Page 53 of Your Wild Omega

“There will be,” Rickon promises. “Valencio keeps the filming areas locked down tight, so the paparazzi won’t have any photos of Zack yet. But now the first exposé on you is out, other magazines will pick it up with a flourish and they’ll all be trying to discover something new.” He grins up at me, balancing my foot on his knee. “And they’ll get everything they want tonight.”

Excitement sparks through me as I glance over at the suit on a hanger, Rickon’s handiwork gleaming on the pearlescent vestthat matches my dress. It stands out against the charcoal shirt he’s chosen for Zack. For himself, he’s reversed the colors, going for a pearl-pink shirt and a glittery black vest. I can’t wait to see the three of us dressed up to the nines.

The doorbell rings to announce the masseuse at ten o’clock on the dot, which prompts Zack to wander downstairs, stark naked, to see what the noise is all about. Agent Josef scrambles down to the first floor after him when he hears Zack’s incensed growl.

My alpha gazes at the satin lump on my head but quickly switches his focus to the stranger at the door.

“Ah, hi,” the man offers, balancing a large case as he switches from foot to foot nervously. “Is there a problem?”

“No problem,” Rickon says, bubbling with enthusiasm as he ushers the stranger into the library-turned-cage-turned-beauty-room. “Don’t worry about him, he’s just a little sensitive.”

I head over to Zack and pull his head down onto my shoulder. “It’s okay, alpha,” I croon. “He’s here to give us massages. He’s going to run his hands over me.” I stroke up and down his back, marveling at the muscles beneath his skin. He doesn’t even exercise like a regular gym junkie . . . although he’s forever carrying me and Rickon around at home.

I smother my smile in his stiff hair. “Do you think you can handle that just for today? Or do I have to put the collar on?”

He jolts, and I’m pretty sure he knows exactly what I’m saying. Slowly he shakes his head, scratching my shoulder with his prickly beard. His grip tightens. “Mine.”

“Yes, Zack, I’m yours. The man’s just going to touch a little. You can watch, but you can’t growl at him.”

He huffs out an unhappy breath, clearly sulking. Even this moodiness is delightful, because it means he’s expressing himself which is far better than attacking people.

“Zack?” I say, teasing my fingers towards his ribs. “Do I need to get the collar?”

He reaches for my wrists and traps them in his strong grip. Who am I kidding here? Zack’s the one holding my leash.

“No,” he murmurs, leaning into me for more body contact.

I chuckle and press kisses down the side of his neck. “Okay, good. Are you hungry?”

He humphs under his breath and lifts his head off my shoulder. “Eat.”

I rise on my tiptoes to kiss his cheek, then pull free. “I’m amazed by how fast you’re learning,” I tell him as I head into the kitchen. While I pull a bowl from the top shelf, I keep one ear cocked toward the other room where Rickon and the masseur set up. “One day we’ll have a conversation about this, and you’ll tell me how you felt about wearing a collar and having me lead you around.”

I pour cereal into a bowl and splash in the milk and some yogurt.

Zack slides into the table, used to this routine. When I put the bowl in front of him, he catches my dressing gown in his fist and pulls me into his chest. I fall with a laugh.

“Mine. Yes,” he says breathily, sending tingles flushing through my chest.

“Of course, and you’re mine too.”

He tugs my mouth to his and kisses me hard. When his hand wanders up under my bathrobe, I push him away.

“No, not now,” I tell him firmly.

He tilts his head, eyes shuttering. “Ask.”

My alpha’s hard to resist, but once we get started he can go for hours, and we don’t have time today. I shake my head and hold up my hand, pulling back from him. “No. Later. If you behave.”

He stares at me, then releases his grip. “Later.” That’s a word he understands well. Hopefully the rest of the day will go just as smoothly.

I thought superstars riding in limos to red carpet events was completely gratuitous but given how much space my dress takes up, it seems I was wrong. This skirt barely fit in the car when I visited Sorentito’s, so it’s a relief to spread out in the luxury transport Rickon booked for tonight.

“I feel like a peacock,” I whisper, barely touching my fingers to the pearl and cubic zirconia arrangement Rickon’s pinned to the side of my head. Long tufts rise high above my hair, waving softly with each of my movements like underwater fronds.

Rickon traps my hand, tugging it away from my hair. He grins as he says, “But you’ll be the most beautiful peacock on the carpet.”

I chuckle, the kink of nerves in my belly evaporating.

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