With trembling hands, I piece through the remnants of my clothes until I find my wallet. Tucked safely within it is a folded tissue with a single precious pill at its center.
There’s a cup by the coffee maker in the kitchenette, and I splash water into it. But as I settle the pill in my palm, nausea ripples through me.
I can’t ignore the pattern anymore.
Why is my body intent on betraying me now, of all times?
I take a few deep breaths, stretching the exhale twice as long as the inhale. My nervous system calms. I keep my thoughts placid as I swallow the pill, breathing deeply until the nausea subsides.
Warm hands wrap my waist, and I startle, pulling away.
God, I forget every time just how tall she is; my eyes are at the level of her breasts, bare and round and perfect. Last night, they were so soft against my palms…
I force my eyes upward to her quirked brow and growing smirk.
“Tch.” I twist away, staring at the countertops even as my cheeks heat.
Christine reaches around me, slotting a pod into the coffee machine and hitting the button to start it.
Her smell washes over my nose, like a peaceful morning after fresh rainfall.
She places a leather-bound menu in my hands. “Pick something for breakfast.”
I drop the menu on the counter. “I’ll eat on set.”
She picks it up again, holding it in front of me, and leans toward my ear. “Pick. Something. For. Breakfast.” Alpha command laces her words, softer than a bark but more insidious, sliding under my defenses. It winds its way down my spine, curling around my bones, and I take the menu from her hands, flipping it open.
She steps back, and I’d drop the menu again if not for my stomach growling. My accumulated hunger from the past few days hits me all at once, and I ignore the sneaking suspicion that it’s because her presence puts my omega instincts at ease.
Fine. Whatever. If I’m going to eat on her tab, I’m going to eat well. I skip down to the most expensive options on the menu.
“I want the smoked salmon and avocado bagel,” I say, “and the truffle omelette, and…” I rattle off dish after dish, some recognizable with a pretentious twist and others nigh unpronounceable. By the time I finish off with a farm-to-table multigrain protein bowl, I’ve totally lost track of what I ordered.
I expect Christine to coolly ignore what I said, or even get annoyed, but she heads over to the phone by the bed and repeats every item verbatim.
My omega instincts soften, and I brush them aside with a huff. Actors have to learn lines quickly; it’s a skill that benefits her, nothing more.
I loiter at the kitchenette, keeping my eyes down as Christine reaches around me again, fetching her coffee. Even though I’venever really cared for the stuff, I make a cup for myself, just to have something to do with my hands.
I dump an embarrassing amount of cream and sugar into it, then take a tentative sip. As I turn back toward the rest of the suite, it sputters from my mouth.
Christine drapes along an armchair, naked and glorious in the cool morning sun. Her hair shines like spun silver, and curves and muscles ripple down her length. Those piercing blue eyes flick to mine above another smirk on her pink lips.
It is…entirelyunfair how hot she is, and absolutelyinsufferablethat she knows it.
I yank a different chair over to the window, plop down into it, face away from her, and sip at the over-sweet coffee I barely taste while staring at the harbor vista I barely see.
Room service arrives a few minutes later, and I stay in my chair as Christine slips on a robe and receives the food.
Once the door is shut, I venture from my chair. Her robe is tied, but as she leans over the luxurious food cart, the deep V falls open and reveals the inner swells of her breasts.
I snatch up a plate bearing an overly fancy slice of toast piled with a rainbow of toppings and drizzled with a light, creamy sauce, and take it to the table.
I intend to eat quickly and get this over with so we can return to set, but the melody of flavors unfolding across my tongue stops me short.
Fuck, this is good.
Alphas and omegas tend to have heightened senses, and I’d always considered that a liability as I choked down freezer-burnt pizza and stale gas station sandwiches.
