Page 21 of Fourth Base with the Alpha

“Who is it?” Isabella’s voice rings out from behind the door.

“Hunter. Can I come in?”

“Yeah, sure. We’re just finishing up in here.”

I open the door and immediately that scent hits me like a ten-ton truck, nearly knocking me straight off my feet.

I stand in the doorway, blinking and catching my breath and then she comes into view. She’s standing in the middle of the room, balancing on a pair of ridiculously high heels and dressed in a dark green dress that slithers down her body, hugging every single one of her curves. It plunges low at the front and at the back, and I don’t know how the hell it’s held in place because there are no straps. Her shoulders are bare and her dark hair shimmers around her face. Her eyes seem even bigger and brighter than usual and her lips are painted a rich red.

She looks like a siren. Temptation. Sin.

Shit.

“What do you think?” she asks, dipping into a slight curtsey and then spinning around slowly. The dress curves around her ass in a frankly obscene manner.

I open my lips and my fucking tongue won’t move. It feels like lead in my suddenly dry mouth.

She tilts her head and giggles, oblivious to the torture she’s putting me through.

“You look very handsome,” she says, eyeing the makeup artist in the room who is busy zipping away her brushes. The omega saunters up to me and, pausing right before me, hesitates before she smoothes her hands down my chest.

“You make a beautiful pair,” the makeup artist says, as she scurries from the room, shutting the door behind her.

My hands creep to the omega’s waist. She’s soft beneath my hands and her scent swims around my sinuses, electrifying my senses with its sweetness.

I gaze down at her, still unable to find my voice. She smiles at me.

“I’m still a little nervous,” she confesses. And I notice she hasn’t stepped away, even though our one-woman audience has left the room.

“Y-you,” I cough, “you shouldn’t be – you look like a movie star.”

She rolls her eyes. “There aren’t many film stars my size.”

“You’re not that short,” I say.

“Oh, no, I meant … you know. The designer only had one dress that would fit me and even then they had to make emergency adjustments.”

“I like it,” I say firmly. Fuck it, I love her body. I’m having a hard time beating down the damn alpha inside me who wants nothing more than to swim his hands all over her. Grab and squeeze every inch of her. Fuck it, lick every inch of her too.

I adjust my stance.

“I was thinking …” she says, eyes not leaving mine.

“You were …”

“Uh-huh. That we ought to have a little practice kiss.”

“A practice kiss?” I ask, my pants becoming tighter by the fucking second.

“It seems to be the done thing with fake-dating. We should practice so that we don’t mess up when we have to do the real thing.”

“You often mess up kissing?” I ask, with a slight tease.

“I’ll have you know I’m an expert at kissing on account of all the practicing.” I frown, but she seems oblivious. “We used to read all the articles on the internet and watch how they did it in the movies. Then we’d, you know, practice.”

“We?”

“Me and my sister.”