In the viewing room, the fog machine hisses to life without warning, the house obviously uncomfortable with whatever is happening between us right now. We both jump like we’ve been electrocuted as a large plume of mist rolls across the hardwood floor, curling around our ankles like an overcommitted ghost from a community theater production.
Ember snorts, like actually snorts. Like a freaking pig. It’s extremely unflattering and crashes the spell he held over me.
I exhale shakily and cling to my professionalism like a life raft.
“We have a wishful lighthouse keeper to put to rest today,” I say briskly, gathering the pamphlets littering the floor with unnecessary aggression.
“No,” he says, and my spine straightens immediately. “You can’t run your business like this.”
Excuse the fuck out of me?
“Yes, I can,” I say way too defensively for someone currently sweating through their shirt. “I can,” I try again as slick gathers between my cheeks.
He steps closer, closing the small distance between us in two steps. I sway toward him, getting lightheaded from his close proximity. This is humiliating and yet not enough.
“Habibi,” he murmurs, lifting a hand to brush my cheek.
I hum and lean into his touch. My omega purrs, loving the contact from our alpha. His hand slides to lightly grab my throat, his fingers rubbing soothing circles over my scent gland.The contact sends a shock through me, temporarily sending my brain on vacation. My hands move on their own to rest on his broad chest, rubbing the muscles like they’re my own personal stress relief toys.
“I have to work,” I whine weakly. “There are rope nets. And… and a fog machine.”
“I can manage it by myself today,” he says calmly and full of authority. There’s no questioning him. “No one will know I’ve never worked a lighthouse keeper's funeral before.”
What he said isn’t funny, but I’m on the edge of laughing. I bite my cheek, hard, to contain the hysteria bubbling up in my chest.
“You’re burning up,” he says, voice a quiet rumble. “Did you take your heat suppressants today?”
My omega hums, pleased with his attention.
“Mhm,” I hum in answer.
His hands shift, framing my face. I want to rub myself all over him. I want to mark him with my scent. I want him to mark me with his scent. I want us naked and scenting and naked. I want to sit on his cock and ride him to the finish line.
Maybe he has a point about me not working today’s service.
“You can’t stay down here,” he continues, voice tightening. “Not like this. No one but me should see you like this.”
The words are heavy, laden with protectiveness and possessiveness. My heart does a little flip in my chest and then beats double time. My hands slide up his chest, past his shoulders, and gather at the base of his neck to tangle in his hair.He resists when I pull on him. Why am I pulling on him, you ask? I don’t fucking know, but Ineed.
“I can handle this. Go upstairs. Take your heat suppressants. Let it pass.” There’s no teasing in his voice. No arrogance. Just a strong alpha bark telling me what to do. His eyes convey his reassurance that he has everything handled, and gods help me, I want to let him handle it.
“I don’t know…” I try, trailing off when his thumb brushes my lip distractingly.
We should totally cancel the funeral and work through this heat together.
“Trust me,” he whispers, and my breath catches at his earnestness.
He really wants to help me today. Who am I to get in the way of a strong, handsome alpha wanting to care for a struggling omega? I trust him. I don’t know if I should, but I do.
The fog machine hisses again, reminding me that I need to get upstairs and away from the public area of the house. I glance toward the viewing room, at the rope nets and the ship wheel leaning precariously against the podium, before looking back at the big alpha in front of me.
Hehasbeen helping me a ton. He knows the flow and how everything works. So, technically, he should be able to run a service on his own. And, I can’t stay down here much longer without ruining mine and everyone else’s day by dropping to all fours and presenting myself to anyone in a twenty-foot radius.
“Fine,” I say stiffly, “but if anything goes wrong…”
“It won’t,” he cuts me off with a reassuring smirk. His lips are plump and the slightest bit moist.
Before I can do something I’ll regret later, I turn and head for the stairs, keeping what little dignity I have left safe. Each step feels heavy, like I’m wearing cinderblock shoes, and by the time I’m halfway up, I’m sweating and out of breath.
