The curtain rustles again, parting with a velvet sigh, and Elias steps in, his presence expanding the room even as it shrinks around us. His warm blue eyes darken to cobalt depths, scanning me with an intensity that sends a shiver racing down my spine. At 6'1", he's all approachable strength—athletic build honed from firefighting drills, sun-light brown hair tousled as if windswept from a rescue, his henley clinging to broad shoulders, sleeves rolled to expose forearms veined like rivers on a map. Worn jeans hug his thighs, and those boots, scuffed from real life, ground him in small-town authenticity. But it's his scent that hits hardest: bergamot slicing bright and citrusy through the lavender veil, sage anchoring it with herbal earthiness, ginger adding a zesty spark that makes my mouth water, as if he's bottled summer storms and cozy hearths in one.
He doesn't rush words; instead, he closes the gap, heat radiating from his body like a banked fire, his fingers brushing my arms lightly, raising gooseflesh in their wake.
"You know," he murmurs, voice a gravelly timbre that vibrates through me, "for an Omega who swears she's not rebellious, you sure know how to fling a challenge like it's confetti at a parade."
I pivot slightly, hands planting on my hips, the dress's hem flaring with the motion. "Challenge? That's me testing if yourbark has any bite, Chief. All that chatter about stripping lacy numbers, yet here I stand, fully zipped. Disappointing, really—like a fire alarm with no blaze."
His chuckle rolls low, eyes sparkling with that sunshine Alpha energy, but edged with something hungrier.
"Disappointing? Oh, Sweet Rebel—wait, no, after that bite earlier, maybe Sweet Vixen fits better. Consider your test aced." He spins me gently to face the mirror again, his reflection looming behind mine like a protective shadow with mischievous intent, our forms interlocking in the glass—my sleek curves against his solid frame.
His hands settle on my shoulders, thumbs tracing the phoenix tattoo peeking from under the dress's edge, its fiery wings inked in vivid reds and blacks, a testament to rising from the ruins of my past. Then, fingers find the zipper's tab at my nape, tugging it downward with excruciating deliberation. The metallic whisper fills the air, each tooth separating like a slow unveiling of secrets, cool boutique air kissing newly exposed skin—my back's smooth expanse, the subtle ridge of spine, the dip toward my waist where muscles speak of hidden strength from long walks and quiet workouts.
But he doesn't stop at unzipping. His mouth descends, hot and insistent, pressing to the curve of my shoulder blade. A suck, teeth grazing just enough to sting sweetly, drawing a hickey to life—a blooming nebula of red against my olive-toned skin.
I quiver, a full-body tremor that has my core clenching, slick beginning to gather as my scent sharpens: cinnamon sugar turning to spiced caramel, roasted coffee beans deepening to something almost smoky, dark vanilla curling like tendrils of night-blooming jasmine.
"Jealous as all hell that Tank snagged first taste of this pretty diamond," he whispers, breath taunting my flesh like a feather's ghost, hot and teasing as he layers another hickey lower, alongthe sweep of my ribs. "Glowing under these lights, all curves and fire. But no damn way I'm letting this opportunity slip—like missing the last ladder truck out of the station."
His body presses closer, the hard bulge in his jeans grinding against my side, a rigid heat that promises everything, making my knees soften. The zipper continues its descent, lower and lower, the sound a torturous symphony echoing off the wood panels, amplified in this cocoon. My reflection shows it all: cheeks flushed rose-pink, lips parted on a silent gasp, eyes hooded with want as his free hand traces the emerging ink—butterflies scattering like freed spirits.
The tab hits bottom with a final, soft click, the dress loosening like shedding inhibitions. I let it cascade, fabric whispering down my legs to pool at my feet in a burgundy heap, revealing... utter nakedness. No bra's lace restraint, no panties' silk barrier—just me, bared under the warm bulb's glow, skin prickling with exposure, nipples tightening in the air, slick glistening subtly between thighs.
Elias's purr rumbles through his chest, vibrating against my back as his eyes devour the mirror's view, hands hovering before claiming. "Holy hell," he breathes, voice thick with appreciation, scent flaring—bergamot brightening to citrus fire, ginger spiking sharp. "No barriers? You're a vision. But we need to amend that shopping list—lingerie, stat. Nice lacy numbers to accent this perky ass..." His palms cup my cheeks, squeezing with firm reverence, thumbs tracing the curve where thigh meets glute, sending jolts straight to my center.
"...and these small, perky breasts." Hands glide upward, fondling with expert care, rolling nipples between fingers until they ache deliciously, peaks hardening like diamonds under his touch.
Embarrassment wars with boldness, heat flooding my face, but I won't yield without sparring.
"Perky? That's your killer line?" I bicker, voice breathy yet laced with sass, arching into his grasp despite myself. "You alphas and your one-track minds—must be all that adrenaline from charging into flames. Try poetic, or is 'perky' the height of your rom-com vocabulary?"
He grins in the reflection, eyes twinkling as he pinches lightly, eliciting a gasp.
"Poetic? Alright, Vixen—these are like ripe berries begging for a taste, firm and sweet under my palms. Better? Or should I demonstrate?"
The banter sparks like flint on steel, cozy and fun, rom-com light amid the building heat.
But he silences my retort with a kiss, spinning me to face him, lips crashing down in a claim that's all fire and finesse—tongue delving, tasting of ginger-spiced warmth, his sage grounding the frenzy. I lean deeper, body molding to his, his bulge taunting my stomach and hips with insistent grinds, fabric rough against bare skin, sending electric pulses through me.
Breaking for air, he mutters against my swollen lips, "Time's ticking—owner's back in fifteen. What if I fuck you impatiently, raw like the need clawing at me, and reserve the slow, teasing unravel for a candlelit date night?"
The words ignite me, core throbbing. I groan, hands fisting his henley.
"Yes—fine by me. I'm soaked, horny as sin; can't tease myself longer without snapping."
He chuckles, that sunny rumble twisting darker.
"Oh, really? Let's verify." His hand snakes down, fingers parting my folds with ease, dipping into slick that's abundant, warm. I whimper, hips bucking as he gathers it, then lifts to his mouth, licking with a groan of pure bliss. "Like nectar—spiced vanilla heaven. Nice and wet for my hard cock, hmm? Primed and greedy."
The deliberate languor as he unzips his jeans is exquisite agony—the zipper's teeth parting one by one, the sound a prolonged tease in the hushed room. I'm still reeling from the kiss, breath ragged, scent blooming to addictive heights: amber warming to molten gold, cinnamon a fiery thread. He frees himself, thick and ready, spins me back around to face the mirror, gathering more slick on his shaft before aligning and sliding home in one fluid thrust.
Relief floods us both—my walls clenching around him, his groan deep and satisfied.
"Fuck, so tight," he growls, hands gripping my hips, pinning me forward until my palms splay against the mirror's cool surface, fogging slightly with our heated breaths.
The position is intimate voyeurism: reflection capturing every nuance—my breasts swaying with his rhythm, his expression fierce and adoring as he begins to move, hard and deep, each thrust a punctuation of possession.
"This view... you in the glass, body arching like art," he praises, voice strained. "Perfect dessert—curves shimmering, eyes all molten gold. I'd devour you endlessly."
