Page 45 of Fourth Base with the Alpha
She’s so real. So genuine and full of life. It’s infectious. I want to be like her. To feel that energy. That enthusiasm.
Shit, I think I feel enthusiasm, energy, excitement for her. I think I’m feeling it right now.
What the hell am I doing? Why the hell did I bring her here?
I could easily have made up some believable excuse for her absence.
But I didn’t want to. I wanted her to come because I knew I’d enjoy this party one hundred times more in her company.
When she’s finished her story and everyone is laughing, she looks up and notices me. She smiles so wide, I feel like I won some giant prize.
“Is the beer for me?” she asks with a tease.
I suck on the straw of the cocktail. “Yep.” I offer her the bottle and she bats it away.
“You’re so cruel. Hand over my mojito.”
I pass it to her, then remain on my feet like a lemon. There’re no seats. Nowhere to sit. I’m considering slinking away when Isabella swings her gaze around and realizes.
“Do you want my seat?” she asks.
I frown. “No.” I’m not taking her seat. Does she seriously think I’d want to? I’m not an asshole or some diva pop star demanding blue M and Ms and other people’s seats.
“Your girlfriend wants to sit on your lap, arsehole,” Layla says, rolling her eyes at me.
I stare down at Isabella. She opens her mouth as if she’s about to protest.
“That’s too cute for Hunter, Isabella,” Ash tells her, leaning forward and hooking his arm around his omega’s shoulders. “It’s not cool enough–”
“Okay,” I grunt before Ash spouts anymore bullshit or someone runs away to find another chair.
Yeah, I take what I said back. I am an asshole because I really like the idea of the little omega balancing in my lap. I don’t give a shit if it’s too cute or not cool.
Actually I want her curled up on my lap (or bent over my knee). Either of those positions would be more than ideal.
I step closer and she meets my eyes, before rising to her feet and stepping to one side so I can lower into the chair. When I’m seated, she peers down at my thigh. I grab her waist and pull her down onto my lap.
She’s all warm against my leg and her scent deepens in my nostrils. From this position, I have a close up view of the mating gland on the back of her neck. It quivers as if inviting me to sink my teeth into her flesh.
As my cock hardens, I realize that this was a mistake. Her ass is inches from my stiff cock and all she has to do is wriggle slightly on my lap and she’ll be right on top of me.
Right on top of my cock.
Fuuuccckkkk!
I lock my arm around her waist so she can’t snuggle backwards and try not to breathe.
The others are all watching us and I can’t tell if it’s with amusement or suspicion.
Right now I don’t give a shit.
“So are you going to come out to Chicago and watch us play next month?” Trey asks Isabella.
She sweeps that lock of hair behind her ear; the shell so small and delicate, three silver studs pinned in her lobe.
I want to lean forward and nibble that lobe, sweep her hair to the side and lick a stripe right up her throat and suck on her pulse. I want to rest my mouth above her gland and inhale her scent, inhale right down to the depths of my lungs. I want to pull her close, flush against my chest. I want to …
“Hunter?”
