Chapter 5
Chapter
Five
Emily
“Finally,” I groan into my pillow as I close my eyes. Even the damn pillow smells luxurious; like warm spice and him.
Mr. Bittersweet. That’s what I’m calling Luke Pembrooke, even if he doesn’t know it.
He might smell like a treat, might even look like a prized dessert with those rock-hard pale abs, but the sugar stops when he opens his damn mouth.
The man is insufferable, even for an alpha.
He acts like just because he showed up to the airport and gave me his damn sweater that he’s got some claim on me or something.
My wolf whines internally because the very idea of Lucas Pembrooke claiming me makes her giddy as all hell.
And maybe it makes my insides giddy a little, too.
I think back to moments ago, as he dropped me off like a hot potato, grumbly and growling as he sulked off down the hall like someone had eaten the last cookie in the cookie jar.
He didn’t even let me return his damn sweater.
Seriously, what is this guy’s problem? I’d say it’s an alpha thing because I’m in heat, but I don’t think that is it. Why do I care what Luke is mad about? He’s not my problem.
I roll over onto my back, closing my eyes as I try to relax among the soft linen of this enormous bed. My mind wanders as I try to make sense of everything that’s happened in the last twenty-four hours.
Mother shoving me on a plane. My heat showing up at the worst time ever. Luke removing his sweater and exposing that hard, pale chest…
So what if he looks good with his shirt off? Plenty of alphas do. They’re naturally built to be five-alarm fires.
I bet Simon looks good shirtless, too. Even if he is thinner and leaner than the big grumbly alpha.
I know slumber is near, but yet I feel restless. I roll over onto my stomach, letting out a heavy sigh. My omega is antsy. Agitated.
I groan in defeat, burying my face in the pillow once more.
The scent of burned sugar and spice fills my lungs, and I let out a whine as
I close my eyes and breathe it in, if only because it’s soothing and weirdly comforting.
It’s just a pillow. It’s not like it’s him.
This is his house. Everything smells like him.
Besides, this pillow is no different from the pheromone-scented plushies I have at home to help me get through my heat.
Though I can attest those plushies don’t smell as good as this pillow—as good as a real, red-blooded alpha.
As good as Luke.
I shove the thought of him away as I slide my hand between the waistband of my jeans. I don’t want to think about him right now. I just want to quiet the noise. I just want the relief that awaits me, so I can sleep.
I keep my eyes closed as I breathe in his scent, focusing on the feel of my fingers gliding through my warm, slick folds. My omega relaxes, relishing in the scent that surrounds us. My hips thrust of their own accord as my omega takes over, pushing us into the crevices of fantasy.
The very thought of that verdant, angry gaze mixed with the lingering scent of caramel and spice surrounds me. I let the ecstasy it brings come for me like a thief in the night.
I bury my face into the pillow if only to stifle the deep moan because relief feels so good and the last thing I want to do is wake up Luke’s family—or worse, Luke himself.
Seven more days and my heat will disappear. Surely I can manage a few days…
All I have to do is stay as far away from Luke as possible. That shouldn’t be so hard, right?