Page 13 of The Alpha Escort Agency
"Omega, Omega," her eyelids flicker open and her mind swoops around for her bearing. "You need to drink again."
Her body feels heavy, like a lead weight, and her mouth and throat are dry with thirst, but the pain in her stomach has vanished for now, melted away by his Alpha spunk.
She heaves herself to sitting, and he helps her, puffing up a cushion. This time she has the strength and awareness to drink herself and she takes the offered tumbler from his hand, glugging down the water as she examines him through the clear glass. He's dressed in a t-shirt and jeans, and she's suddenly aware of her own nakedness.
Perhaps he registers her shyness in her scent because he drops his gaze away and asks her, "Are you hungry?"
"Yes, a bit."
"What would you like?" He takes the empty glass from her hand and fills it up from a jug. "Pasta? Cookies?"
She takes several more mouthfuls of water. "Did you make them? The cookies?"
"Yes, nut and choc chip with oats for energy. Want some?"
She sinks into the mattress. "Yes, Alpha," she says, the longing between her thighs growing urgent. His nose twitches and he takes the glass from her hand a second time, tilting the rim so that the liquid spills onto her bottom lip and down her chin. He captures it with his thumb, smearing the water down onto her throat, over her collarbone and down her chest to the rise of her breasts. He must detect the beat of her heart against her skin, as he shifts his weight, moving in closer and peeling the sheet away from her body.
He opens his jaw as if to say something, but then he appears to think better of it, sucking up her nipple into his mouth instead. His tongue goes to work, lathering her hardened peak, flicking at it, until the sensation penetrates to the core of her and has her cunt throbbing. Clutching at his t-shirt, she leans right back, angling her head away, and he sweeps his wet lips back up her neck, halting right at her mouth.
“What are you hungry for, Omega?” he whispers into her ear.
“You,” she says. The words bob away from her and she can't believe they are hers, can't believe how easily her mind slips away and her body takes over. The pleasure he ignites blows through her, sweeping away the caution that usually keeps her so grounded, too present.
He's inside her again, the weight of him heavy above her, his arms capturing her in a bind, his thrusts strong yet tender. She's vaguely aware of how hard he is working, of how focussed he is on her and her pleasure, adapting quickly to what drives her wild, to what has her moaning and mewling, determining the actions that have her tensing and tensing and then releasing, her vision blanking, her mind voiding, her senses alive. And then the dual pain and pleasure of the stretch as he locks into her.
This fever is so intense. Burning fiercer than it ever has before. Leaving her dazed, bewildered. She's a slave to it, to her own needs and her own pleasure, waking only for him to feed, fuck and knot her, then falling back into restless sleep and befuddled dreams. The night passes in a maze of him, but she can't get a handle on reality. She loses her grip on time. One moment, faint autumn light illuminates the room, the next the dark of night. Her bed becomes a mess of soiled sheets and blankets, twisted and tangled, stained with come and slick and sweat, and his scent is everywhere, in her hair, on her skin, and her belly is full to brimming with him too.
And then it breaks. The longing withering, the heat fading away. He lifts her into a chair and leaves her to eat a bowl of pasta while he changes the sheets. Then he tucks her up in bed and she succumbs to peaceful sleep, her body utterly exhausted.
The flat is eerily quiet when she wakes and she shivers under the blankets. The curtains are drawn, but the room is dim and she guesses it's early afternoon. Sunday. Her body aches and her limbs are stiff when she rolls onto her back, her cushions stacked neatly around her, the sheets fresh and clean smelling. She listens, but it's still silent and the only scent she can smell is the Alpha's fading aroma on her skin. She lifts her arm and inhales it, her eyes rolling back in their sockets when she does and her body shaking. Drawing her arm away, she stares at it. That's never happened before. Slowly, she twists her head and sniffs her shoulder, letting her hair fall over her nose. It happens again. His scent is like a drug.
“Hello?” she calls out, even though she knows he's gone. Her heat is over. It ended hours ago. Why would he be here?
Sitting, she switches on the lamp and peers around the room. Everything is tidy. Her special sheets, laundered and folded on a chair along with the clothes she'd been wearing. Warily, she slides out of the bed and wraps herself in a gown, padding through the empty rooms. The kitchen is how she left it. No dirty cups or plates stacked in the sink, the bag in the bin recently emptied.
Her flat has never looked so clean; the surfaces wiped down and the floor mopped. She should be pleased. It looks amazing and there's no clearing up for her to do. But the place smells of bleach and disinfectant, a strong chemical smell beneath the faintness of lemons, that singes the fine hairs in her nose.
Before she understands what she's doing she's dashing through the flat, searching for his scent, trying to find a remnant of it on the furniture, in the room. It's gone though, that thick masculine smell wiped away, removed, the only remains of it on her body, and now she'll have to wash it away too. There's dried come stuck to her thighs, sticky slick smeared across her stomach, her hair still damp with sweat.
Reluctantly, she ambles to the bathroom, and turns the taps, waiting for the shower to run warm.
It's then she spots it. His watch on the shelf above the sink.
Chapter 6
He's spent. Completely and utterly spent. Every part of his body creaks and aches. He barely has the energy to walk through the door and flop down on the sofa. Leaning his head against the arm, he closes his eyes and inhales. He's never worked that hard, never given as much of himself in his work before, and now he feels it in every part of him.
He's not sure he's ever enjoyed the job as much either. It's what drove him on. He doesn't regret it, though. The sweet scent of the Omega still lingers on his skin and he can taste her still in his mouth. He smiles to himself and drifts asleep.
Later, when he's stripping off to take a shower, he realises it. His watch is not on his wrist. It had been a gift from his grandparents on his twenty-first birthday, and he wants it back.
The agency would arrange for it to be picked up and sent to him if he lets them know he's left his watch behind. That is the protocol he should follow, but as he lathers his body with the bar of soap under the steaming hot water, he decides he's not going to do that. It will be a lot quicker if he just heads back there and gets it for himself. He feels uneasy knowing he doesn't have it. He wants it back in his possession.
There's also a tiny spark of excitement spitting in his core. Heading back to the Omega's house means he'll see her again.
Dressing quickly and rubbing a towel through his wet hair, he grabs his keys and jumps in his truck. He's halfway there when he realises this could be a wasted trip, she might be out. Unlikely. She is probably as exhausted as he is and resting.
Outside her door, he hesitates, asking himself if this is a good idea, if he should be here, if it is a big mistake that will land him in a whole heap of trouble. Then he remembers the way her eyes fluttered shut as she came and the intensity of her smell at the base of her neck, and combing his hair back from his face, pulls at his jacket and knocks firmly on the door.
