Page 76 of Bliss & Her Idols

Or possibly, have been waiting for it.

Vanilla tea.

I’m in paradise.

Maybe I’ve died.

I purr, snuggling my face against something soft that smells even more strongly of vanilla tea.

Slick drips between my thighs.

I’m soaking.

Shocked out of my daze, as if by the strength of the new scent alone, I suddenly remember meeting the crow-black haired Alpha, the Betas of Rock concert, the way that Jin dedicated his song to Cricket and me, before my unexpected heat engulfed me.

My eyes snap open in shock. My purring breaks off.

Jin ruined his most important show for me.

Is the singer in danger now?

Where the hell am I?

I’m lying face down on a pillow of the soft bed. My cheek and nose is pressed against an Ice Dragon t-shirt.

I scrunch up my nose.

This t-shirt is where the delicious tea smell is coming from.

My eyes widen.

It’s Tor’s shirt.

I reel onto my back to find Cricket lying next to me on this small bed, which has been heaped with glitzy silver and blue cushions, blankets, and satin and silk clothes that have been stacked into a nest around me.

No one has built me a nest before.

Cricket rests his hand reassuringly on my arm. “You’re breathing very fast. Do you want me to get you some water?”

“Where am I?” My gaze settles on Cricket.

He’s stripped to only his leather pants. His hair is tousled over his eyes.

He’s added his punky top to the nest, and it calms the panic in me that Cricket must have helped to create this nest.

“We’re in Jin’s hotel room.” Cricket’s eyes are lit with excitement. “Look, that’s his handwritten setlist. I mean, he’s messier than I imagined. Plus, I thought that he would have a bigger and more luxurious room. But nobody has this type of access.”

I can’t tell if he’s talking as a fan, undercover journalist, or about our mission.

Yet he’s right about all of it.

I push my damp hair out of my eyes.

I’m lying, still dressed, on the top of the bed in Jin’s hotel room.

The room is small but clean with artistic black and white prints of guitars hanging on the walls. Fresh vases of roses are the only bright spots between the monochrome wardrobe, chest of drawers, couch, and carpet.

Empty mugs and water bottles, along with sheets of music and scribbled notes litter the floor. A battered suitcase rests against the far wall.

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