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“She needs a change of clothing, Mother. We have to make an appointment to see the council.”
The woman with golden skin and black hair, whose body exuded a rich scent, stepped up to them. Brit felt a hand on her chin, and her head was lifted. “You can’t walk on your own two feet?”
Denier growled. “I like carrying her.”
His mother leaned back. “Do you? Interesting. Embiana has been asking about you.”
“Good for her. I have found the one I want.”
“You need an omega, baby.”
Brit blinked at that and compared the word to the rock-hard male she was pressed against.Baby?
He slowly set her on her feet, and she looked down at his mother from her five-foot-six.
The woman looked her over, sighed, and plucked at her clothing. “I am sure we can find something. Come with me.”
Brit followed her and removed her clothing when asked. The underclothing was sneered at, and Brit said nothing.
A tube in the wall brought in the clothing as the woman measured. She didn’t introduce herself, and neither did Denier’s mother.
When she was dressed in a very businesslike dress, she opened her braid and did her hair in a flattering twist, using the pins she kept flat against her scalp.
She turned with Denier’s mother and walked out of the room where she had gotten changed.
He glanced at her and nodded. He had changed into an all-black shirt and slacks with a black trench coat. He looked good and serious. “Thank you, Mother. Brit, you look perfect.”
The dress she was wearing had a low collar, was fitted, and trimmed with gold braid at the edges of the long sleeves.
He took her hand and brought it to his muzzle to lick her fingers. His eyes were still amber, but he smiled as he pulled her close. He kissed her again, and she slowly responded.
His mother gasped.
Brit pressed her hands to his chest, and she continued the kiss. It was nice. It was sweet, and if it was the last thing she got to enjoy, she would enjoy it.
She smelled a flicker of freesia and locked it down.
Denier lifted his head, and he cocked his head. “Mom, do you use freesia?”
“No. It’s the wrong season. Why?”
She tried to keep a straight face, but he simply stared at her.
“Brit, is that you?”
She shrugged. “Only when I lose control. It doesn’t happen often.”
She met his gaze. “It isn’t a challenge.”
He huffed and nuzzled her head. “You look very pretty. Too covered up but very pretty.”
His mother scowled. “You said you were seeing the council. They err on the conservative side.”
He chuckled. “Just wishful thinking on my part, Mom.”
“What is?” His mother frowned.
“Just wanting to see her in something lovely, not just respectable.”
