“Dakota,” I say his name again, and this time he jerks like he’s snapping out of a trance.
“Yeah?” He blinks, then opens his eyes wide as he looks at my face. It’s like he’s struggling to focus.
“The zipper,” I say, turning to show him where it’s stuck on my hip.
His eyes linger on my exposed skin, up to my stomach, then back down to my thighs. “Looks like it,” he murmurs, voice low, lazy—like he’s enjoying the view more than the job.
I can’t help but smile, feeling like his gaze is more of a compliment than any words he could say.
“Please.” I tug the zipper again, showing him how stubborn it’s being.
Finally, Dakota pushes up from the little bench, and I can feel the air shift before he even reaches me. When he steps behind me, his reflection fills the mirror—tall, calm, steady—and I have to remind myself to breathe.
Is it normal for a beta to make an omega feel this flustered?
Dakota’s fingers brush my hip, finding the zipper, the barest touch of skin under his knuckles. For a second, he’s all focus—pretending to fuss with the metal teeth, eyes narrowed like it’s life or death.
But then his hand stills and lingers.
He’s not really paying attention to the zipper anymore. His palm drifts up, slow, tracing the curve of fabric where it meets my lower back. I catch his gaze in the mirror—dark and intense. Every inch of me feels suddenly, achingly aware.
“Got it?” I whisper.
He smiles, just barely. “Working on it.”
There’s a quiet knock at the door—gentle, careful.
“Skyla?” Tadeo whispers low through the thin wood. “I found that top you liked in a smaller size.”
Dakota doesn’t move right away. His thumb is still resting against my skin, a tiny, traitorous point of heat. Then he exhales, steps back a fraction, and reaches over to twist the lock.
The door clicks open, and Tadeo steps inside, filling the dressing room in an instant. The room that felt roomy a moment ago shrinks around him, the air thickens with that subtle, charged edge alphas carry without meaning to. His scent folds into the air—warm coconut and crisp citrus. It threads with Dakota’s softer lilac scent, and my knees nearly forget what they’re for.
“They have it in different colors too.” Tadeo hangs the shirt on a hook, then turns to face us. His eyes slip over Dakota first, then they land on me.
The young alpha stares at the short skirt first, taking in my thighs. I tug at the hem—he probably thinks it’s too short. Then his gaze drifts up. Checking out my exposed middle, then over my chest, but when his gaze lands on my face, his brow furrows a little.
“What’s wrong?” he asks.
I realize I’m frowning, still tugging at the hem of the skirt. “It doesn’t want to zip up,” I admit, then force a smile. “It’s probably for the best anyway. I shouldn’t be wearing something this short.” I gesture vaguely toward my thighs. “They’re too chunky.”
The sound that comes out of Tadeo is a low, warning growl that rumbles deep in his chest. The kind that makes the air vibrate.
I immediately flinch, curling my shoulders inward.
“Your pretty thighs are perfect,” he says, his tone dead serious.
I open my mouth to argue, but he shakes his head.
“No, Skyla. Your body is absolute perfection. Every fucking inch.” His eyes flash as he growls softly. “I spend hours at work thinking about the way you move and feel. I can’t stop thinking about the way those plush thighs wrap around me—perfect and soft.” His fingers flex as he glances down at my legs. “Seeing them right now makes me want to drop to my knees, push up that tiny skirt, and drown in your fucking slick.”
For a second, I can’t breathe. I’m too stunned.
Then Tadeo’s fierce eyes meet mine, and heat floods my face before I can stop it. I look down, biting back a smile, but it’s useless. The corner of my mouth curls anyway.
“He’s right,” Dakota says, not a hint of teasing in his tone as his hand curls tighter around my hip. I glance up at his face, taking in the intensity in his eyes. “Thighs like that give a man purpose in life.”
That makes me melt—soft, breathless, caught somewhere between flattered and undone. Both of them are looking at me like I’m something precious and dangerous all at once, and it leaves me a little unsteady on my feet.
