I pause, letting the words hang in the air between us. "Which reminds me—I don't even know your name, Santa."
His grin spreads wider—devastating and dangerous and absolutely perfect. Instead of answering, he closes that last inch of distance and kisses me.
This kiss is different from the one at the bar. That one was possessive, aggressive, all about claiming and proving a point. This one is slow. Deliberate. Passionate in a way that makes my toes curl and my brain short-circuit.
His lips move against mine with practiced skill, coaxing responses from me that I didn't know I could give. His tongue sweeps into my mouth, tasting and exploring with thorough attention to detail. Like he's memorizing the taste of me, cataloging every response.
His hand slides up my thigh—over the tights, over the velvet of my dress—and grips my upper thigh possessively. Fingers digging in just enough to make me gasp. Just enough to remind me who's in control right now.
I moan into his mouth—can't help it, the sound escaping without my permission. The combination of his kiss and his hand and his scent surrounding me is too much. My hands come up to grip his shoulders, feeling the solid muscle under the fabric of his henley.
God, this is good. This is so good. Why have I been denying myself this kind of pleasure? Why did I let Kael and his pack make me think I wasn't desirable?
He breaks the kiss slowly, pulling back just enough that I can see his face. I'm breathless, panting, my lips swollen and tingling. My whole body is thrumming with need, arousal pooling hot and heavy between my thighs.
"Theo," he says, his voice rough with want. "My name is Theo."
Theo. The name fits him. Strong and simple and somehow perfect.
He leans in again, his lips brushing the shell of my ear as he whispers, "And if Nash is publicly staking claim, I don't really ask questions. We're a pack. We move together."
They're a pack. The three of them. The bookstore Alpha, Nash, and Theo. And they just claimed me publicly. All three of them. Holy shit.
"That's risky," I tease, trying to sound playful even though my voice is shaking. "Claiming an Omega you don't know. What if I'm terrible? What if I'm high maintenance? What if I have weird hobbies like collecting toenail clippings or something equally disturbing?"
His grin is wicked. "You know what's also risky?"
"What?"
"Trying to cut these tights enough so I can enjoy that wet, slick pussy of yours."
Oh. OH. My face floods with heat so intense I'm surprised I don't spontaneously combust. Did he really just—did he actually say?—
I grin and blush at the same time, which is probably a weird look but I can't help it. My mind is screaming with embarrassment because I know damn well this supply closet already smells like my arousal. It's growing and growing with every second he touches me, every word he says, every breath he takes.
But I also feel bold. Empowered. This man—this gorgeous, confident, slightly tipsy Alpha—is 100% into me. Not into some version of me I'm pretending to be. Not into what he thinks I should be. Just... me. Silver wig, blue contacts, Mrs. Claus costume, and all.
The mere idea of a blade being close to my pussy turns me on way more than I realized it would. Way more than it probably should. There's something dangerous about it. Something thrilling. The level of trust required to let someone that close with something sharp. The precision needed to cut fabric without cutting skin. The control he'd have to demonstrate.
When did I develop a knife kink? Is this new? Did it exist before and I just never had the opportunity to discover it? Or is it specific to him—to Theo—to the way he carries himself with military precision and controlled danger?
Kael never would have done something like this. He was all about control, but not the sexy kind. The manipulative kind. The kind that made me feel small instead of turned on. The kind that criticized instead of praised. This? This is different. This is the good kind of control. The kind that makes me want to surrender.
I lean back slightly, letting my legs fall open just a bit wider—an invitation, a challenge—and mutter with false innocence that fools absolutely no one, "Then what will an Alpha do without a knife to cut his way through?"
His smirk grows into something absolutely predatory—all teeth and promise and dark intent. His hand slides into his pocket with practiced ease, the movement casual and smooth like he does this all the time. Like carrying a knife is as natural to him as breathing. He pulls out a folding knife—small, compact, probably military issue with its no-nonsense design and matte black finish. The blade catches the dim light when he flicks it open with his thumb, the sound of metal on metal sharp and final in the small space.
"I never said I didn't have one," he murmurs, his voice dropping into that low register that makes my pussy clench and my breath catch.
He has a knife. He just casually has a knife on him. In his pocket. Like it's the most normal thing in the world. Which, for him, it probably is. Military training, always prepared, situational awareness—all that survival stuff that most people don't think about but he probably can't turn off.
My heart is beating wildly, hammering against my ribs so hard I'm surprised it's not audible over the muffled bar noiseseeping through the door. The sight of that knife gleaming in his hand, the promise in his eyes, the heat of his other hand still resting on my thigh—it's all combining into something that makes my head spin and my thoughts scatter.
Wait. Wait wait wait. Reality check time. I can actually do this. I can actually enjoy this. I'm not in a relationship with anyone. I'm single. Free. My own fucking person for the first time in my adult life. I can have a fling with this hot military Santa and no one—NO ONE—can say a damn thing or bat an eye.
Sure, people will talk. Sure, the gossip mill will run for weeks. Sure, they might call me a slut or loose or any of the other charming terms society reserves for women who enjoy sex. But you know what? I'm an Omega. We're literally born to be sexually appeased by Alphas. It's biology. It's nature. It's written into our DNA and our hormones and every fiber of our being.
And hopefully—ideally—wonderfully—it's by choice. Which this is. This is MY choice. I'm choosing this. Choosing him. Choosing to take what I want for once instead of waiting for permission or approval or someone to tell me it's okay to have desires.
