Page 90 of Fourth Base with the Alpha
“Well,” Kim jumps off her stool, “she’s in heat and as I suspect that means you’re going to make a swift exit from this video shoot and head straight there, you will have to tell her how you feel.”
“What if she doesn’t feel the same way?” I say.
“She does.” Kim winks at me. “Trust me, she does.”
I glance at Trey, who nods, and then back to Kim.
“What the fuck are you still doing here?” Kim snaps.
“Fuck,” I mutter, imagining Isabella in heat (as if I haven’t had that fantasy spinning around my head for the last few weeks). She’d taste even sweeter in heat. Would feel even wetter. Would … “Fuck, I’ve got to go!” I sprint towards the exit, not hearing the words Kim and Trey call after me, only noticing when I’m out in the bright sunshine that I’m not wearing a shirt under my jacket because, to quote Kim, my abs sell records.
Fuck it, I don’t care.
I find my Tesla in the parking lot and slam my foot on the accelerator before I’ve even shut the door.
The security guard takes an age to lift the barrier as I swear at him under my breath, considering for a moment whether to drive straight through the blasted thing and screw the damage.
I curse more times than I can count on the drive across the city. Of course the traffic is gridlocked; of course I end up stuck behind every slow motherfucker; of course I miss my fucking exit because by now I’m wound so tight I’m close to breaking. My fingers are tight on the steering wheel, my cock rock hard and salivating at the gift that awaits us at the end of this journey. If I ever make it there!
Finally, I reach the maze of blocks where her apartment lies and to my absolute despair the traffic here is just as bad.
With a growl and a fist slammed on the wheel, I swing onto a spot by the side of the road and abandon the Goddamn thing. I have my keys and my phone. That’s all. I don’t even have my flipping wallet. I’m turning up at the omega’s nest with empty hands.
I don’t care. I run. Ignoring the couple of teenagers who spot me and shout out my name; ignoring the two moms pushing prams who stand aghast as I race past; ignoring the man who tries to block me and demand an autograph. I run the length of two blocks, the heat of the day causing sweat to pour down my face and my torso. I race around a corner and then another and then I’m skidding to a halt outside the building.
I jump up the steps three at a time and ram my hand on the buzzer.
I’m panting, out of breath, my hair flopping in my face, fucking makeup from the shoot probably sliding down my cheeks.
There’s no answer.
Behind me I can hear a small crowd gathering.
Shit!
I slam my hand on the buzzer again and again.
Still no answer.
“Do you want to get in, man?” someone from my audience calls out.
“Yes!” I snap in frustration. Isn’t that obvious?
“I’ll let you in. My cousin lives in this block. I know the code.”
I force myself to adopt a thankful expression. It’s hard when my hands are itching to touch the omega. Knowing she is so close. If I didn’t have these people watching, most of them now filming me with their phones, I’d be crashing straight through the doors.
“Yes, please,” I tell the teenager, a pair of headphones wrapped around his neck. He steps up and keys in the code and I’m through the door as soon as it buzzes, sprinting up the stairs.
The hallway is a warren of similar looking doors and I can’t remember which one is hers. So I stand in the middle of the hallway and yell her name.
I don’t care who hears. I don’t care if I appear deranged. I don’t give a shit what anyone thinks. Anyone but my omega.
“Isabella! Isabella!” I shout. A few doors creak open, people peering around the frames but none of them are my omega.
“Isabella!” I shout so loud my lungs almost burst.
A door in the middle of the hallway swings back, and there she is.
