Page 49 of Heat Lightning

I blinked up at him, imagining how empty my apartment would be if he left. My lip trembled. Traitor.

Fuck, my heat-fueled emotions were so embarrassing. I was afraid of what would happen if he stayed, but I also didn’t want to be alone. Any other time, and I’d already have thrown him out. Probably through the window. Again. “It’s whatever.”

He took a step closer, and I felt all the places we almost touched—all the places we’d already touched—as if electric currents ran from my body to his, connecting us.

His eyes flashed. “No. It’s not whatever. Do you want me to leave your home, or not?”

I chewed on the inside of my cheek and shook my head.

“Your words,” he said, voice hard but not harsh. “Use them. Do you want me to go?”

When I was back in my right mind, I’d make him pay for the way his command made me want to bare my neck. “No,” I whispered.

I thought it would hurt to admit, but really it just felt like relief.

He nodded, spinning me around by the shoulders and pushing me down the hall, far more gently than I’d done to him the night before. “Alright, then. Go get comfortable, put away that flashing contraption, and then we’ll talk.”

Oh, I was never getting rid of that red light therapy mask, now. “Fine.”

THIRTEEN

MAX

I did as he’d instructed, but only because I wanted to. Not because he’d said so.

In fact, I showered again, taking my sweet-ass time scrubbing every inch of myself clean before donning my coziest pair of cotton pajamas, this time featuring frolicking ghosts in a flower garden.

Because today could use some fucking whimsy.

Fresh and ready for whatever life threw at me next, I turned to Jeffrey, who sat at the foot of my bed, ears forward and ready to pounce if anyone dared enter my room without his approval. “Okay. We should go out there.”

He glared at me and nestled in.

Great. I was on my own for emotional support. With a deep breath, I opened my bedroom door and strode into the living room.

And stopped short.

The Masked Man was in a T-shirt. A T-shirt.

He still wore the mask, but his hoodie was gone, tossed over the arm of the sofa like it belonged. Something warm sizzled in my chest.

His muscles were defined. A large tattoo snaked down one arm, but I’d have to study it up close to really tell what it was. The rest of his skin was olive-toned and tan, and the way the shirt stretched across his shoulders practically made me drool.

I felt like a Victorian-era alpha seeing an omega’s ankles for the first time. I wasn’t so sure I wouldn’t have to go clean myself up again.

The way he grunted and sweated as he wiped white paste over the hole in the wall didn’t help. At all. Neither did the way he let a curse slip out under his breath when some of the spackle dripped onto the floor, low and harsh.

It made me think of… things. Like the way he’d sounded with his finger in my mouth, teeth nipping at my neck, for one.

Great. I’d need to open more windows.

“Please stop making noises,” I begged, the words flying out of my mouth before I could help it.

He whipped around to look at me, almost as if he’d been caught like some kind of home improvement bandit. “I know what I’m doing, I swear. Wait, what did you say?”

“Nothing,” I replied quickly, folding my hands behind my back. “Wait, what did you say?”

He merely raised an eyebrow and smirked. “You first, sweetheart. Something about making noises and saying please.”