Chapter 43 #2
“You go on ahead. There’s bound to be something in the supplies storage. The PTs have got all sorts of shit in there for gluing cuts back together. I’d say we can find something for your sister.”
“Do you need us to come with you?” Finch looks perplexed as hell. I don’t blame him.
That only makes Theo chuckle. “I might be team owner, but I’m pretty sure I can be capable of gluing a shoe. Did enough running repairs on my cleats when I was playing.”
“Okay… well… thanks to the Wolf in charge for saving the day, huh? We can just meet you upstairs then, can’t we?” Nikita winks at me.
Gabbie doesn’t say a word, still looking like she’s seen a ghost.
“Give us about ten minutes. We’ll catch up to you.” Theo pauses, then raises an eyebrow in question. “Unless you feel uncomfortable about me helping your sister, of course. I wouldn’t want to overstep—”
Finch shakes off whatever was making his eyes bug out a second ago. “Don’t be ridiculous, Brennan. You, of all people. It’s not like you’re Renfro trying to steal my sister away.”
Well, shit.
My pulse ratchets.
Theo is busy laughing as we turn and helps me to walk away down the corridor by exaggeratedly supporting my weight.
“Oh, I’m not letting Scotland live that one down.” He sounds far too pleased with himself.
“This is insanity,” I grumble.
We reach a door labeled Storage, and after a quick glance up and down the empty length of the hall, Theo opens it. I’m bundled quickly inside. Full covert operation mode.
“You’ve got ten minutes, Scotland. And you owe me three nights of solo time.”
With that, he closes the door. I’m left blinking in the darkness, not even able to see my own hand in front of my face. Also, why the hell did Theo abandon me in here?
Then it hits me. A delicious wave of spring rain and herbal notes.
I don’t need to see a thing; Connor’s scent is everywhere, his big arms wrapping around me in the darkness.
“Hey, Bambi.” His voice is a low, sexy rasp. The kind of seductive tone that pours through my body and pools like liquid heat at the junction of my thighs.
“You are never living down the allegations of being my stalker,” I hum as his lips find my neck.
“Don’t care. Needed to get you alone.” He walks us forward, big hands all over me, pure sex and confidence oozing off him.
Before I know it, he’s pulling me deeper into the rows of shelves, flicking the light of his phone on and setting it on the shelf beside us, so that only a dim glow casts a soft light to see by.
“And what do you think you might be doing? Considering the entire team is here, and god knows how many other people?” I cling to a few shreds of sanity, reminding both of us that whatever temporary high this is to scent each other and tangle together, we need to slam the brakes on. Fast.
“You want to know what I want right now?” His tone drops into a dangerously low register. The vibration from his chest rolls straight down my spine, igniting a trail of sparks that start to illuminate low in my belly.
“Whatever it is… we can’t.” A thousand reasons run through my mind, namely that this man is fundamentally incapable of keeping to ten minutes, and that if he gets me too worked up, I’m going to be a mess of slick and uncontrolled scent.
“Just a little taste.” He sucks on my earlobe, turning my knees to jelly.
“No. You’re out of your mind.” My protest is feeble in the face of his warm palms, hungry and searching down my body until he discovers the hem of my dress.
“C’mon, Bambi…” He playfully nips my ear until I shudder with pleasure. “I need to know how much you enjoyed watching me score. Since you won’t wear my number…”
“Maybe I didn’t see you. Did you guys win tonight or something?” I tease. Foolishly, I’m not as hesitant to play the games he wants to play as I probably should be.
Connor lets out a groan against the side of my throat. “This is only making me more desperate, you know.” Those strong hands brush against my thighs, clever fingers curling beneath the edge of the fabric to bunch my dress up.
The door creaks on its hinges, light spills in when it cracks open a fraction, and we both freeze.
“Five minutes.” Theo’s voice is gritty, hardly more than a growl. “And I’ve changed my mind. It’s now my bed. A whole week.”
“Deal,” Connor answers too quickly. Too smoothly.
The door clicks shut, and I swear Theo curses beneath his breath.
“Why do I suspect you don’t care about his terms?” I let out a shaky exhale when his fingers start to stroke up the inside of my upper thighs.
“Because I’m a rugby player. I’m excellent at interpreting the rules to my advantage.” He chuckles. “Brennan didn’t specify where I had to be. Looks like we’re gonna be having lots of sleepovers in his bed.”
My breathing hitches, I’m teetering on the edge of perfuming so hard this storage closet will turn into an Omega scent box.
“What makes you think he’ll agree to that?”
Connor’s lips curve into a total bad boy smirk, pressed against my skin. “He wouldn’t dare deny his star fullback a good night’s rest cuddled next to his Omega.”
“So sure he won’t lock you out?”
“I am.” His voice is a deep rumble, full of confidence in that sexy Alpha way he has about him.
What I shouldn’t dare admit is how wonderful that sounds.
Immediately, my little Omega self thinks that’s the best idea he’s ever had—not that I’d ever want Connor to know my thoughts on the matter, because he’d be unbearably smug about it—and simply daydreaming about having them both in bed sounds like the dream.
I’ve been sharing between their rooms, barely going home for more than naps between classes and to see the girls, then coming back to Theo’s at night. We haven’t broached the topic of cohabiting in the same bed, but I guess maybe that’s part of the pack conversation I’ve been dancing around.
Having both my Alpha scent matches snuggled with me at night? A thrill shivers through my limbs.
The two of them in the same bed with me? They both run hot; I’ll no doubt wake up sweating and needing to crack open a window, but I don’t think I’d be happier than being sandwiched between my two scent matches.
And yet… it somehow doesn’t feel like enough.
I’m officially a greedy Omega with a rugby player-shaped problem. The lingering itch in my brain about a certain Alpha persists.
“Just a taste, Bambi.” His hand moves over mine, guiding me toward the waistband of my panties, drawing me back to a pinpoint focus where his massive frame curls around me, and his delicious scent is all I can concentrate on.
“What’s your plan here? There’s no way you can touch me… my scent will be too obvious.” I whimper a little too freely because there’s a very needy part of my brain that would love nothing more than for my Alpha to pin me against the wall and do just that.
“Don’t underestimate how good I am at flirting with the touch line.”
The next moment, my hand is dipping beneath the fabric of my scent-absorbing panties, and it’s just the brief slide of my middle finger across my clit.
That’s all I get. An agonizingly quick brush against that bundle of nerves.
Then Connor drags my hand up to his mouth and sucks me between his lips.
His massive chest rumbles like distant thunder, a promise of more to come when he can truly unleash all this pent-up energy.
“Ffffuck.” With a tiny nip of his teeth, a final swirl of his tongue, he lets the pad of my finger drop from his mouth.
I feel like there’s every chance I might sway off balance if he wasn’t holding me upright with one arm banded securely across my middle.
The door cracks open barely an inch this time. “Renfro. One minute,” Theo warns.
“See?” Connor sounds so smug. “Told you I could play nicely.”
“I don’t know if that would be the case if Theo wasn’t right there…”
He snorts. “One last thing we gotta do, lass.”
“Fuck no. You are absolutely not doing anything else. Get your big highlander ass out here right now.” Theo’s voice is a gritty kind of whisper-shout that carries through to where we are.
Connor grabs his phone, and I don’t have time to react. He buries his head in the crook of my neck, looking straight down the camera, and takes a selfie.
“What are you—” I wriggle and fail to get away from him.
But it gets worse. He grins and kisses my shoulder ever so softly, while posting the very grainy, dark photo of the two of us to his Instagram. To his three hundred thousand followers. Holy fuck.
“You can’t do that,” my voice croaks. “Are you mad? You have to delete it.”
“Relax, there’s nothing that could prove it’s you.” He shows me the photo but holds the phone just out of my reach so that I can start desperately jabbing at the screen to hit the delete button myself.
I blink rapidly. The only part of my body to be seen is the curve at the side of my neck; you can’t even see my hair or the strap of my dress.
“I don’t want anyone thinking I’m not yours, Bambi.”