Page 61 of Heat Clickbait
"Now," she demanded, tilting her head to bare her neck in unmistakable invitation. Her voice was rough, her scent thick with determination. "While I’mchoosingyou. While you’re choosing me.Now, Nova."
I didn’t hesitate. I sank my teeth into the tender skin of her neck, right over her gland, and the bond snapped into place like a contract signed in blood, irrevocable, binding,perfect. The sensation of it was overwhelming, a flood of warmth andrightnessthat nearly knocked the breath from my lungs.
Her reciprocal bite came seconds later, her teeth piercing my skin with a precision that would’ve made me proud if I hadn’t been too busy drowning in the sensation of her, her body, her scent, theherof her, now woven into the fabric of my existence.
I came with a groan, my release triggering another wave of pleasure in her, our bodies locked together as the bond settled between us. When we finally stilled, our breaths ragged and synchronized, I couldfeelher. Not just the physical echoes of her pleasure, but the emotional weight of it, her contentment, thick and golden, laced with a thread of determination and just a hint of mischief, like she was already plotting something.
I pulled back just enough to press my forehead to hers, cataloguing the way her lashes fluttered against her cheeks, the way her lips were still parted from her heavy breathing. "You’remine," I murmured, more to myself than to her.
Her laugh was soft, breathless. "And you’remine, Nova James Masters. Don’t think I’ll let you forget it."
"You're already planning how to announce this, aren't you?" she asked against my neck.
"I have seventeen different PR strategies depending on various factors."
Her laugh vibrated through our new bond, and I catalogued that sensation too, filing it under "moments of perfection" in my mental database.
"Never change," she murmured, pressing a kiss to her bite mark on my neck.
"I'll change exactly as much as optimizes our mutual happiness," I corrected, helping her down from the desk and already calculating how long before the others noticed our new bonds.
Approximately twelve minutes, as it turned out. But that was fine. I'd planned for that too.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Callie
I sat across from Michelle in the living room, watching her scroll through her tablet with the kind of focused intensity that meant she was avoiding something important. Her manicured fingers moved in sharp, precise swipes, each motion betraying the restless energy she tried so hard to keep contained. The pack had gone live twenty minutes ago from Ghost's streaming room, their voices carrying faintly through the walls as they played some horror game that involved a lot of Crash screaming, Nova's dry commentary cutting through the chaos, and what sounded like Milo trying to offer emotional support to pixelated characters.
"Viewer count's already at 180K," Michelle reported, still not looking up from her screen. Her voice carried that clipped professional tone she used when she was compartmentalizing. "The algorithm loves when you're all together. Engagement is up thirty percent from last week's solo streams."
"Michelle." I waited until she finally met my eyes, those sharp green ones that missed nothing when it came to business but seemed determined to ignore everything else. "When's the last time you took a day off? A real one."
She went back to scrolling immediately, her citrus-mint scent sharpening with defensive spikes. "I reviewed contracts from home on Sunday, very relaxing. Had my feet up and everything."
"That's not a day off, and you know it."
"It is when you're managing six disaster magnets who accidentally became the latest face of modern pack dynamics." But there was fondness threading through her exasperation, the same tone she'd had since that first day at StreamCon when she'd literally pushed me toward the speed dating event that changed everything. "Do you have any idea how many brand deals I've had to turn down because they wanted you to do couple's content with energy drink companies? Energy drinks, Callie. They wanted one of my Omega clients chugging caffeine on camera."
My phone buzzed with a notification from the stream, the familiar chime cutting through our conversation. Someone had donated $500 with a message that made me snort:
CALLIE COME SAVE CRASH HE'S CRYING AGAIN.
"Should I?—"
"They're fine," Michelle said, but she was already pulling up the stream on her tablet with the speed of someone who'd been monitoring it peripherally all along. She muted it but watched with that sharp, analytical gaze that catalogued everything from viewer sentiment to potential clip-worthy moments. "Oh, he's actually crying. That's... concerning. And probably great for engagement, which makes me a terrible person for thinking that."
On screen, Crash was indeed sobbing while the others laughed, his purple and neon green hair sticking up at odd angles as he gesticulated wildly at the monitor. The game hadapparently involved choosing between saving different pack members in some horrible scenario, and he'd had a complete meltdown trying to decide, his ADHD brain spiraling into genuine distress over fictional consequences and characters he'd accidentally become emotionally attached to.
"That's actually sweet," I said, watching Nova's hand appear in frame to squeeze Crash's shoulder while Ghost silently passed him tissues. "Look at them taking care of him."
"Yeah," Michelle murmured, and when I glanced at her, her expression had gone soft, almost wistful. The sharp edges of her professional mask had slipped, revealing something vulnerable underneath. "It really is."
"You okay?"
"Fine." She minimized the stream with a decisive swipe, pulling up another spreadsheet with color-coded cells that probably contained my entire life mapped out in fifteen-minute increments. "So tomorrow you have the podcast recording at ten, then the brand meeting at two, and I need you to review the script for Thursday's sponsored segment. The skincare company wants three mentions minimum but nothing that sounds forced?—"
"Michelle."
