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When I wake up, my arm itches in the bad way that says I tore my stitches and soaked my bullet wound in lake water like an idiot with a septic death wish. Footsteps and the scent of coffee warn me they’re awake upstairs.
Throwing off my covers, I grab my tablet and log on to work. Only this time, I log onto a different website.
Black market jobs don’t make me warm and fuzzy, but cooking books for gangsters is a lucrative skill, and I’m just as good at spotting money laundering as I am at washing cash.
I can’t afford to be picky with my awakening sinking in its fangs.
Jett’s bark still echoes in my nervous system, the sickly vibration making me want to puke.
We already have an omega.
I stay in bed for hours, tapping on my tablet, cursing that I don’t have a keyboard as I lean on my black market rep to hook up a few mafiosos who need help cleaning their accounts.
By the afternoon, my stomach won’t stop rumbling. The house is quiet with the alphas gone off to work or kill a few dudes or whatever they do for fun.
When I start to feel woozy, I give in to the need for food and creep upstairs. I’m definitely sneaking some back so I don’t have to risk crossing paths with Craig ever again.
I tiptoe to the fridge, ducking to rifle through the fruit drawer. I’m craving apples like crazy. Maybe I’ll have a piece of cheese as a treat. Anything I can snag before—
“Lilah?”
I whirl to Orion.
He lifts his hands with a smile as soft as his loose sweater and comfy sweatpants. “Didn’t mean to startle you. Are you making lunch?”
“Just grabbing a snack.” Empty-handed, I shut the fruit drawer with my knee.
“Thing is…” He scrapes his skin, drawing my attention to his long, sexy forearms.
“Thing is?” I swallow, my pitch rising.
“I’m craving grilled cheese, but I turned them into hockey pucks the last time I tried.” He chews his lower lip, shifting foot to foot, cheeks pink with embarrassment.
Cute.
I open my mouth to say no, I’m working, and I’m not falling like that curl that falls over your forehead. What comes out is, “Should we make tomato soup?”
“Yeah.” Orion’s grin sets off fireworks in my gut. Big, sparkly, booming ones that have my insides going ooh ahh instead of drawing a line.
Can I not say no to him?
Am I that broken?
I brace myself as he steps closer, smelling like an apple cider donut. The scent is warmer today, more level and less needy. Even his muscles are a little looser. His hips worked out.
Guess that’s what happens when your alpha fucks you for six. Motherfucking. Hours.
Not that I was counting.
But when I came back from the lake at the crack of dawn, they were still going hard enough that I hear Orion’s soft, womb-melting mewls.
Looking deliciously well-fucked, Orion gathers the bread and cheeses while I start the tomato soup on the stove. We don’t speak, but it’s a comfortable silence as we dance in and out of each other’s space.
“For you.” I hand him the plate with the sandwich that’s exploding with cheese, way fatter than the one I kept for myself.
“Spicy ketchup? Habanero aioli?” He opens the fridge to sift through his sauce collection.
“Spicy ketchup,” I agree without much thought. I haven’t tried that one yet, but it has to be delicious.
