She responds with her tongue, engaging me in a passionate embrace that has me lifting her into the air and carrying her into the bathroom.
It smells like honeyed chocolate in here, topped with a hint of cherries, telling me she and Laz must have played in the shower at some point.
That’s fine.
I’m about to add my own scent to the mix.
Lark’s mouth explores the stubble on my jaw before going to my neck as I pause at the bathtub to flip it on. Then I continue on to the shower so we can rinse off first.
Because I am not getting in a tub while covered in Noah’s version of a claim.
Warm water rains down on our heads, causing Lark to bend back and catch some in her mouth. “Thirsty, sweetheart?” I ask her.
She smiles. “I’m starving, actually.” Then she grabs my head and pulls me in for a hungry kiss, one that has my knot throbbing against her.
“Fuck,” I breathe.
She hums in response, her fingers threading through my hair to keep me close. Her thighs tighten, too, like she’s afraid I might set her down. I press her up against the wall instead, my dick gliding through her slick cunt and tempting me to slip inside.
I don’t.
I won’t.
I can’t.
But if she asks me to… I might.
Noah will be pissed. However, he’ll understand.
Saying no to our omega isn’t an option. She owns us in a way no one else ever will. When she realizes that, she’s going to comprehend what it means to be our mafia queen.
Her tongue skates along my bottom lip, her legs clamping down once more. “I feel so alive,” she whispers. “Yet lost.”
“Lost how?” I ask, holding her hips.
“This isn’t what I wanted,” she says, causing me to frown.
“Do you want me to stop?” I pull back so I can stare into her eyes. “Because I will, Lark. Just tell me.”
“No.” The answer is emphatic. Immediate. “No, that’s not what I mean. I… I want what Lazarus has said to be true. But you all left. I wasn’t included. I didn’t know where you went. You didn’t respond to me. And I… I can’t live like that.”
I study her, my mind sifting through each of her statements. I’ve more than gathered that she’s afraid of being a traditional mafia wife—only included when the don’s pack needs her for something sensual.
But that’s not us.
Except our actions the last few days suggest otherwise.
I know Laz explained this to her, told her that she’s not part of our pack yet. However, I disagree. She’s ours. We all know it. Even her.
We just have to embrace it.
Move forward.
Become a unit.
And communicate properly.
“I’m going to be very honest with you, Lark,” I tell her, my eyes holding hers.
