He shakes his head slowly. “No. Not for any marks I’ve ever seen.”
He reaches out to gently touch the claiming mark on my neck with one finger. The contact sends a jolt of electricity through me, and I can’t suppress a small gasp.
It doesn’t hurt. It feels…good. Too good. The kind of good that makes me want to lean into his touch, to ask for more. If I closed my eyes, I could almost feel them, like threads tugging beneath my skin. God, is this how omegas feel? No wonder they lose their minds over bonds.
Wait. Am I losing my mind?
“Why are you doing this?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper. “Why are all of you so insistent? Can’t alphas and omegas reject claimings? All you guys have to do is reject this, and it would all go away.”
Tristan’s expression shifts. He opens his mouth, and I get ready for some slick comeback. I can see the words lining up. That famous, charming grin starts to twist his lips, but it falters and vanishes. He just shuts his mouth and swallows hard, like the truth is a pill he’s forcing down. He drags a hand down his face like he’s trying to wipe the act clean off. When he finally looks at me, the usual cocky glint in his eyes is just… gone. He just looks exhausted, down to his bones. “Yeah, we can.”
His throat moves, and I sense he’s about to say more.
“But…we don’t want to,” he says, his voice gone rough. “It’s just... everything is so loud, all the time.”
He takes a small step closer, and I notice something strange.His shoulders seem to relax, a deep sigh escaping him as if he’s been holding his breath for years.
“And when you’re close...” He meets my eyes, his own full of a desperate, confusing vulnerability. “It’s peaceful.”
I stare at him, searching his face for any sign that he’s making this up. But there’s no trace of the charming playboy now. Just a man who looks bone-tired and desperately sincere.
He’s so close now that I can feel the heat radiating from his body, see the individual lashes framing his dark eyes. His scent envelops me, making it hard to think straight.
I should stop this. I should push him away and tell him to leave. But I can’t think straight. The marks are pulsing, heat radiating from them like they’re alive. Like they’re connected to him somehow. And when he steps closer, I can feel the pull. It’s more than physical. It’s something deeper. Something I don’t understand. Something I’m not sure I want to understand.
“Tristan,” I breathe, not sure if I’m warning him off or inviting him closer.
He leans in, his lips hovering just above mine. “Tell me to stop,” he whispers against my mouth.
This is insane. I’m in a bathroom at work, for God’s sake. I’m supposed to be cataloging art, not... whatever this is. I don’t even know him. Not really. But when his lips brush mine, it feels like he’s unraveling something inside me. Something I didn’t even know was tied up. My resistance sticks in my throat, replaced by a need so powerful it steals my breath away.
I answer by closing the distance, pressing my mouth to his with a hunger that surprises even me.
The kiss is electric, sending sparks of pleasure from my lips all the way down to my toes. His hands frame my face, and mine find their way to his shoulders, feeling the solid strength beneath his jacket.
The claiming marks on my neck pulse with every beat of my heart, sending waves of heat through my body. Between my thighs, I’m suddenly, embarrassingly wet, my body respondingto his proximity with an eagerness that makes no biological sense for a beta.
His hands slide down to my waist, then around to my back, pulling me flush against him. I can feel the hard length of him pressing against my stomach, and a moan escapes me before I can stop it.
“God,” he murmurs against my lips, his voice a low, rough growl. “I can’t get enough of you.” He then deepens the kiss, his tongue sliding against mine in a way that makes my knees weak.
Before I know what’s happening, he’s backed me against the wall, his body caging mine. One of his hands finds its way to my thigh, sliding under my skirt with a confidence that should offend me but instead makes me arch into his touch.
“This is insane,” I gasp as his lips leave mine to trail down my jaw. “We can’t—not here?—”
But my protests die as his fingers brush against the damp fabric of my underwear. Even through the thin material, his touch is electric, sending shockwaves of pleasure up my spine.
“You’re so wet,” he groans, his voice thick with desire. “For me. For us.”
I should push him away. I should remember where we are. I should care about the fact that anyone could knock on the door at any moment. But all I can focus on is the pressure of his fingers, the heat of his body, the intoxicating scent of him filling the small space.
His fingers push aside the fabric, finding my slick heat with unerring accuracy. I bite my lip to keep from crying out as he slides one finger inside me, his thumb circling my clit with a precision that makes stars explode behind my eyelids.
“Tristan,” I gasp, my hands clutching at his shoulders. “I can’t—we shouldn’t?—”
“Let go,” he whispers against my ear, his teeth grazing the shell in a way that makes me shiver. “You’re burning up, sweetheart. Feels like a heat flash.”
“A what?” I pant, my hips arching into his touch despite myself.
