Page 75 of Party Girl: How a Naughty Omega Finds Love
“Do they even know I’m missing?”
He grimaces. “Trev texted me before he left this morning. He got called in to debrief Camila on what happened the night we raided Twisters. She specifically wanted to know about you.”
My eyes widen. Would Trev sell me out?
“You’re safe,” Hayden reassures me.
“How can you know?”
“Trev doesn’t like the Omega Council any more than you do. Plus, telling them we have you would mean our entire pack getting in trouble. Trev would never do that.”
I close my eyes and exhale. “This is so fucked up.”
“So long as you’re with us, you’re—”
“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” I interrupt him, shaking my head and looking around the room. “I should leave. This is too dangerous. I appreciate you wanting to keep me safe, but I can’t put you and your pack at risk.”
“You know I’ll hunt you down if you leave.”
I shiver a little at the possessiveness coating his words. “Hayden.” There’s no point in reasoning with him. I should leave, but I don’t really want to. The whole pack knows the risk and they haven’t kicked me out.
Hayden hooks his finger under my chin and tips it up. “Will you stay?”
“Okay.” I blink, staring at him through my lashes.
A smirk cuts across his face, and he traces his thumb over my lip. “Good girl.”
My mouth parts a little, butterflies erupting in my stomach at his praise. He traces my lower lip again before stepping back. Reaching to adjust himself, Hayden clears his throat and watches me stare at his crotch.
“You’ll make me late if you keep looking at me like that.”
I snap my eyes up, heat flaming my cheeks. “Sorry.”
“Never apologize for wanting me. Look all you want, it’s all for you.”
Swallowing, I nod and pinch my eyebrows together. Hayden is so direct, I kind of envy how confident he is with his sexuality. I’ve always treated mine like something to be ashamed of. Especially since the Omega Council always said we were only meant to be with our chosen pack. The suppressants helped me hide who I was while the drugs and liquor helped me explore. This is the first time I’ve been sober and so open about my desires.
“I’ll see you later tonight.” His focus lingers on me for a few seconds before he leaves. The door clicks shut behind him, and I stare at the wood, wishing he’d come back.
My core throbs with need. I flop back on the bed, burrowing deeper into the blankets. The ache between my legs doesn’t fade. I need to come or I’ll stink up the house with my pheromones all day long. Slipping my fingers beneath my panties, I play with my clit until I have to stifle a cry. I bite my cheek and press down hard, grinding against my hand. My hand does little to soothe the ache Hayden left me with.
* * *
AVI
A trail of frustrated sexual energy chases Hayden out of the house. I watch him walk to his car with a semi. My coffee is halfway to my mouth when I realize I’m smirking. That’s been happening a lot the last forty-eight hours. At dinner last night, Trev stared at me like I lost my damn mind when I grinned at Whitney. I knew I’d been having a hard time getting back to who I was after the shooting, but I hadn’t realized I’d stopped smiling. At least, not until Whitney fell into our lives. I guess I’m a sucker for feisty women. I can’t help but grin every time she puts Trev in his place.
I take a long drink, wondering when she’ll tell me about her past. It took me a long time to open up to someone. My therapist isn’t anyone the pack knows, so that helped. The guys and I don’t talk about it much, but we’ve had a few heart-to-heart conversations about it. Most of the time, we try to pretend like it never happened and I try to act like I’m not broken inside. My illness impacts them, and I hate to see them suffer. I won’t hide my PTSD, I can’t, but I can hide my depression. Or at least I thought I could.
Trev’s been watching me more closely than he usually does. He’s the perceptive one and his attention means I haven’t done as great of a job as I thought. There are pills, but I haven’t wanted to go on them. Not because I’m worried about becoming a zombie—I know the doctor can adjust the dosage and medicine to try and help find the right chemical balance—but because I’m too stubborn to admit things have gotten that bad. For all my talk about sharing trauma, I do a shit job of talking about my other mental health struggles.
Resolving to talk to my therapist, I walk toward Hayden’s closed door to see if Whitney is hungry. Her scent slams into me like a freight train carrying gallons of the world’s sweetest perfume. Heady and rich like chocolate. I can almost taste her arousal. My dick hardens in my pants, and I bite back a groan when a tiny moan floats through the door.
Fuck. She’s masturbating.
I have to get out of here. I speed walk to my room, throw on a running outfit and shoes and set the coffee on my dresser. Before I leave, I open the window in my room and the two in the living room, hoping the fresh air will help her scent dissipate.
Yesterday was nice. Today will be torture.
