She looks like a supermodel today. Her red hair is pulled back in a stylish chignon, and her eyes are made up with black liner. She’s dressed in a chic short black dress, and she has put so much effort into her hairdo and her make-up that you can tell something is off.
“Gigi…” I catch up with her near the kitchen table. “Come here.”
“You’re going to mess up my hairdo.” She sticks her tongue out, which makes me grin. I wanna suck on her tongue and make her come against the table. Mess her up, all right.
“Why the hairdo?” I demand and press her back against the table, reaching a hand up to pull out the pins and free her gorgeous red curls.
“Don’t you dare,” she says, reaching up to catch my wrist, and I let her pull my hand away. “Do you know how long I spent on that hairdo?”
“An hour,” I say, “and five minutes. During which we could have been fucking.”
“So that’s why you were counting.”
“Every minute,” I say devoutly. “It cut into our happy time. So why? You usually let these pretty curls down…” I stroke her neck and she shivers. “Or you pull your hair in a ponytail, a bun for the gym. What’s up with all these twisted strands and loose curls…” I tug on one lightly. “Huh?”
“You don’t like it?”
“It’s beautiful. No matter what you do, you’re beautiful. But I sense there’s more to this than you’re telling me.”
She shakes her head. “Your son is coming over. And your ex. I want to look good.”
“Baby, are you jealous? Because there is no reason.”
“I’m not jealous.” She looks away. “Maybe a little… insecure?”
I guffaw. Can’t help it.
She slaps at my chest. “Hey. I’m being serious and vulnerable with you. Don’t you mock me.”
“Never, baby. But there is nothing to feel insecure about. I love you.”
“Aww.” Her eyes mist over.
“And I’m not going to say all other women and all other betas are hideous, because you don’t need that lie, but you are the most beautiful of them all, and that is God’s own truth, okay? I am being very objective when I say that.”
She laughs andfuck,I love the sound of her joy. “Are you?”
“You know it.” I bow my head and draw in her scent. There’s something about betas that draws me like a moth to the flame. That subtle fragrance, that strength mitigated by sweetness, that perfect balance.
This perfect girl.
“Did a comparative study, did you?” she asks.
“Mm…No need. I know what I see.” I nibble at her neck. “Fuck, I want to mark you so badly.”
“I want it, too,” she whispers.
So matter-of-factly. No hesitation, no hedging. No “when the time is right” shit. She wants it.
And now I’m so hard the zipper of my pants is in danger of bursting.
Steps echo inside the kitchen, and then Ronin is there, his breath on my neck. “And what if I mark you, too, alpha?”
I hadn’t even heard the apartment door opening.
“Be my guest,” I growl. “I want many marks, just so you know. Both sides of the neck, and wrists, too.”
“That so?” Ronin’s voice has deepened, too. He pulls back only to grab Casey and Grey and haul them to us. “Who else wants to be marked as Shaw pack?”