Page 23 of The Alpha Escort Agency
She lifts the second pastry to her lips, but he stops her with his hand.
“Maybe just a little bite,” he says.
She holds his gaze and takes a big munch, just as he had. Her cheeks bulge as she chews, and she nods her head as if to say it's not so bad, but then the heat visibly hits her too and she opens her mouth, fanning her hand in front of it desperately.
“Let's get some water,” he says, grabbing her elbow and leading her back to the stall and purchasing a bottle. Unscrewing the lid, he passes it to her, and she takes a long drain, then he does the same.
“Fuck.” Her eyes bulge. “That made it worse!”
"Shit, you're right.” He swallows and swallows again.
“We need bread,” she says, and together they scan the stalls until he spots an artisan bakery and they dash towards it, barging through the crowds. Quickly, he buys the nearest loaf — a baguette — and tears a piece for her and one for him. He stuffs it into his mouth and gradually as he chews the heat subsides, although his lips still burn. Relief floods over her face too, and then she laughs. It grows stronger until her face turns redder and she can't catch her breath.
“Your face,” she gasps between chuckles.
“Your face.” He smiles at her, shaking his head. “You realise you nearly killed us both.”
“It wasn't that bad,” she says with feigned exasperation.
“You want to finish it.” He lifts the paper bag towards her.
She pushes it away. “No way.”
“Right, let's find something less dangerous.”
“Yes, please.”
She hooks her arm through his and he guides her from one stand to the next, buying different food items for her to try; empanadas from Potena, moong dal dosa from Horn Ok Please, Pad Thai from Khanom Krok and donuts from Bread Ahead, enjoying the pleasure of watching her eyes light up whenever a new flavour hits her tongue and basking in the little signals of satisfaction in her scent. He learns that, despite their earlier ordeal, she enjoys strong spicy food with vibrant, contrasting flavours. Her appetite is large. She relishes good food. He could get addicted to the pleasure of keeping her well fed.
It's a silly Alpha need. A strong desire to fetch food for a mate and know that in doing so he is a good and competent Alpha. The feeling is one of the better ones, a safer one.
"More?" he asks.
She clutches her stomach. "I'm so full."
"Drink?"
“Yes, but I'm getting these,” she says, and a surge of unease races through his body. He tries not to look at her and blows the feeling away. It's a stupid one, anyway. The woman paid him to sleep with her. Letting her pay for a few drinks seems inconsequential in comparison. He leads her into one of the old pubs, baskets of wilting flowers hanging around the entrance, hoping his feelings weren't portrayed in his scent.
“What'll it be?” She grins up at him, finding a gap in the patrons gathered around the bar and leaning against the shiny countertop.
“Guinness,” he says.
She waits, catching the bartender's eye when he hands over another lady's change and Rory swallows down hard as the man's eyes flip down Alice’s body in what he knows is appreciation. The bartender chats to her as he fills first one glass with dark liquid from the pump, pausing to allow the head to bubble to the surface, and fills another with a lighter ale. He hands this over and then pumps more Guinness into the glass until the rich foam hits the lip at the top.
She turns and passes Rory his drink with a smile. “Here you go.” Then she twists back around to pay.
He takes a sip, the yeasty liquid dissolving into his mouth and the foam coating his top lip.
He swipes it away, and she catches the motion as she comes to stand next to him, her eyes following the movement of his tongue.
He cups her elbow and moves her towards the door. “Let's go stand outside,” he says, his eyes flipping back to the bartender already serving the next customer. “It's stuffy in here.”
Keeping her close to him, he weaves them through the people gathered around the door smoking cigarettes, and along a side alley to the path that runs along the riverfront.
The river is a ghostly grey, sloshing noisily against the stone banks, a lone boat, its light blinking onto the water, cruising in the direction of the city.
“It smells so dirty, so polluted.” She wrinkles up her nose.
