Which is a blessing, if I’m honest. Otherwise I would be a complete mess right now.
Tristan squeezes my hand when one omega practically climbs Grieves, and I squeeze back, grounding myself in the familiar pressure. He leans in close and mutters somethingsnide under his breath that almost makes me laugh, and for a second it’s just us again.
Then Cleo calls my name, quiet enough the pack shouldn’t hear.
“Florence.”
The sound hits me square in the chest.
My stomach drops, a strange mix of nerves and resignation washing through me. Of course it’s my turn. Of course there’s no skipping this. Tristan squeezes my hands as I step away from him, my fingers numb as I move forward.
I tell myself it doesn’t matter.
I’ve already been told how this ends. This is just another performance. Another thing to get through.
Still, my pulse skitters when I climb onto the box in front of Grieves, when I’m suddenly close enough to see the faint rise and fall of his chest, close enough to smell soap and skin and something metallic beneath it.
There’s something very strange about this setup. About approaching blindfolded men and kissing them. It's not anything I ever thought I would do. Of course it isn’t. This isn’t high school and this isn’tThe Kissing Booth.
And yet here I am, stepping up onto a box to be able to reach Grieves better, to put my mouth closer to his. He stiffens at the first brush of my hand on his chest, then lets out this little… sigh. Some of the tension in his shoulders melts, as though having a bunch of omegas kiss him has been difficult for him.
And maybe it has been.
I don’t want to make it worse.
So when I press my mouth to his, I mean for it to be quick. I know it won’t score me many points, but I also kind of hate the idea of having any first kiss be…this. In front of a million people, recorded and shared. So I’ll take the comments about me being acold fish, a frigid bitch, a prude over mauling these men, forcing something on them that I’m not sure they want.
I have the best of intentions, I really do. But as soon as our mouths touch there’s this shock, this pulse that runs through me. And I can’t help but press a little closer. His mouth parts under mine, with no urging at all, and then our tongues are brushing and my mind is spinning.
I’m vaguely aware he hasn’t touched me yet. They aren’t really supposed to. This is about the omegas impressing them, maybe trying to trick them into thinking they’re an omega that they want, that they can bond with.
He tilts his head, trying to get a better angle, but it must not work, because he lets out a growl and his hand comes up to slide into the hair at the base of my skull, tugging and pulling until he has me positioned like he wants. My fingers dig into his flesh.
Someone clears their throat pointedly and then he’s pulling back, pushing me away at the same time and I blink up at his blindfolded face, seeing the mask slip back into place, and feeling cold in its wake, where I’d just felt so hot.
I swallow and wipe the back of my hand over my lips, trying to hide my hurt as I move to Forsythe. His nostrils flare as I get close to him, his jaw ticking with tension. My fingers stroke over the twitching muscle as I press up to my toes and brush my lips over his.
He doesn’t want this.
He doesn’t want me. And I will not force it on him.
I’m pulling back, readying to move on to Thayer, when his hand presses between my shoulder blades dragging me closer. It's not the same kiss as we shared before. It's quieter, softer, meant more for show than anything else. Our lips part briefly, tongues touching. It feels a little like an apology, which is a strange thing to think of a kiss.
Before his hand curls around my shoulder and does the same thing Grieves did, pushes me away from him, even though he’s the one that pulled me closer.
It's fine,I tell myself.It's good even. A reminder. An important one.
I’m determined to kiss Thayer quickly. To not give him the chance to try to take it deeper. I can’t take the moment where he pushes me away, like Grieves and Forsythe did. So I’ll do it first.
He doesn’t give me the chance. As soon as I’m steady on the box, one hand resting lightly on his bare shoulder, he loops an arm around me tugging me tight to his body as his mouth descends on mine and he kisses me. Not the other way around.
He kisses me like a man feasting. Like he’s been starving for a taste of me, and now he never wants to stop.
I never want to stop.
My toes curl into the top of the box, my hands sweep over his shoulders, tangle in his hair. And he does the same to me, stroking the bare skin of my stomach, dipping under the band of my crop top.
I whine.
