He grunts, and I don’t know what to make of the noise, whether it’s satisfaction or amusement. “I’ll deal with that little slip later…” He releases me, propelling me forward.
I suck a deep breath in and push my way through into the tiny closet area beside the bedroom. My fingers are shaking as I fumble for my underwear.
He snatches the panties from my hand and tosses them back in before fixing me with a glare. “Did I tell you to put underwear on?”
“No.” I bite my lip to smother the smile that wants to burst out.
“Then don’t.” He passes me my form-fitting combat suit with a smirk. “I don’t want anything else between your skin and my hands. Also, if I need you again while we’re out in the field, I don’t want to waste time on layers.”
The five-minute warning alarm begins to blare.
He dresses fast, peeling out of his ship-side casuals and shoving into his form-fitting combat gear. I drink him in even as I fumble into my own. The man is a work of art, all lean, ropy muscle sculpted into perfection. Normally, alphas carry scars.History etched into flesh. But he doesn’t have a single blemish. Is he merely lucky? Exceptionally skilled? Or new to the field?
There’s no time for questions, nor to dwell. I shrug into my suit and zip it up to my throat. He’s watching me with a predatory glimmer in his eyes that says he wants to peel it straight back down and devour me.
The armor clings like a second skin, but my breasts feel strange without any added support. “I need a bra?—”
“No. Boots on, now.”
I huff a breath. Shove my boots on and grab my helmet off the rack. My eyes bounce between the task and drinking him in. Damn. Zeb in combat armor is downright sinful. Like it was designed to showcase his masculine beauty.
He bends to grab his backpack, giving me the perfect view of his ass: tight, powerful… It’s little wonder I’m sore.
He straightens, catches me staring, and smirks.
I shrug and offer my best fake innocent expression.
“Bad omega,” he admonishes.
And, damn, if his growls and rough hands hadn’t already wrecked me, the dimples when he smiles will for sure.
Chapter Six
Zeb
The corridor narrows as we shuffle forward, the passage constricted by crates, cables, and waiting bodies, creating a bottleneck. There’s a sluggish stream of soldiers, mostly alphas and betas: combat types radiating dominance and anticipation. The occasional healer dots the line.
Esme has done this before. Her file said as much. Multiple deployments, including field extractions. She should be used to this. Yet she looks small and vulnerable. Delicate, even in that form-fitting uniform that clings to every tempting curve.
Omegas like her—especially healer variants—aren’t made for front-line deployment. They’re gentle, empathetic souls... even when they come with a mile-wide brat streak and enough attitude to make you forget their size. Dumping them into war zones is damn near criminal. But the Empire doesn’t care what you’re made for, just how well you serve.
My jaw clenches as I try to get a grip on the turmoil shunting through my mind.
She’s awakened something inside me.
Somethingprimitive.
Opened the cage door to a beast.
She glances over her shoulder, catches me watching and doesn’t look away. It’s not fear in her eyes, nor submission… more a challenge.
I close my fingers around the back of her neck and draw her in. Her body leans into me instinctively, and her wide, expressive eyes search mine.
“You doing alright?”
She nods, and her gaze shifts away. “What is it about you?”
A strange compression centers in my chest, all tight, heavy, and foreign. What the fuck is she picking up? Did I let something slip? Does she know I’m a fraud?
