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I just want to enjoy the knots and bites and fun-scented men without freaking.
“Ready?” Jin hauls a duffel bag over his bare shoulder. “We’ve got unmarked cars wrapping the block.”
“You’re not ready.” I start to tug off my sleeve. “Here. You wear—”
“That belongs to you.” Jin drops to his knees to pull the coat shut. He only touches fabric, but with so much possessive heat, he may as well be thumb-fucking my bare chest.
“Can you fly shirtless?” Leather squeaks when I slide away on the couch.
“When you fly private, you can do anything you want.” Bish closes his laptop, gathering a few last items for his briefcase.
Jin isn’t rushed. He’s steady on his knees. “Aren’t I pretending my scent-matched omega is hitting her first heat with our pack? Wouldn’t you be calmer, seeing your alpha flaunt your marks? All part of the act.”
Freaking master of disguise over here.
I stand to escape.
Staring level with my belly button, Jin almost tips me with a black-hole grin.
“Let me use the bathroom, then I’ll be ready,” I answer his question the way I should’ve the first time, then duck into Bishop’s en suite.
My nose twitches from the steamy leftover scent of warm soap and clean alpha, but I focus fast.
Unzipping the backpack I’m keeping latched to my side from now on, I pull out the syringe case, already tasting bleached lemonade.
I can’t slip, even if these alphas grease my handholds. Without the pheromonal reminders of who I am and who I’m not, I’m afraid of sliding allllllllll the way to the bottom of the Meadows hole.
Peeling back layers of alpha hand-me-downs to reveal my throat, I turn away from the mirror and jab.
It stings, then burns.
My neck cords and lemony starbursts spin.
I swallow the stomach acid, blot sweat from my forehead with one of Bish’s bergamot-scented hand towels, and force my face into a mask of confidence.
I only have to push through three more steps.
Flight.
Flee.
Then freedom.
I leave the bathroom, head held high until Bishop’s lips press. “You didn’t wash your hands?”
“I didn’t—” Ugh.
I one-eighty, scrub with soap, then dry my hands on my coat while we all pretend my cheeks aren’t flaming.
It’s from the chemicals. “Can we go?”
“After you.” Bishop sweeps his arm, leading down the hall.
He and Jin snap to my sides, playing perfect possessive mates, protecting the omega wearing half their closets.
Capri has front-row seats for our act.
“Happy honeymoon,” she calls sweetly. “And congratulations, Mister Meadows. I’ll take good care of operations while you’re indisposed.”
