Page 7 of In Doubt
“Half way there. Two more hours. Sorry, mate.” I groan and bite down hard on the knuckles of my fisted hand. “I’ll get you a drink.” I’ve already downed three straight whiskeys. I doubt the air stewardess will give us another. But as usual, I underestimate my packmate and his ability to charm the hind legs off a donkey. And the underwear off most women.
The air stewardess pours the honey coloured liquid into the glass, ice clinking against the sides, and I spot Giorgie peer over her shoulder and roll her eyes as I take the drink.
Screw her, I think, as I toss back the burning liquid in one gulp. Screw her and her fucking stupid decision to never use scent blockers. Every other omega and alpha I know uses them. It’s only fucking polite. Scents can drive an alpha and omega out of their mind and blockers can mask that scent, making them almost untraceable.
It’s one thing to make it clear she isn’t interested in me. To make it crystal clear she’s unattainable. But does she have to rub it in my face?
I’ve heard her telling her friends that her brother is very protective of her, but if that was actually the case, I have no idea what the tosser is doing letting his omega sister walk around unblockered and unaccompanied.
And on a fucking field trip. To the fucking desert.
The woman is clearly intelligent. The only reason I can deduce for her actions is that she’s trying to throw me off my game. She thinks that her scent will be enough to distract me. Well, it hasn’t worked so far this year, and it isn’t going to work on this trip.
I thank the air stewardess and hand her my empty glass. Then I tip back my seat and try to tune into some mundane action film.
We picked seats in first class thinking it would put some distance between me and the omega causing me to fidget like a bloody toddler in my seat. But I’d forgotten her brother belongs to a pack with money to burn. And so here she is too, along with those two friends of hers who never leave her side.
I’d tried to talk the others into finding some lucky passengers back in economy to swap seats. That idea went down like a lead balloon.
I twist around and tug the earbud out of Aiden’s ear. “I don’t see how I’m going to make it through this trip,” I moan to him. Feeling the beads of sweat beginning to coalesce on my brow. “It’s worse than usual.”
“It’s just the confined space.” Aiden’s brown eyes peer into mine and with a look of bewilderment, he shakes his head at me. “I don’t know why you don’t just screw her and get this whole thing out of your system.”
“Because she doesn’t want to screw me.”
Aiden sighs. There’s no denying it. You’d have to be a fucking fool not to see the hatred in her eyes when she spoke to me out there in the departure hall. Except you could hardly call it talking. It was more like sniping.
“And unlike you, I’m not interested in screwing women I don’t actually like.”
And Giorgie Martinelli is one woman I thoroughly dislike. Her scent — and yes, goddamn, the way she looks — may have my inner alpha drooling like a starved wolf, but the omega irritates the hell out of me. All that lively chirpiness, the way she thinks it’s acceptable to lecture the hell out of me, and all the while she’s playing me.
I’ve considered going to the professor and lodging an official complaint. But what would be the point? I’d only end up labelled as some misogynistic alpha. No one would believe me. I’d end up looking like a sore loser.
I close my eyes and concentrate on my breathing. If I let this scent get the better of me, my cock will be rock hard in a matter of seconds.
The breathing doesn’t work. I snap my eyelids open and catch the gaze of the stewardess again. She smiles at me in a way that definitely tells me she’d make good use of my hardon if I wanted her to. But my cock is crying out for omega pussy and no beta one is going to tame the beast raging inside me.
Ruffling through my bag, I pull out my emergency suppressant and jump out of my seat, strolling straight for the bathroom. Suppressants help to dull the bodily reactions we alphas and omegas are slaves to. Helping to regulate and modulate an omega’s heats and prevent an alpha from going into rut. Thank fuck for them. They’re the only thing that’s dragged me through class after class with the omega.
Once inside the cubicle, I snap shut the door and yank the bolt across. Then I sag against the sink and spray a fuck-load of the foul tasting suppressant into my waiting mouth. It’s the third time I’ve done this during the flight, the suppressant only lasting so long when I’m gulping down lungfuls of that sinful scent. I gag a little and my eyes water, but then I feel my muscles relax, my cock softens and some of that tension melts away. Not all of it, but enough to stand up straighter and look at myself in the mirror. I look a fucking mess. My hair ruffled, my pupils blown wide, and my skin coated in a fine film of sweat.
I tug on the tap and plunge my hands under the cold water, letting it flow through my fingers and cool my blood. Then I cup my palms and splash the liquid over my face, running it around my brow and down the back of my neck.
It feels good, like I’m washing the sweetness of that scent off my skin. And for a minute it feels like I can breathe again. Would it be strange if I stayed in here for the rest of the flight? I sigh. Yeah, the air cabin crew would probably suspect me of some dubious shit and I’d end up arrested. Not the greatest of starts to my trip.
I take a paper towel and dry my face, then bin it, and pull open the door.
Immediately that scent slams into me, so strong I almost stagger backwards. My eyes land on Giorgie, standing outside the cubicle, clearly waiting for it to become free.
For the love of Jesus.
She looks up from her phone to give me what I suspect was going to be a smile, but it descends straight down into a frown when she realises it’s me.
“A little space,” I growl, and she does that goddamn infuriating thing with her eyes, rolling them in a way she seems to reserve purely for me.
She steps aside in an exaggerated manner and I stumble past, holding my breath as best I can and falling back into my seat.
It’s worse. Aiden is wrong. That scent only seems to grow stronger.
