She pouts—but there's fire in her eyes. That bold, fearless streak that only seems to emerge when she's truly in her element. When she's challenged. When someone pushes back against her and she refuses to give ground.
There she is. There's the real Rosemarie—not the shy Omega who blushes when people look at her, but the fierce woman underneath who bit her ex-pack back until they bled.
And then she does something I absolutely don't expect.
She rises onto her tiptoes. She presses her lips firmly against mine. And then shebites.
Her teeth catch my bottom lip, tugging slowly—not hard enough to seriously injure, but hard enough to sting. Hard enough that I taste the faint copper of blood.
I don't dare move.
The tension between us is thick enough to drown in. Electric enough to spark. I can feel every point where our bodies touch, can smell the way her scent has shifted from nervous to something darker. Something that smells like want. Like challenge. Like a woman who's decided to meet my energy with energy of her own.
She releases my lip slowly, watching with hooded eyes as a very tiny bead of blood begins to bloom.
"Right in between," she whispers, her voice low and husky in a way that goes straight to my cock. Her eyes narrow, assessing me with an intensity that makes me feel exposed. Seen. Catalogued and filed away in her memory. "But you're like that dangerous underdog. The kind you don't know if it’s going to hide in the shadows or bite."
Holy. Fucking. Shit.
This woman. This bold, surprising, absolutely infuriating woman. She just bit me. Drew blood. And somehow made it the hottest thing that's happened to me in years.
I grin—probably looking unhinged, probably tasting blood on my teeth—and feel pride bloom in my chest. "Well, I'll take that as a compliment."
She smirks, clearly pleased with herself.
I lean in close, letting my lips brush against the shell of her ear. "And I'd gladly take my Omega on a proper date," I murmur, "so that our changing room sessions can consist of me stripping that short lacy dress off you..." I pause, letting the words hang in the air, letting her imagination fill in the blanks before I continue. "And letting you ride my cock the way you rode Tank's all night long."
I pull back, feeling like I've won this particular round of our game. The look on her face is priceless—flushed and flustered and trying desperately to maintain composure. Her scent has gone thick and sweet with arousal, and I file that information away for later.
Good to know my words have an effect on her. Good to know I can match Tank's physical intensity with verbal precision.
Before she can respond, a knock sounds on the doorframe.
"Oh!" The shop owner's head appears around the corner, a kind-faced Beta woman with silver-streaked hair and reading glasses perched on her nose. Her eyes land on Rosemarie, andshe clasps her hands together with genuine delight. "This dress turned out so nice! The color is perfect for your complexion, dear. It brings out the warmth in your skin beautifully."
I step back from Rosemarie, putting appropriate distance between us. Professional distance. Definitely-not-just-marking-this-woman's-neck distance. Definitely-not-just-whispering-dirty-things-in-her-ear distance.
"It does look incredible," I agree, smiling at the owner with what I hope is an innocent expression. "Actually, I was wondering—do you have this style in all colors? In stock, I mean?"
The owner's eyes light up—the look of a small business owner who's just realized she's about to make an excellent sale. "Oh, yes! It would just take some time to find the inventory codes, and I'll need to step out to grab them from our sister store down the street." She considers for a moment. "Fifteen minutes at best."
"No rush at all," I say, keeping my voice casual. Easy. "Take your time. We're not in a hurry." I pause, meeting her eyes with what I hope reads as genuine gratitude. "But I want every color for my Omega."
My Omega. The words feel right in a way they shouldn't. Not for a temporary arrangement. Not for a woman I've known for less than a day. But they slip out naturally, like I've been saying them my whole life.
The owner nods happily, already moving toward the door. "I'll get right to it! Be right back, dears."
The little bell above the shop door chimes as she exits, and suddenly we're alone. Just me and Rosemarie and the thick tension still hanging between us. Just two people playing a game neither of us expected to start, in a changing room that suddenly feels very small and very private.
Fifteen minutes. The owner said fifteen minutes. That's a lot of time. That's enough time for...
No. Don't think about it. Don't let your mind go there.
I turn back to her, gesturing at the changing room. "You should go change. Unless you want to keep standing there looking devastatingly beautiful."
She huffs—but there's heat in her eyes as she walks toward the changing room. Heat and challenge and something that looks a lot like anticipation. Something that tells me the game between us isn't over—it's just entering a new phase.
She pauses at the doorway, looking back at me over her shoulder with an expression that makes my blood run hot.
