Page 77 of Party Girl: How a Naughty Omega Finds Love
“So maybe it’s a bit like porn,” Avi says, grabbing the book and closing it. “I can get a different one.” His face contorts with embarrassment.
“Oh no you don’t. I want to see you color that with a straight face.”
A blush crawls up his neck. “If you insist.” He glances away. “Asher got it for me,” he explains.
“Of course he did.” I snicker and open my book. It’s not nearly as exciting compared to his, but I settle on a page that declares Suck My Dick. It only seems fair, considering I’m making him color in his porn book.
“Next time I’ll grab the other one,” he mumbles, opening to a page he’s been working on. A woman wearing a strap-on has a man bent over a couch while she pegs him.
I choke on my coffee as he starts to color the dildo scarlet.
“Are you kink shaming me?” he teases.
“Nope,” I say, averting my gaze and taking my own colored pencil. Try as I might, I can’t keep my eyes off his page.
Avi’s right-handed, so I get a full view of his work. He colored the strap-on a bright, fire engine red and made the bra she has on the same color. The man’s eyes are wide and his mouth is parted in pleasure. She’s so in control. He catches me peeking and gives me a wicked smile.
“Like it?”
“Do you?” I ask, not caring that it might be rude.
“Not a fan of pegging, but she’s hot,” he says. “What about you?”
“I don’t know… I like how she’s the one in control.”
“That’s sort of why I like it too. She’s dominating him, but that’s so unheard of.” He rubs the back of his neck. “I don’t know, I found the picture and couldn’t stop looking at her.”
“I get it,” I say, going back to coloring Suck My Dick.
He taps my paper. “Do you like that?”
Pausing mid-color, I lift my gaze to meet his, but he’s focusing on his page again, patiently waiting for my answer. “I don’t know, I’ve never tried,” I confess, looking away. My hookups only involved kissing and sex. I wasn’t about to go down on a man I barely knew. At least with sex, there were condoms that provided a sense of security. They’re not foolproof, but they’re better than nothing.
We fall into a comfortable silence. Most guys would use this as an opening to hit on me, or try to take things to the next level, but Avi simply colors like we never discussed anything sexual. We do this for another fifteen minutes before he drops his pencil and stretches his hands.
“I think I like it because of the control.”
“Huh?” I ask, sticking my tongue out while I finish filling in a fancy design under the word dick.
“They both have the same thing. The woman is in control.” He gets off the stool to refill his mug with coffee. “Omegas never have that.”
My forehead wrinkles. “That’s because our society sucks.”
He snorts. “Sometimes it really does, doesn’t it?”
I hum in agreement and keep coloring. I’ve almost finished all the fancy parts. I’m saving the words for last. Settling in at my side, he flips to a new page and starts coloring again. Over the next hour, we drink coffee and color. The subject doesn’t come up again, but my mind keeps returning to the concept of dominating an alpha. I always liked watching when the men I hooked up with would fall apart. Would I like control? I don’t think I’d enjoy pegging someone, but I wouldn’t mind giving head. I press my thighs together and try not to think about running my tongue over Avi’s shaft.
* * *
The rest of the morning passes and we find ways to keep ourselves busy. At some point, Avi opens the window again. We watch a few episodes of a show I love, snack, and talk about random things. There’s a noticeable tension between the two of us, like the conversation earlier opened up the possibilities between us. I’m still a little horny from Hayden, so the new dynamic with Avi and me only adds to the frustration.
Avi gets up from the couch to refill our waters, giving me a minute to breathe without his scent suffocating me. The early afternoon breeze from the open window helps too. Sunday is pretty noisy on their street, and I turn around to scowl at a car that screeched to a halt outside. The guys live close to a stop sign and people speed through the neighborhood like there aren’t kids on the block.
A beat-up SUV is half on the curb next to the driveway. I stand and squint, trying to see what the driver is doing behind the tinted windows.
“What the hell?” Avi asks, setting our glasses down.
The doors to the vehicle open and the barrel of a semi-automatic rifle crests the top of the frame. Curtis sneers at the house; two men toting guns climb out of the SUV too, pointing them toward the house. Their fingers twitch toward the safeties. I gasp and grab Avi’s hand just as he yells, “Whitney, get down.”
