Page 137 of Captive Omega

The thought of walking away from a man who has made it his mission to make me smile, and who is serenading me on the drums—something I didn’t even realize was a thing until now—is a man I don’t think I can walk away from.

I swing back around.

His expression is amused as I walk back to him. It becomes heated the closer I approach. As if he knows exactly what I intend to do. I’m inches away when he surges to his feet and tosses his sticks aside.

I walk right into him, grip him by the front of his shirt, and kiss him.

Maybe I shouldn’t, but I don’t care. I slide my arms up his chest and around his shoulders, my eyes slamming shut as I part my lips for his tongue to sweep in.

Vaughn groans, arms winding around me a split second before he drags my body flush against his.

I lose myself in sensation, rising to my tiptoes as each sweep of Vaughn’s tongue against mine chases away all other thoughts but need. His hands rove my back, my hips, my waist, and my ass. When I feel him hardening against my belly, I break away, breathless. My lungs are starved of air, but my fingers itch with the need to drag Vaughn back for more.

“This is not a good idea,” I gasp.

“No,” he agrees, one corner of his mouth kicking up in a grin, “What is a good idea is me carrying you up to your room, laying you out on your bed, and showing you how that jackass should have been treating you all along.”

I lift my chin. “And how is that?”

His turquoise gaze skates over me, and his smile is pure, carnal need. “Like you deserve the best of everything.”

“I shouldn’t let you.”

His smile grows as his hand cradles my right hip and he pulls me close, his cock nudging my belly. “Shouldn’t or don’t want to?”

I hesitate.

He dips his head to kiss me. I put my hands on his chest and lean back. “The alphas might have a problem with this.”

Hell, I should have a problem with this.

“The alphas do not have a problem with this,” he assures me.

“I don’t believe you.”

Holding my gaze, he plunges his hand in his pocket and pulls out his cell phone. He stabs a button and flips the phone so it’s between us. The ringing is so loud, he must have put it on loudspeaker.

“Vaughn.” Garrison gets right to the point. “Problem?”

“Resa is under the impression that you’d have a problem with me carrying her upstairs, stripping the clothes off her beautiful body and making her come apart. Literally.”

My breath catches in my throat at the hunger in his eyes.

Garrison’s tone was serious before. Steady. In control.

“How would you do that?”

It isn’t any longer.

At his soft growl, my heart leap in response.

“Probably something involving my tongue.” Vaughn steps closer, and I jump when he brushes his finger up my bare arm. “Me on my knees. Her hands in my hair and her pretty thighs open.” He doesn’t blink. “Something like that.”

Garrison swallows. Hard. The sound is overly loud, though not as loud as the creak of his chair. Is he getting as restless as I am? Is the thought of Vaughn doing those things to me turning him on?

I’m ungluing my tongue from the roof of my mouth when Garrison’s chair squeaks again.

“I might want to know that you were taking your time to make her feel good,” Garrison says quietly. “That you weren’t rushing, and you paid careful attention to every single part of her. And I would want to know how she tastes.”

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