Page 2 of Omega's Forbidden Heat
“Can I get you anything to drink?” she asks, a tad hesitant, the faintest of pinkness tinging her cheeks.
“Erm.” He coughs, his body yanking him towards her, towards the intoxicating aroma of her, and his mind tugging him away. Digging his fingernails into the flesh of his palms, he concentrates on breathing through his mouth, of keeping his body locked rigid to the spot. He’s like a starving man offered food who knows he must refuse it, though his body weeps to be fed.
Amy cocks her head and examines him, her eyes darting over his face. “I didn’t know you were still around. I thought you’d left again already.”
He forces himself to speak, hoping the uncertainty isn’t clear in his voice. “I need to sort out Mum’s house, get it on the market.”
“You’re selling it?” Her eyes widen.
“Yes.” Can he leave now? He should leave now, because the temptation to allow his gaze to leave the safety of her face and trail down her body is growing stronger with every passing second. He knows if he just drops his vision, he’ll land on the softness of her curves. Somewhere he’d like to land. Violently, he shoves the dirty idea from his mind.
“I would have liked to come to the funeral,” she says.
He grimaces. “She wanted something small. No fuss.” His mum knew how much he hated fuss. How agonising he would find the condolences and the sympathy.
“I know.” She nods, sighing, “Finn told me.” Her blonde hair falls backwards over her shoulder as she flicks her head, as if she’s shaking away those somber thoughts, and her fluttering smile returns, something that almost reads like flirtation in her eyes. “So can I get you that drink?”
When and where did she learn to do that? Sweeping her hand under her chin to brush away a stray lock of hair and deliberately leading his eyes to her throat where he can see her pulse thrumming under her creamy flesh, where he knows her gland hums at the base of her skull. When he left five years ago, she was one scrawny, whiny kid, always trailing behind Finn and annoying the hell out of them. And now …
“Yeah.” He nods. “Yeah, I’ll have whatever ale you’ve got on tap.”
She stands on her tiptoes and reaches for a pint glass from the shelf above her head, and he turns his head away, avoiding the face-full of tit the movement flashes him. “It’s Red Fox, that alright?”
He nods stiffly, every tendon and fibre in his body taut and on edge.
Dark liquid pours thinly from the tap as she pulls down on the lever, lifting and pumping it, and white foam swirls with amber ale. When the liquid reaches two-thirds way full, she places the glass down to rest and allow the bubbles to meander to the surface, and turns away to the till. He lets his eyes flick down her body, noting the pinch of her waist, the sweep of her hip and the roundness of her arse and he shakes his head. And how did that happen? She didn’t look like that when he left. She was all jutting bones and sharp angles back then, now she is all softness, all curves. The hunger in the pit of his stomach rumbles more ferociously and his hands begin to shake.
“Five pounds and sixty-two pence, please,” she calls over her shoulder, in a provocative way that has him wanting to rush at her and pin her over the counter.
He drops his gaze to the floor and wills away the desire pumping in his veins.
As he hands over a note and she passes him his now full pint, he decides to stay away from the pub. To stay away from her. Although Finn was around for the funeral, he’s been away working for the last few days and he’ll be there for a few more yet, so there’s no reason to visit the Logan house, no reason they’ll bump into each other.
He takes a seat in the corner, as far away from the bar as he can be, by the fire where the smoke goes some way to masking her scent. But there’s nobody else in here he knows and sitting on his own over here means nobody comes to talk to him. Instead, his eyes keep flitting over to her involuntarily as if they’re drawn there by some unseen force and the gland on his neck throbs.
He knows if it wasn’t for who she was, for who she is related to, he’d be over there now, chatting her up, reeling the little thing in with his deep and masculine scent and gruff and domineering voice, getting her all aroused and wet for him with innocent little touches of her waist, of her hip—
Shit! He swallows his drink, trying to down it as quickly as he can so he can get the hell out of here. But then she’s there, right in front of him, collecting glasses from the tables around him.
She smiles at him again. “It’s so good to see you, Jack,” she says. “I mean the circumstances are awful and …” She shakes her head and her eyes drop to the floor, hands floating in mid-air, “But you’ve been away too long and Finn’s missed you.”
“I’ve been home plenty of times since I’ve been out,” he mumbles with irritation. He doesn’t need to be reminded what a crap son he’s been, not now.
“Hardly!” She laughs. “When was the last time I saw you? What? Three, four years ago?”
“Five,” he says and his eyes meet hers. “Five years ago,” he repeats. “You were just a little girl.”
“I was fifteen,” she says, meeting his eye and an electricity skips across the space. A recognition that they know what each other is, and her jet black pupils swim wide and her scent rises in a heady way.
“A baby.” His gaze slivers down her figure. He can’t help it, he’s barely aware of his own mind right now. She is so Omega, so very Omega. He wonders if she tastes as good as she smells. She remains frozen to the spot while he inspects her, as if she’s waiting to gain his approval, keen to have it.
He could take her right here if he wanted to. There is no way she’d refuse him — even here in the pub with the other patrons. She would do it. Or he could grab her by the wrist and drag her along the road, back to his house.
His hands start to shake again with the effort of holding back. He yanks his eyes away and scrabbles about in his coat pocket, finding the packet of pills and popping one, two through the silver film. The pills melt on his tongue when he throws them into his mouth and almost instantly the suppressant chemical tempers his reaction. His shoulders relax and the tension in his brow and in his forehead fades. When he dares to peer back at her, desire still looms in his blood but it’s not as overwhelming. It’s been a long time since he’s needed to take one of these pills. He’s better at controlling his Alpha urges now he’s older, but it seems he’ll need to ensure he has a packet on him all the time while he is here.
She’s biting her bottom lip and the pink on her cheeks has darkened and swum right down her neck to her collarbone. She releases her lip and the plump flesh springs back into place, the red of her mouth just visible.
He’d like to sink his own teeth into that fat lip, he’d like to suck it into his mouth.
