Nora gives Francine one last, lingering hug before scampering off, her footsteps thundering up the stairs as she shouts for Elias.
And suddenly it’s just the two of us, the air between us thick with unspoken tension. Francine remains seated on the floor beside the coffee table, looking small and uncertain. I extend my hand to help her up without thinking.
She hesitates for a moment before placing her hand in mine. Her fingers are slender, cool to the touch, and soft against my calloused palm. The moment we connect, a current of electricity shoots up my arm, making the hair at the nape of my neck stand on end. Her touch ignites something primal in me, something I’ve been fighting since the moment I first scented her.
She stands before me, and she’s close enough that I can catch the faint hint of cherry blossoms that escapes her scent blockers.
Francine seems to sense the change in me, her pupils dilating slightly as she takes a small step backward, her hand slipping from mine. She tucks a strand of red hair behind her ear, a nervous gesture that emphasizes the elegant line of her neck.
That would be the exact spot that I would mark her if she were mine.
“What’s the dinner for?” she asks, her voice barely above a whisper.
“It’s an appreciation dinner,” I say, the lie coming easily. “For helping with Nora. I can see she’s already quite attached to you.”
Francine nods, not looking entirely convinced. “That’s very kind of you. But it’s really not necessary. I’m just doing my job.”
“I insist,” I say, my voice firmer than intended. I soften my tone. “Please. It would mean a lot to me. Consider it an apology for what happened today.”
She pauses, studying my face for a few seconds. “Alright. When should I be ready?”
The restaurant is filled with the sounds of clinking crystal and elegant music playing over the speakers. Francine sits across from me, looking nervous and also very elegant. Her fork movesin small, precise bites as she samples the beef carpaccio with truffle aioli and microgreens.
The black dress she wears clings to her curves, making my mouth go dry. It’s clearly a bit too small for her now, the fabric stretched tight across her breasts, revealing the delicate swell of her cleavage. The sight is making it nearly impossible to concentrate on anything else.
I take a deep gulp of water, trying to cool the heat that’s been building inside me since we drove here. My cock has been fully hard the entire time, throbbing persistently beneath the table.
I imagine buying proper dresses that fit her perfectly, silks and cashmeres that would look sublime on her figure. Taking her to exclusive shops where she could try on anything that caught her eye. Watching her face light up with delight as she twirled in front of mirrors. Once she’s our omega, I’ll make sure she wants for nothing.
The thought jolts me. Our omega. Not if, butwhen. Somehow, in the span of hours, I’ve gone from resisting the idea to planning for it. My wolf is glowing at the thought of claiming her, marking her, making her ours.
My breathing quickens, and I force myself to look away from her, to gain some distance from the intoxicating pull she has on me.
“Is everything alright?” Francine asks, her voice cutting through my spiraling thoughts. “You seem... tense.”
“Just got lost in thought,” I say, my voice hoarse. “Everything’s fine.”
She nods, taking another delicate bite of her food. A small drop of the truffle aioli clings to her lower lip, and I watch, transfixed, as her tongue darts out to capture it. The innocent gesture sends another jolt of desire straight to my groin.
This is torture.
“Can I ask you something?” she says after a moment of silence, setting down her fork.
“Of course,” I reply, grateful for the distraction.
“Nora told me about your parents today,” she says softly, her eyes gentle with empathy. “About the fire.”
My entire body goes rigid at the unexpected topic.
“What about it?” My voice comes out cold, defensive.
She blinks, clearly surprised by my reaction. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry. It’s just... she mentioned it during homework, and I wanted to express my condolences. It must have been incredibly difficult.”
“What exactly did she tell you?” I say, setting my fork down.
Francine’s eyes widen slightly at my tone. “Just that your parents died in a fire at their workplace. She brought it up when we were discussing families in her homework.”
My jaw clenches involuntarily. The memory of that day and the frantic calls, the sirens, the charred remains of the building where my parents and multiple others perished is still raw, even years later.
