Page 37 of Abel's Omega
His leg. “Let me help with that.”
What started as simple first aid turned into an act of seduction. My fingers traced the hard muscles of his thighs, muscles I distinctly remembered shoving my legs wide at the top of the Eiffel Tower two days ago. He remembered it too, evidently. His hand curled around the back of my neck, and as soon as I’d taped down the end of the bandage, I was dragged up to his mouth, forced against the hard planes of his body as he shoved me against the wall.
“Naked. Now,” he panted in my ear when we came up for air. I shoved my pants down while he ripped my shirt open, and then his mouth was on me, all over me, and the heat of his skin set me on fire.
It was like being a teenager again, and though my season had been suppressed by Noah’s suckling, a different kind of heat flowed through my veins. The book fell over the side of the tub as I ran my hand down the inside of my thigh, then up the back again, the slightest touch setting my skin on fire with need. It had been too long since I’d been touched without the pollution of Patrick’s demands, and I lost myself, my legs spreading wide as my hands wandered willfully about places I’d forgotten could feel good. My now free hand slid down the center of my chest to my omega line, teasing along it, enjoying the build-up while my cock begged.
My legs moved restlessly, and my desire built. I left off playing along my line and grabbed my cock, trailing fingertips up and down, seeking out the best places to set off that explosion I so desperately needed. My other hand moved farther, fingers skating over the curve of my ass. Something inside me would feel good. I squeezed my cock and stroked up and down, then reached farther, toward my center and that emptiness I needed filled.
“Fuck, you’re a randy slut.” Patrick’s voice rang in my ears. The memory flashed in front of me, blocking out everything, sight, sound, touch. I’d been in the bath, early in our mating. Patrick had said he’d be late, only he hadn’t, and he’d caught me, there, in the bathtub.
I sat up in a rush, water splashing over the edge of the tub, my sobs echoing off the tiled walls. I didn’t want to remember that. This place didn’t deserve to be poisoned with those memories.
Fuck you, Patrick. I’m glad you’re dead.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Just after eleven-thirty, Abel got the message from the gates that Laine had arrived. He called everyone planning to be at the meeting, then sat back to wait. An echo of puppy laughter seeped through the door—Bax and his family. The elevator hissed, and the happy sounds disappeared. Abel wished he could go with them.
A few minutes later, Mac knocked politely at the door to the office, waiting for Abel to let him in.
Abel walked over and opened the door. “Morning. You really should have a set of master keys just for yourself.”
“Good morning.” Mac sidled into the room, carrying a stack of cardboard boxes from which drifted the savory smells of Sabrina’s cooking. “I stopped by the restaurant on the way here. Mini pizza, garlic bread, trifle, cookies. She set us up for the whole afternoon, except for drinks.”
“I’ve got that covered.” Abel helped him set everything out on the table in the meeting room on the opposite side of Louise’s office from his own. “Did you tell her to bill it to the pack?”
“Of course.” Mac grabbed a cookie and fell into one of the chairs. “I can’t afford this kind of spread.”
“You won’t be living on one income for long. And there’s the supplement.” It was small, but the pack helped out where it could when a member was unable to work. Between that, and the government stipend that the packs had won from the government back in the days of the Enclosure, they wouldn’t starve.
Mac nodded indifferently.
Another knock heralded Duke’s and Garrick’s arrival. Garrick set a suitcase and another, smaller, bag against one wall, and Abel was reminded that Garrick was going to spend a week with Laine.
“Teddy’s bringing him up,” Duke said. “Oh, good. Food.” He slid a pizza, no bigger than his palm, off the tray they’d been arranged on and shoved half of it in his mouth. “I’m tired of cooking for myself,” he mumbled. “What do you think of me moving back to the barracks?”
“I think you’d terrify the kids,” Mac said dryly.
“I know he would,” Garrick chimed in. “He scares the crap out of me all the time.”
Duke narrowed his eyes at Garrick. “You don’t sound scared now.”
“Abel’s here,” Garrick said primly and moved to sit on the opposite side of the table.
Abel suppressed a snort, but Mac wasn’t so polite, cracking a laugh and saying, “Besides, we all know you’re a marshmallow.”
Duke grinned, and snagged another pizza. “Yeah, about to set your hair on fire.”
They laughed, and Abel crooked his finger at Garrick to help him set up the drinks.
By the time Teddy delivered Laine to the conference room, they had everyone set up with food, something to drink, paper and pens.
“Laine, welcome.” Abel shook his hand and ushered him to a seat at the table. Garrick passed him a cup of coffee, and they got down to work.
Hours passed. The food was all gone, drinks refreshed several times over. Abel sat back and scratched absently at the corner of his jaw, his eyes fixed on the close-written lines on the pad of paper in front of him. “All right. So I call the police and ask why no charges have been filed.”
“Have Garrick type this all up,” Laine said. “Send it to them. Put my name on it as added assurance. I’m sure they’ll say that they’re working on it, but this will ensure that something actually gets done. And in the meantime, Garrick can request, in my name, the record of the investigation, and we’ll use that to set up a civil suit against the Montana Border pack.”
