"Of course. The timing isn't right yet, though," she says, raking a hand through her white hair. It's getting longer, brushing against her shoulders now. She looks more androgynous like this, less boyish, but the binder and swagger make her pass for a guy still. Just… a really pretty guy.
"Fair," I sigh. "And you can still use your omega powers on him in the meantime."
She cackles. "Yeah. Guess we're pretty good at soothing alphas."
"I'm feeling stressed," I try, giving her my best puppy eyes.
"Stressed, huh?"
"Very."
Bells holds my gaze for a beat. Two. Then she swings one leg over both of mine and settles onto my lap.
Just like that.
Casual as anything.
My hands hover uselessly in the air like I've forgotten what arms are for. She's sitting on my thighs, her knees bracketing my hips, her weight warm and solid against my lap.
"Uh." Brilliant. Eloquent. Years of articulate conversation, reduced to a single syllable by a woman in leather pants. "Yeah. Yes. This is—yeah."
"Smooth."
I manage a husky laugh. It's more like a croak. "Shut up."
Her hands land on my chest. Palms flat, fingers spread, pressing into the muscle through my shirt. My breath catches. She feels that, and the thunder of my heartbeat, too. I know she does, because her grin sharpens, her canine teeth poking out over her full lower lip.
Her hands slide down.
Slowly. Over my ribs, my stomach, the soft layer over muscle that I've been mildly self-conscious about since Nash died and stress eating became my primary coping mechanism.
I squirm and start to protest. Some self-deprecating thing about stress eating, probably, the joke I've got pre-loaded for whenever someone gets too close to the parts of me I'm not thrilled about.
"You're so fuckingcute," she purrs as if she can read my damn mind, kneading her nails into my extra padding like she's a giant cat. "In a hot way. Obviously."
"Ow,fuck," I grit out. "Why are your nails so sh?—"
She just attacks me with a kiss, crushing her lips against mine and shutting me up.
Her mouth is warm. Tastes like energy drink. Is that crazy unicorn coffee a fuckingenergy drink? No wonder she's charged up all the time. Her fingers curl into the fabric of my shirt at my sides, anchoring herself as she growls into my mouth and nips at me.
Even out of heat, she's fierce.
I kiss her back.
My hands finally remember their function and find her hips. She makes a soft sound against my mouth—approval, encouragement,more—and I pull her closer. Her weight shifts forward until her chest presses against mine and I can feel her heartbeat through both our shirts.
This is different from the hotel. During her heat, everything was desperate, frantic, new. This is just Bells choosing to climb into my lap during a rehearsal break. There's no crisis driving this. She just wants me.
Her tongue traces my lower lip and I groan. One hand slides from her hip to the small of her back, pressing her closer. Theother drifts down over the curve of her ass in those tight leather pants, along her outer thigh, then back up to the front.
My fingers find the button of her pants.
She pulls back half an inch, breath ghosting across my lips. "Yeah?"
"Fuck yeah."
I pop the button. The zipper takes some convincing—leather pants are not designed for easy access, especially when the person wearing them has curves she's trying to hide—and my hand is too fucking big for the gap I've created.