportunity presents itself, GET LAID.
Willa: It’s a FAKE date. We have RULES.
Baby: Rules are meant to be broken, especially the stupid ones.
Josie: What Baby means is… just let yourself enjoy it. Don’t overthink.
Baby: No, what I mean is that man is hot as hell and clearly into you. Stop being so stubborn and FUCK. HIM.
Willa: You two are impossible.
Josie: We love you! Text us when you get home!
Baby: Or don’t text if you’re too busy being thoroughly satisfied
For the fiftiethtime since he picked me up, I’ve had to mentally pinch myself. I’m really on a date with Beau McCrea. And exactly fifty times, I get a full rush of sensation at how it feels to be near him. To have the intensity of those eyes looking at me and only me.
Because fuck me, the man is a magnet for attention—man, woman, it literally doesn’t matter. Since we walked into Baby’s place, every eye has been on him.
His hand is rough and warm, and the jolts of electricity that his touch sends shooting straight to my core are heady. Does he feel it, too? I glance at him and find there’s a hungry look in his eyes that I think I put there. How is this real?
The dance floor is packed, bodies pressed close in the dim light.
“Come here, beautiful.” The deep, husky sound of his voice sends another wave of desire through me.
“Yes, but I have to warn you—dancing is not my strong suit.”
“No worries. I’ve got this for both of us.” Beau pulls me against him, one hand on my waist, the other holding mine.
I’m stiff at first, hyperaware of every point of contact, every breath, every beat of my racing heart. His hand at the small of my back has found its way partially under my sweater, and I can feel at least two fingers pressing against the exposed skin there.
Baby’s text flashes through my mind again.Fuck him.
Now that it’s there, I can’t make it not there. As he moves me through the steps, all I can imagine is what he’d look like with no shirt on. How he’d feel. Fuck, my Omega is a horny bitch.
This is supposed to be fake. This is business. This is?—
Then the music shifts to something slower, something with a deep bass that pulses through the floor and into my bones, and my body relaxes into his before my brain can object. I feel him pull me a little bit closer and lean down to whisper in my ear.
“Your body knows how to move… and you smell sweet as fuck.” The last said almost to himself, and I definitely don’t miss the sneaky inhale as he pulls back a little.
His compliment slips through my defenses and unlocks a part of me. I can’t stop the perfume that pours from me—part arousal, part pure, simple pleasure.
I know the moment he scents it because his hands squeeze me a little bit closer, and I can feel the shiver on his frame. My breath hitches as he leans in impossibly close and lets his lips brush my ear. “My little Omega likes getting praise.”
And he’s met with a thick, hot wave of arousal I’m sure half the Alphas here can scent. A whine threatens to climb its way out of my body, because I really fucking do.
He pulls away with a chuckle as he leads me around another turn, like he’s the wind and I’m a leaf caught in his pull.
“You’re a good dancer,” I say, surprised at how naturally we move together.
“My mama made sure all her boys knew how to lead,” he tells me, spinning me out and then back in. “Can’t be a cowboy without knowing how to two-step.”
I laugh—really laugh—and it feels like something breaking open in my chest. Something I’ve kept locked away for too long. This is the Willa I used to be, before my father, and Felton, and all the other reasons that made me keep my walls up.
Beau spins me again, and this time, when he pulls me back, my body fits against his perfectly. Like we were designed for this. For each other.
