Page 29 of Daisy (Omega Chosen #3)

Daisy

I can smell him through the door.

His scent has been calling to me all evening, but now it's different. Darker. Richer. All that honey and clove but with something new underneath that makes my core clench and wetness gather between my thighs despite the suppressants I took this morning.

I should go back to the cards. Should give him privacy. Should pretend I don't know what's happening in there.

But I can't stop thinking about the way he looked at me when our hands touched. The hunger in his eyes. The way his voice went rough when he said my name.

My fingers still burn where they pressed against his palm. Such a simple touch, but it felt like everything. Like something I didn't know I was missing.

He's been gone for ten minutes, and instead of his scent fading, it keeps getting stronger. More intoxicating. Like it's working its way through the walls and into my lungs until I can barely think straight.

My hands shake as I try to focus on the Uno cards scattered across the bed where we left them.

But all I can think about is the way he looked at me during our game.

The way he said he remembered everything about my first presentation.

The way he said my scent cut through all those blockers and made his alpha take notice.

There's something building inside me that the suppressants can't quite silence. A restless energy that makes my skin feel too tight and my body too warm.

The bathroom door doesn't have a lock. I noticed that earlier when August mentioned something about motel safety regulations. Most of these places don't have locks on the inner doors.

I shouldn't. I know I shouldn't. Good omegas don't spy on alphas. Good omegas certainly don't think about... about whatever it is I'm thinking about.

But I'm not a good omega anymore, am I? I'm free from my uncle. From the pack he chose for me. I'm here because I chose to be, and for the first time in my life, that feels like power instead of submission.

My feet move without permission, carrying me toward the bathroom door. Just to check on him. Just to make sure he's okay.

That's when I hear it.

A soft groan, barely muffled by the thin door. The sound goes straight between my legs, making me gasp and press my thighs together. I can feel slick gathering, my body responding to his need even through the door.

He's... oh god, he's touching himself. Just like I did last night in the shower when Hawk’s scent surrounded me and made my body come alive for the first time.

My hand is already reaching for the door handle before I can stop myself. My heart pounds so hard I can hear it in my ears.

I could turn around. Could walk away. Could pretend this moment never happened.

Or I could be brave. I could choose what I want instead of what I'm supposed to want.

I turn the handle slowly, my breath caught in my throat.

I turn the handle slowly, my breath caught in my throat, and push the door open just a crack.

And then I can't breathe. Can't think. Can't do anything but stare.

He's leaning against the wall beside the sink, head thrown back, completely naked from the waist down. His jeans and underwear are pooled around his ankles, and his large hand is wrapped around...

Oh my god.

I've never seen a man naked before. Never seen an alpha's body. The clinical diagrams from my omega education classes didn't prepare me for this. For how beautiful and terrifying and overwhelming the reality would be.

My eyes travel up his body slowly, taking in every detail. His legs are long and muscled, covered in dark hair that makes my fingers itch to touch. His thighs are thick and powerful, the kind of strength that could pin me down or lift me up without effort.

But it's... it's that that steals my breath completely.

He's huge. Not just his height or the breadth of his shoulders, but.

.. everything. His cock is thick and long and flushed dark with blood, his hand barely able to wrap around the girth.

At the base, I can see his knot, swollen and intimidating.

The head is swollen and slick, and there's something utterly mesmerizing about the way he strokes himself.

Slow and deliberate and desperate all at once.

A small sound escapes me—half gasp, half whimper—and I press my hand to my mouth. I should be horrified. Should be running away. But all I feel is fascination and a liquid heat pooling low in my belly.

This is what an alpha looks like. This is what Dante looks like. And he's... he's beautiful in a way that makes my omega instincts purr with satisfaction.

His body is incredible. All hard lines and defined muscle, so different from my soft curves.

His shoulders are broad, his waist narrow, and his stomach.

.. I can see every ridge of muscle there, flexing with each movement of his hand.

Dark hair trails down from his navel, and I find myself following that line with my eyes until. ..

My face burns with heat, but I can't look away. Can't stop cataloging every inch of him.

And his scent. Fuck, his scent is everywhere now. Honey and clove and raw male need, so thick I can taste it on my tongue. It wraps around me and makes my head spin.

I should leave. Should give him privacy. Should pretend this never happened.

But I can't move. Can't breathe. Can't do anything but watch him.

My body responds without permission. Heat floods my core, and I can feel wetness gathering between my thighs despite the suppressants. My nipples tighten against the soft fabric of my sweater, and something deep inside me clenches with want.

This is what I was missing all those years on suppressants. This desperate, aching need that makes every nerve ending feel electric.

"Dante?" I whisper, the word slipping out before I can stop it.

That's when his eyes open.

Ice-blue and burning with hunger as they lock onto mine. I freeze, expecting him to yell at me. To tell me to get out. To be disgusted that I invaded his privacy like some kind of pervert.

Instead, he holds my gaze and keeps stroking himself, never breaking rhythm.

"Don't stop watching," he says, his voice rough with desire and command. "I want you to see what you do to me."

My breath catches in my throat. What I do to him? "Dante, I?—"

"Touch yourself," he says softly, and there's no alpha bark in his voice. Just a gentle request that I could refuse if I wanted to. The knowledge that I can choose makes my core clench with want. "I can smell how wet you are, beautiful. I know you need it."

Heat floods my entire body. He can smell my arousal? Even from here? The suppressants were supposed to dampen my scent, but apparently they can't hide everything.

"I don't..." My face burns with embarrassment. "I'm not sure I did it right the other night."

His hand stills on his cock, and something tender flickers through the hunger in his eyes. "There's no wrong way, beautiful. It's about what feels good to you."

"But I don't know what I'm doing." The admission comes out smaller than I intended.

"Then let me help you." His voice is gentle but commanding, like he's used to being obeyed. "Can you do that? Let me guide you?"

I nod, not trusting my voice. Something about the way he's looking at me—like I'm precious and powerful and worth wanting—makes me brave.

"Good girl." The praise makes warmth bloom in my chest. "Now, are you wearing panties under those sweatpants?"

My face burns hotter, but I force myself to answer. "Yes."

"Slide your hand inside your pants. Over your panties first. Tell me what you feel."

With trembling fingers, I slip my hand into my sweatpants. Even through the cotton of my underwear, I can feel how wet I am with slick. How swollen and sensitive everything feels.

"I'm..." I swallow hard. "I'm wet."

"Good. That's perfect." He starts stroking himself again, slow and steady, and the sight makes my mouth go dry. "Now find your clit. The little button at the top. Press against it gently."

I explore carefully until I find what he's talking about. The moment I touch it, electricity shoots through my body and I gasp, my knees going weak.

"There you go," he groans, his pace increasing slightly. "Circle it gently. Like this." He demonstrates with his thumb on the head of his cock, and I copy the motion.

Pleasure spirals through me, so much more intense than last time. Maybe because he's watching. Maybe because his scent is everywhere, making my body come alive in ways I never imagined.

"That's it, beautiful. You're doing so well." His voice is praise and sin combined. "Does it feel good?"

"Yes," I breathe, my voice barely a whisper. "So good."

"Now slide your panties aside. I want you to feel how wet you really are for me."

I do as he says, my fingers slipping through the slick heat between my legs. I'm soaked, wetter than I've ever been, and the direct contact makes me moan.

"Fuck, that sound," Dante groans, his hand moving faster on his cock. "Do you know how beautiful you are? How perfect?"

I don't feel perfect. I feel wild and desperate and completely out of control. But the way he's looking at me—like I'm the most precious thing in the world—makes me feel powerful in a way I've never experienced.

"Slide a finger inside yourself," he instructs, his voice strained. "Slowly. Feel how tight you are."

I hesitate, suddenly nervous. "Will it hurt?"

"Not if you're gentle. And you're so wet, beautiful. Your body knows what it wants."

I push one finger inside myself slowly, gasping at the strange but not unpleasant sensation. I'm incredibly tight, my body gripping my finger like it never wants to let go.

"How does it feel?" Dante asks, his breathing getting heavier.

"Full. Strange." I experiment with moving my finger, and pleasure shoots through me. "But good. Really good."

"Add another finger. Stretch yourself open. Imagine it's me inside you instead."