Because I was sporting a painful, distracting, almost embarrassing hard-on the entire goddamn time she was doing Pilates this morning.
The entire fucking hour.
Every single minute of that workout. Watching her bend and stretch and flow through those positions with controlled grace and impressive flexibility. The way those festive pink tights emphasized every single curve of her body—especially her ass which looked absolutely perfect, and the clear outline of her cunt that I could see distinctly when she bent forward into certain poses or went into splits or did those leg lift variations.
I could only imagine her not wearing underwear beneath those skin-tight tights. Picture her slick-coated folds in vivid detail, her body naturally preparing for an Alpha's knot the way Omega biology works during arousal, the scent of her vanilla-caramel-citrus mixing with the musk of her desire. Had to grip my phone so hard I nearly cracked the reinforced screen just to keep from crossing that room and claiming her right there on the yoga mat in front of those floor-to-ceiling windows.
Had to briefly excuse myself to use the downstairs washroom in the lodge immediately after filming ended. Locked myself in the farthest stall from the door and took care of the urgent problem with rough, frustrated, almost angry strokes while biting down hard on my fist to keep quiet because other guests were using the facilities.
Came so hard I saw actual stars exploding behind my eyelids, imagining it was her small hand wrapped around me instead of my own, her warm mouth taking me deep, her tight wet heat enveloping my knot. Had to lean against the stall wall afterward to catch my breath and wait for my legs to stop shaking.
Stop thinking about it. Stop replaying those images. You'll just embarrass yourself again and there are other lodge guestsaround who don't need to see you sporting wood on the porch. Focus on the actual problem at hand. The threat. The note. The danger.
I force my attention back to the snowball fight. Reverie has just nailed Nash square in the chest with impressive accuracy. He staggers backward dramatically, clutching his coat like he's been mortally wounded.
"Betrayal!" he shouts theatrically. "Struck down by our own Omega! The injustice!"
She's laughing so hard she can barely stand, doubled over with joy.
"That's what you get for tag-teaming me! No mercy!"
Grayson uses her distraction to close the remaining distance. He scoops her up from behind, lifting her clean off her feet as she squeals in delighted protest.
"Captured!" he announces triumphantly. "The mighty warrior has been captured by the enemy forces!"
"Never!" she declares, wiggling in his arms but not actually trying to escape. "I'll never surrender! You'll have to pry my snowballs from my cold, frozen hands!"
I watch the playful scene unfold while my hand slips unconsciously into my coat pocket—a tactical vest-style winter coat with multiple compartments. My fingers close around the small piece of paper that's been burning a metaphorical hole there since this morning when Nash intercepted it.
The origami note.
The threat disguised as innocent observation.
I pull it out partially, just enough to read the message again even though I've already memorized every word, every loop and curve of the handwriting, every minute detail about the paper quality and ink type.
"Must be nice to relax and stretch."
Seven simple words.
Innocuous on the surface.
Could easily be interpreted as a friendly observation from another wellness enthusiast staying at the lodge. Just someone commenting on seeing another guest doing morning exercise.
But I know better. My training, my instincts, my years of experience in military intelligence all scream threat.
The placement was too deliberate—left on a bench in the Sunrise Wellness Studio exactly where we'd find it after Reverie finished her workout. The timing too precise—had to have been placed either during her session while I was filming or immediately after we left. The origami folding too intentional and specific—a calling card, a signature, a way of saying 'I was here and I'm skilled enough to leave this without being noticed.'
Someone was watching her do Pilates this morning.
Saw her in those tights, in those vulnerable positions, stretching and bending and completely unaware of being observed by hostile eyes.
Close enough—dangerously, threateningly close—to observe specific details about her workout and then leave this note where we'd definitely find it.
A multilayered threat.
A territorial claim.
A warning that they're watching and we can't stop them.
