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I take in a deep breath and force myself to lean against the doorjamb.
“It’s not you, it’s E.A.”
“Well, duh,” he says, as he starts on the other eye. “It’s always E.A. What’s he done this time?”
Of course, Echo doesn’t get it. He refuses to watch the news. It’s way too depressing to know what’s going on in the world. He’d much rather let mopey music make him feel sad, because at least then it’s a transitory state.
I get it. I do. Omegas feel things more deeply than the rest of us.
Sometimes it’s just a little frustrating to have to explain stuff.
No. That’s not fair to Echo.
It’s not the fact that I need to explain this that’s adding frustration onto my rage.
It’s the fact that E.A.’s a heartless bastard.
“That girl he’s got in for an interview,” I start, stopping to draw Echo a look when he makes a fake coughing sound. “What?”
“You just referred to a thirty-seven-year-old woman as a ‘girl’.”
“You knew what I meant.”
“I know you’re not being misogynistic on purpose, you mean.”
“Fine. That woman E.A. wants to hire. Leanne Leto. He’s not bringing her in as some random hire.”
That gets his attention. His eyebrows rise, both of them. He finishes perfecting his other eye before he caps the liner and puts it down. He picks up his hair gel and looks back at me again.
“I thought it felt like he was scheming,” Echo admits. “But what’s the big deal, anyway? We don’t have to hire her. You could put your foot down.”
“That’s what I intend to do,” I assure him.
He styles his hair, making it stick up a bit at one side. It looks kind of punky to me.
He uses a make-up wipe on his hand after, before he stands up and goes over to the dresser.
The pants he pulls out of the drawer have all kinds of zips and chains on them.
I’ll admit the whole emo-punk thing was never really my scene, but Echo has taught me to appreciate it a lot more than I ever would have without him. Some days I even find myself humming a few bars of his favorite songs. Today’s not going to be one of those days, but tonight might be the kind of night where I show my appreciation for his love of chains.
He catches me looking as he turns around, zipping his fly over the sizeable lump in the front of those purposefully tight pants. He smiles.
“We could go and question E.A.,” he starts, lowering his voice until it’s almost a soft purr. “Or you could always just unleash your big, fat knot on my slick drenched cunt …”
“Later,” I blurt, before he can say anything more.
My cock is already straining the front of my pants.
Echo knows how easy it is to turn my energy into lust.
It doesn’t matter how I’m feeling.
He can always tempt me.
“Damn,” he murmurs. “So, close.”
He runs his hand over his crotch as he thankfully steps out of my sight.
