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“I’m wearing his pants.” I wiggle a leg, showing off the glossy blue silk. “Do I need an appointment?”
“Straight to the end of the hall.” She gestures to a set of double doors. “But he might be…occupied.”
The woman isn’t giving me territorial omega vibes, but I don’t want to chat through her pheromones. I use my key to swipe past.
If Bish has business, I won’t interrupt.
I’m happy to wait, all by myself.
I need a break.
A short hallway leads to a second, already open door, but it may as well be a wind tunnel.
My vision whitens with the savory-sweet scent that rips my throat and roars past my flaming ears.
Maple bacon and peach mimosa.
I lick my lips, mouth watering.
It smells like Bishop and Dutch, and no third person.
But…
My body goes weirdly tight.
What is that?
Their scents twine with each other. A rhythmic thump, thump, thump is either my heart exploding, or something more serious going down in the office beyond.
“Bish?” I whisper.
That syrupy, smoky scent moves my feet.
Mimosa brunch.
A full breakfast spread.
The door hangs open in invitation.
I’m peeping before my brain connects the wicked dots.
Thump, thump, thump goes the wood.
My body goes sploosh.
So much for a break.
I’m about to be broken.
Bishop fucks Dutch over his desk.
Bent in half, Dutch splays across the wood. Sculpted ass bare. Holding on for a ride, he clenches the edge with thick fingers. Desperate. Almost splintering.
Thump.
Thump.
Thump.
