I glance up. Bad move. She’s gotten dressed, although the healer’s shift clings like a second skin and might be worse than if she was naked. Also, she’s glowing—literally.
I try to look away and fucking fail. I can’t tear my gaze off her. My body reacts, as instincts that are not wholly mine hit me like a punch. “Get over here.” What the fuck is wrong with my voice? Why is it so deep?
Her eyes spark. She freezes. Then moves slowly, like she knows what her defiance does to me.
I look back at the tablet, pretending her mere proximity doesn’t undo me, that I’m not losing my edge of control. Who knew playing a controller would be this much of a test?
I’m drawn to her in a way I’ve never experienced before. Intrigued. Getting close to her is dangerous and not only because she can probably read me in a way that will compromise the mission.
But I couldn’t stop this now if I tried.
She stands in front of me. I see her feet, naked and perfect, with little pink toes. Her presence is like a balm resting over my frantic thoughts. Her scent is still all over me. I can feel the ghost sensation of her body under my hands, my lips… her hot cunt sucking on my dick and squeezing over my knot.
Her damn pussy has broken my brain.
I lift my eyes to meet hers, and everything I’ve been trying to bury threatens to claw its way out.
She thinks I’m just another alpha.
But I’m not.
Not even close.
And if she ever finds out what I really am, this mission will be over before it begins. This is bigger than her and me; this is bigger than us, and whatever this pull is that I feel between us.
I need to keep her distracted.
“On your knees.”
Her breath catches.
Yes, this is the right approach. Best way to keep her from fishing into my mind is to keep her high on alpha pheromones and dick. So I bury my unease, the way my skin feels tight, and the way the lies don’t sit right. Instead, I focus on the surface of my skin, on pumping out the scent her body can’t help but respond to.
She drops to her knees.
Her submission is fucking heady. And she likes it. Likes being told,ordered, what to do. My hands go to my belt, undoing the buckle again. She wets her lips, watching without blinking.
I can smell her arousal. Doesn’t matter that I’m playing a role, my body is the real deal, even if my mind sits slightly apart, holding a thread to the underlyingme, the zeta.
I never felt jealous of alphas before, nor of any other dynamic. I was happy being me, unique, even if that meant I was alone. And the missions? I fucking craved missions, the adrenaline rush, the thrill of doing things ordinary citizens couldn’t, infiltration, espionage, fucking over the bad guys and coming out on top. That shit makes you feel alive.
Today, though, I fucking hate alphas, with their sense of entitlement that might well be justified because they’re at the top of the genetic lottery. They getthis. Omegas. The ones who are arguably at the bottom of the genetic lottery, who likely only survived the carnage that followed Awakening Day, when the virus was first released, by virtue of their innate ability to soothe alpha aggression.
The bottom?
Fuck that.
They should be at the top. Revered. Fucking worshiped.
But Esme doesn’t want to be worshiped, not in the literal sense. What she craves is rough domination. She’s high on what I just did to her, and she wants some more.
Her impatience loads the air between us—eager little thing.I set the tablet away briefly so I can shuck down my pants. My dick is hard and sensitive. I have to smother a groan. She sways a little and her lips part. I consider binding her wrists at her lower back again, then elect to leave them free. Why deny myself the pleasure of her soft caresses?
Then I pick up the data tablet and ignore her.
Well, I pretend to.
Her little hiss is pure frustration. I bite down my smirk; it would ruin the vibe I have going on. “Something the matter?” I ask, not bothering to look up.
