Page 30

Chapter

Twenty-One

LEXIE

M y apartment looks even smaller with Darren in it. He fills the space in a way that should be intimidating but somehow isn't, his presence warm rather than overwhelming. He stands in the middle of my living room, taking in the stacks of inventory and shipping supplies with interest.

"Sorry about the mess," I say, moving a pile of sweaters from the couch to make room for him to sit. "Business has been booming lately."

"Don't apologize," he says, picking up one of my designs, a deep green cardigan with subtle cable detailing. "These are amazing. You made all of these?"

"Some of them, that one included," I confirm, heading to the kitchen to start the coffee. "Some are vintage pieces I've modified or upcycled."

He follows me, leaning against the doorframe as I measure coffee grounds.

"So," I say, focusing on the task at hand rather than the man watching me. "You wanted to talk."

"Yeah." He rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. "About what happened at The Terrace. About us."

Us . Such a small word to carry so much meaning.

"There isn't an 'us,' Darren," I say quietly, pouring water into the coffee maker. "There can't be."

"Why not?" The question is simple, direct. Typical Darren.

I turn to face him, forcing myself to meet his eyes. "Because your pack made it very clear they're not comfortable with me being in the picture."

"I don't care what they think," he says, the words fierce and low. "I want to keep seeing you, Lexie. See where this goes. If they don't get on board, then I'll just have more of you to myself."

The intensity in his voice, in his eyes, makes my breath catch. "It's not that simple."

"It can be," he insists, taking a step closer. "If we want it to be."

"Your pack?—"

"Is important to me," he acknowledges. "But so are you.

And I'm tired of letting other people dictate my life, my choices.

First it was coaches and scouts telling me I'd never make it as a beta in an alpha's game.

Then it was doctors telling me my career was over because I presented as an omega.

Now it's my own packmates treating me like I'm suddenly made of glass. "

He takes another step, close enough now that I can feel his heat. I'm not sure if all omegas are this warm, or if it's just him. "I'm done letting other people tell me what I can and can't have."

The coffee maker beeps, signaling it's finished brewing, but neither of us moves.

"What do you want, Lexie?" he asks, his voice softer now.

What do I want? The question replays in my head, deceptively simple yet impossibly complicated.

I want to not be hurt again. I want to not be someone's second choice, their consolation prize until something better comes along. I want to matter to someone the way they matter to me.

But more than any of that, I want him .

The realization hits me with startling clarity. Despite everything, the disastrous dinner, the pack complications, my own well-founded fears, I want Darren. Have wanted him since that first dinner when he looked at me like I was the most fascinating person he'd ever met.

"I want..." I start, then stop, the words catching in my throat.

Darren waits, patient, those blue eyes never leaving mine.

"I want to not be afraid," I admit finally. "I want to believe this could work."

His expression shifts with relief. "Then let me prove to you it can."

He closes the distance between us, one large hand coming up to cup my cheek. His touch is gentle, almost reverent, as his thumb traces the line of my jaw. I should step back. Should remind myself of all the reasons this is a bad idea.

Instead, I lean into his touch, my eyes fluttering closed.

The first brush of his lips against mine is soft, questioning. A request, not a demand. I answer by pressing closer, my hands finding purchase on his chest, feeling the solid warmth of him through his shirt.

The kiss deepens, transforms from gentle exploration to a hungrier, more urgent one. His hands slide down to my waist, lifting me easily onto the counter. I gasp at the display of strength, and he takes advantage, his tongue slipping past my lips to tangle with mine.

He tastes like mint and him, a flavor I could quickly become addicted to. And he smells like… like woodsmoke. My hands move up to his shoulders, feeling the muscles shift beneath my palms as he pulls me closer, settling between my thighs.

"Lexie," he murmurs against my lips, the word a reverent growl.

I should stop this. Should remember all the reasons I deleted that app, all the lessons I've learned the hard way about packs and alphas and omegas. Should protect myself from the inevitable heartbreak.

But his hands are sliding under my shirt, calloused palms warm against my skin, and I don't want it to stop. Not because his perfect body is short circuiting my brain. No, I'm still painfully aware of what the consequences for this little indulgence are going to be.

I just don't fucking care.

I'm so tired of being alone, of waiting, of keeping these walls up at all times. It hurts as much as being vulnerable, just in a different way. One that's harder to quantify.

"We should—" I try, but the words dissolve into a moan as he nips gently at my pulse point.

"Should what?" he asks, his voice rough with desire.

"Slow down," I manage, even as my body arches into his touch.

He pulls back immediately, his eyes dark but clear. "You're right. I'm sorry. I got carried away."

The loss of his warmth is almost painful. "No, I didn't mean—" I take a breath, trying to organize my scattered thoughts. "I just meant we should talk more. About what this means."

Relief flashes across his face. "We can talk," he agrees, though his eyes drop to my lips. "Talking is good."

But neither of us moves to create more space between us. His hands remain on my waist, his fingers biting into my soft flesh pressed to his hard body. My legs are still wrapped loosely around his hips, keeping him close.

"What do you want to talk about?" he asks, his voice low and intimate in the small kitchen.

What indeed? The pack? The future? The fact that I'm already in deeper than I ever intended to be?

"I don't know," I admit, my hands sliding up to the nape of his neck, fingers threading through his hair. "I can't think straight when you're this close."

A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. "Is that a bad thing?"

"Probably," I say honestly. "But I don't care right now."

That's all the invitation he needs. His mouth finds mine again, the kiss deeper, more demanding this time. There's an urgency to his touch now, a hunger that sends heat pooling low inside my core.

We should move this to the bedroom. Should take our time, explore each other properly. But his hands are sliding higher under my shirt, and my patience is rapidly evaporating.

"Darren," I gasp as his thumbs brush the undersides of my breasts. "The dining table."

He pulls back slightly, confusion flickering across his face. "What?"

"The dining table," I repeat, already tugging him toward the adjoining room. "It's closer."

Understanding dawns, followed by a grin that's equal parts wicked and delighted. "Lead the way."

The dining table in question is barely visible beneath stacks of inventory, sweaters and cardigans neatly folded and sorted by size and color. I hesitate, suddenly self-conscious about the state of my apartment.

"We can clear it," Darren says, reading my thoughts. "Or..."

He sweeps me up in one fluid motion, setting me on the edge of the table between two stacks of sweaters. The casual display of strength sends a fresh wave of heat through me.

"Or this works too," I manage, breathless.

His laugh is low and warm against my neck as he presses kisses along my collarbone. "Adaptability is key in hockey."

"Is that so?" I tilt my head to give him better access, my hands finding their way under his shirt to explore the hard planes of his abdomen.

"Mmm," he confirms, his own hands busy with the buttons of my blouse. "You have to be ready to adjust to changing circumstances."

The last button gives way, and he pushes the fabric aside, his eyes darkening as he takes in the sight of me in a simple black bra.

Nothing fancy or special, since I wasn't exactly planning for this when I got dressed this morning, but the way he looks at me makes me feel like I'm wearing the finest lingerie.

"You're beautiful," he says, voice rough with desire.

I should feel self-conscious. My body isn't perfect, and after my last few disastrous rounds of romance, my confidence has definitely been shaken, but the genuine appreciation in his eyes banishes any insecurity.

Instead, I reach behind my back to unhook my bra, letting it fall away.

Glad I opted for the strapless today because I don't think I can remember how to take off my own damn shirt.

His sharp intake of breath is gratifying. More so when his hands replace the fabric, cupping and exploring with a reverence that makes my heart stutter.

Darren growls as he captures my mouth in a kiss that leaves no doubt about his intentions. His thumbs brush over my nipples, drawing a gasp from me that he swallows eagerly.

We're moving fast. This isn't how I usually do things. But nothing about Darren fits into my usual patterns, and maybe that's a good thing.

What did doing things the right way with Mark ever get me? Or the others?

His mouth leaves mine to trail down my neck, across my collarbone, and finally to my breast. The first touch of his tongue against my nipple sends a jolt of pleasure through me so intense I arch into him, a moan escaping before I can stop it.

"Gods, the sounds you make," he murmurs against my skin. "I want to hear more of them."

His hands slide to the button of my jeans, pausing there. "Is this okay?"

The fact that he asks, that he checks in despite the obvious desire written across his features, makes my heart flutter. "Yes," I breathe. "Please."

He makes quick work of the button and zipper, helping me shimmy out of the denim without dislodging me from my perch on the table. My panties follow, leaving me naked except for my open blouse while he remains fully clothed.

"This seems unfair," I observe, tugging at the hem of his shirt.

He grins, stepping back just long enough to pull the shirt over his head in one smooth motion.

The sight of him, all defined muscle and tanned skin, momentarily steals my breath.

Tattoos I hadn't noticed before cover both arms in intricate designs.

One is a giant kraken wrapping around his muscled bicep.

"Better?" he asks, returning to the space between my thighs.

"Getting there," I say, my hands going to the waistband of his shorts. "These need to go too."

He complies eagerly, pushing down his shorts and underwear in one motion, kicking them aside. And then he's there, gloriously naked and unmistakably aroused, his desire for me evident in every line of his body.

Fuck, he's huge. Not just for an omega, or a beta, for… anyone. His cock is thick and hard, precome already beading at the tip, making my mouth water even if I'm pretty sure I'd have to unhinge my jaw to take it all.

"Condom?" he asks, his voice strained with the effort of holding back.

"Bedside drawer," I say, reluctant to pause even for something so necessary. "But I've got an IUD. And I got tested recently, after…" I trail off, realizing I don't want to say after I found out my boyfriend was fucking his way through every pack in the state.

"Same," he confirms quickly.

I wrap my legs around his waist, drawing him closer. The first brush of him against my center draws matching gasps from both of us.

“Fuck me,” I whisper against his lips.

He enters me slowly, giving me time to adjust to his size. The stretch is delicious, a perfect balance of pleasure and the slightest edge of pain that quickly fades as my body accommodates him.

"Fuck, Lexie," he groans when he's fully seated within me. "You feel amazing."

I can only nod, words beyond me as he begins to move. Slow at first, measured thrusts that build a steady rhythm. But it's not enough. I want more.

"Harder," I gasp, my nails digging into his shoulders. "Please, Darren."

He obliges, his pace increasing, each thrust driving deeper.

The table creaks beneath us, a stack of sweaters toppling to the floor, but neither of us cares.

There's only this, his body moving within mine, the building pressure at my core, the way he watches me with those intense blue eyes like I'm the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.

One of his hands slides between us, his thumb finding the bundle of nerves at my center with ease. And Mark somehow couldn't find it with a fucking GPS and a map. The first touch sends a jolt through me, my back arching as pleasure spirals tighter.

"That's it," he encourages, his voice rough. "Let go for me, Lexie."

The combination of his words, his touch, and the relentless rhythm of his thrusts pushes me over the edge. I come with his name on my lips, waves of pleasure washing through me with an intensity that leaves me gasping.

He follows soon after, his rhythm faltering as he finds his own release, my name a prayer on his lips as he pulses within me.

For a long moment, we stay like that, our bodies connected and our ragged breaths in sync, his forehead resting against mine. Then he carefully withdraws, gathering me into his arms with a tenderness that contrasts sharply with the passion of moments before.

"That was amazing," he breathes. "You're fucking amazing."

"So are you," I murmur. I have to admit, I never really imagined sleeping with an omega, but it wasn't something that crossed my mind at all when we were together, and now…

now I'm starting to realize designation doesn't really matter.

I've never felt so desired with anyone before, alpha or beta. "Holy shit."

He laughs, the sound vibrating through his chest where my head rests. "Eloquent, aren't we?"

"Mmm," I murmur, too content to form proper sentences. "Words are overrated."

His arms tighten around me, and I can feel his smile against my hair. "We should probably move to a more comfortable location."

"Probably," I agree, making no effort to move.

"Your bedroom?"

"Down the hall, first door on the right."

He scoops me up effortlessly, carrying me through the apartment like I weigh nothing. It should feel ridiculous. I'm a grown woman, perfectly capable of walking, but instead, it feels... right. Safe.

And that's the most terrifying part of all.

Because as he lays me gently on my bed, climbing in beside me with a smile that makes my heart flip, I know I'm in trouble.

Deep, serious trouble.

I'm falling for him. For Darren Malloy, professional hockey player, newly-presented omega, member of a pack that clearly has serious issues with me.

I am so, so screwed.