Page 99 of Pack Rivals: Part Two
I swing my gaze straight towards her and nearly crash the vehicle a second time.
She smiles all innocently, like she didn’t set my cock jerking in my pants.
“Ditto, baby girl,” I growl. “Ditto.”
She wriggles on her seat, thighs rubbing together and I wonder if I’m ever going to make it to the beach.
“How about now?” she asks.
“Beg your pardon,” I say. Can she see inside my brain? Does she know I’m imagining her leaning over to suck my cock while I drive her home?
“Why don’t we go pick you up some glasses now?”
“It’s late.”
“There’s that optician round the corner from York Tower that’s open until 10pm every night.” She glances at her watch. “We still have an hour.”
“I should get you home.”
“We should get you into some glasses.”
I puff out a stream of hot air. She’s flirting with me and fuck me I’m not turning that down.
I hang a right and in a matter of minutes I’m sat in a dark room with some weird creation balancing on my nose, reading out letters as the omega sits watching me and giggling.
“These weren’t exactly the sexy pair of glasses I was hoping for,” I mumble gruffly at the nervous optician, as he slides another lens in front of my eyes.
“We’re just determining your prescription here, Sir. Then you can choose a pair from outside.”
“I think this looks great,” Bea sniggers and I glance away from the board of letters to give her a behave-yourself look.
Finally, the optician finds lenses that actually turn the letter from a row of smudged fuckers to crisp and clear text and I’m able to read out the smallest line.
“You’re slightly short-sighted,” the optician says, lifting the hideous contraption from my face. “Not too bad but I think you’ll be surprised what you can actually see when you get your new glasses.”
I thank him and let Bea lead me excitedly back into the front of the shop and to the racks of glasses hanging on display.
I peer at them with disgust. They don’t seem much better than the stupid contraption I was just wearing.
“Any you like?” Bea asks.
“No,” I say sulkily, folding my arms across my chest.
“You could ask the optician about contacts instead?”
“No,” I say resolutely, “maybe we should leave it. He said my prescription wasn’t that bad.”
I take a step towards the door, but Bea catches my wrist.
“How about that pair?” she says, pointing to a pair I swear my old math teacher used to wear.
“I’ll look like a giant nerd in those.”
“A giantsexynerd,” she purrs, lifting them from the rack, balancing up on her toes and carefully sliding them onto my nose.
She has to lean in to me to do it, and her warmth and her scent would have me wearing anything she wanted, even a fucking thong and head dress.
“There,” she says, leaning back to admire me, and resting her hands back on my chest.
