Page 3 of Rocked By the Alpha
“The song was meant to be romantic, you know.” He stupidly didn’t think anyone apart from her would know who the song was about. “And if you’re so worried about it, why are you here?”
She doesn’t respond, ducking her head to peer into the mirror at the vanity table and clearly avoiding his question.
Although he has a fair idea. This woman likes to play with fire and, however much she may protest, the danger of getting caught is half the appeal. The other half: him.
“Shit! I look a mess. I hate doing the stupid walk of shame thing,” she mutters.
“Then take a shower. Call down to housekeeping and order a change of clothes. At least stay for breakfast with me.”
She sighs. “I don’t have time.” She swipes at smeared mascara under her big brown eyes and then brushes her fingers through her hair, scissoring them to untangle a knot.
“I like what you did with your hair,” he says, watching her, trying his best not to let his disappointment show on his face.
“The purple highlights? You like them?” He nods and the side of her mouth quirks. “I don’t know. It was Natasha’s idea for us all to get them done — her stylist persuaded her they were the next thing or something.”
She stands up straight and rearranges the neckline of her dress and he takes an appreciative glance at how good her tits look in the floaty summer dress. Usually she’s all ripped jeans and boots or a tight mini skirt, but she’d chosen something lighter for the festival and it suits her. She looked good up on stage in it and he’d known despite their agreement to avoid one another, he wouldn’t be able to help seeking her out, even if he had made it look like an accidental encounter.
She hesitates and looks at him with what he could almost believe is a wistful expression. “I hope there’re no paparazzi hanging about.”
He rubs his hand down his face. “No one saw us come here, Ruby, and I tipped the dude on the desk handsomely to keep his mouth shut.”
“The papers would pay him more.”
“We’re not that interesting. We’re not the lead singers.”
She tosses her head, her hair shimmering against her shoulder. “They write all sorts of shit about our bands.”
She draws the curtain open, standing behind it so she can’t be seen from outside, and the grey light of dawn spills into the room.
“The cars pulling up.” Her fingers linger on the curtain.
He wants to ask her to stay again, but there’s only so many times an Alpha can ask. He considers tuning up the aggression, appealing to her inner Omega, commanding her to get on her hands and knees and crawl back to the bed. But though he thinks she’d fucking love it, it wouldn’t win him any favours in the long run. She’d call him an asshole afterwards and refuse to answer his calls.
No, he needs to play it cool. Come on too strong and this Omega will bolt.
She heads towards the door and pauses with her hand on the door handle.
“Call me,” he says.
She peers over her shoulder, biting her bottom lip, and then nods stiffly. He tries not to grin.
“How many times?” he asks her. He’s lying out flat again with his hand back behind his head. The sheet has slipped down to his groin.
“How many times what?” she asks with a hint of exasperation.
“Did I make you come?”
“Not enough,” she snaps, and opens the door. Then she halts. “You really are an asshole and maybe I’m not doing this again.”
“Sure, Omega, sure.”
She lets out a huff through her teeth and then the door clicks shut behind her.
He sinks into the pillows, closing his eyes. Her faint footsteps on the wooden floorboards are just audible and outside the engine of the waiting car hums.
The curtain has fallen shut and in the room it’s grey and empty. His clothes are scattered across the floor, reminders of how things played out last night. It’s cold too, the air crisper than it should be given the time of year, and the furniture seems worn.
He hates it when she goes.
