Page 9 of The Bright Omega

Cammie: Newsflash. I may be knotless for life.

I send it to Lucy and stare at the screen for a second.

Then I sigh. Nothing dramatic, only small and maybe a little disappointed. I drop my phone back into my clutch.

The YSLs come off the second I'm through the lobby doors. I don't care how good they look, and they look exceptional, my arches have been staging a protest since my second sip of martini and I am done negotiating with them. I hook the straps over two fingers and carry them, walking barefoot across the marble lobby floor like a woman who has made peace with her choices.

The elevator alcove is around the corner. I hear the soft mechanical sound of doors beginning to close and do what any reasonable woman in a perfect orange dress would do. I run.

"Please hold!"

I swing my arm around the closing doors, shoes first, and the sensors catch them. The doors shudder back open and I step inside still slightly breathless from the sprint and—

Oh.

He's at the back of the elevator, back against the wall. He’s big. Not tall, exactly, but dense. The kind of build that makes the elevator feel small. It’s perfectly normal.

Dark red hair, close-cropped. A beard that's neat enough to be intentional and heavy enough to be serious. One small scar through his eyebrow, left side. High cheekbones. Brown eyes. He’s wearing head to toe black. His whole vibe is dangerous and appealing.

His face is impressively impassive. He doesn't shift or fidget or do any of the things people do when a stranger steps into their space. He holds still, like he has never once been uncomfortable anywhere in his life. The warmest thing on him is his scent. Woodsmoke. I want to press my face into it and stay there.

My omega, who has been politely dormant through one martini and an extended conversation about portfolio diversification, sits up like she heard her name called.

I look at him. I look at all of him. "Well," I say, stepping fully inside and letting the doors close behind me. "I'm glad I made the effort."

He looks at me. His scarred dark brow lifts a fraction. And then his nostrils flare. Slow. Deliberate. He doesn't say anything.

I turn to the panel and punch twenty and notice that twenty-three is already lit. Lucy's floor. I file that away and turn back to face the doors.

We ride in silence. It's not uncomfortable. It's the opposite of uncomfortable, actually, which is its own kind of problem. The elevator feels even smaller now and he seems larger, somehow. And the smell of him is doing something perverse to my ability to think in complete sentences. Woodsmoke and something else that I can't name but that my omega is apparently already in love with.

I close my eyes. Just for a second. Just to—

"Omega." His voice is gravel, low enough that it vibrates in my chest.

I open my eyes. My body has apparently mutinied. I’m standing so close to him my breasts brush the sleeve of his jacket with every inhale. He hasn’t moved an inch. My face is approximately two inches from his neck and I am—there is no graceful way to say this—I am actively smelling him. Nose nearly against his skin, breathing him in.

I blink.

He's looking down at me. Not annoyed. Not amused, either. It’s like his face is devoid of emotion completely.

It should scare me. It doesn’t. "My omega likes your scent," I say. Complete honesty was not entirely the plan, but there it is.

He doesn’t pull away. Instead, he tilts his head a fraction, giving me better access. A low sound rumbles in his chest. Not quite a growl, but close enough that it makes my thighs clench. He brings one big hand up slowly, giving me every opportunity to step back. I don’t. He tilts my chin up and kisses me.

It is not a polite kiss. It is not a getting to know you kiss, either. It is the kind of kiss that reorganizes things. Moves things around inside your core and leaves everything in a slightly different place than it was before.

His mouth is warm and certain and he kisses me like he's already decided something. I grab the front of his jacket and hope that something’s me.

And in the middle of all of it, underneath the woodsmoke, I catch something else. Another scent layered into his jacket. Rain. Fresh cut grass. Clean and bright, the exact opposite of his dark warm smoke.

Another alpha. Holy shit. The thought of being sandwiched between this modern-day Viking and whoever smells like summer rain makes my pussy clench so hard I’m surprised I can stand.

He pulls back enough to look at me. His nostrils flare again, slower, deeper, like he’s pulling my slick straight into his lungs. I know he can smell how soaked I am. I hope the other alpha will be able to smell it on him later.

He reaches past me and slams the emergency stop without ever looking away from my face. The elevator jerks to a halt.

My brain has approximately one more second to form a coherent thought before he's back. His mouth finds mine again and it's different now. More insistent. Less patient. His hands are in my hair and at my waist and then everywhere, learning the shape of me through the fabric of my orange dress. He backs me against the wall of the elevator. The cold mirror hits my shoulders, and I don't care at all.