Page 80 of Heat Clinic

The alpha contractors glance up and then ignore us, going back to work as their tools whirr and sawdust flies onto the tarps they’ve laid down to protect everything from the mess.

“Come on, let’s go eat lunch. I’m starving.” I worked up quite the appetite this morning.

Tom heats up the leftovers from dinner last night, and we sit in the kitchen while he throws it all into the hot oven. I’d have used the microwave. He’s fancier than me. I’m sure his way tastes better, and it makes me glad he knows this kind of shit so he can help us take care of our girl the way she deserves.

I sniff the air, my stomach growling. “That already smells good.”

He smiles and jabs the corkscrew into a bottle of wine he pulled from their fancy ass wine pantry. His hand twists as he works it in, then pulls it out with a pop and leaves the bottle to breathe, whateverthatmeans.

“I guess we can’t leave while they’re here working,” Emily says.

“Where did you want to go?” Tom asks. He pulls out three glasses and sets them in front of us.

“We still haven’t gone to the park. The weather’s supposed to be nice for a while,” she says.

“Yeah, what do you do all day when you’re here?” I ask. Marcus has to leave to go to his office, but Tom explained he sets his own schedule and he’s taking time off to help us settle in.

He pours the wine for us. “Deal with the gallery, read, do yoga, watch a movie, or go shopping. Occasionally, Marcus drags me to Broadway for a show. There are a few restaurants we like that we’ll take you to once he catches up on the clients he rescheduled. And of course I take photos. Sometimes I take videos too.” He takes a sip of his wine and holds my gaze. “Just like what you did this morning.”

Oops.

We’ve been caught.

Wait, how the fuck does he know that? The smug, smart bastard smirks while Emily glances between us. I swear, occasionally I think he can read my mind. Tom pulls his phone from his pocket, taps at it, and sets it on the counter. It’s security camera footage of me fucking Emily over the bike, my bare ass pumping into her.

“What… Where is there a camera down in the basement? I don’t remember seeing one. Oh my God.” Emily freezes as she watches it with her wine glass stopped halfway to her mouth. She looks at me, and something about my expression must give me away. “You knew about this?” She slaps me on the arm and gives me an adorably grumpy face.

I scrub a hand through my hair as Tom lets the video play. “The owner had the super put in cameras a few years ago. There’s a security guard and an entire wall of screens showing the feeds that cover the common areas of the building. I explained that we’re newly bonding. Many of them are mated, so they know how it is. They deleted the feed as a courtesy. I would recommend, however, that you refrain from any further adventures unless you want a room full of security guards watching you.”

I don’t mind, but Emily’s got her hand pressed to her mouth, so I guess that basement and elevator shenanigans are off the table now. Tom peeks in the oven to check on our food. “You know, if you want to join me on a photoshoot, I wouldn’t mind. Have you ever used a real camera before, Sam?”

No.But now I fucking want to. Emily’s draining her wine glass and holding it out for a top up.

“Wanna be my model, baby?” I ask her, petting her hair.

“I was wondering the same thing,” Tom says, shoving his hands in his pockets all casually.

Suspiciously casual.

“Umm, sure. Wait. What kind of modeling?” She narrows her eyes, as if she’s suspicious too.Smart girl.

“I’ll show you. Our food has some time before it’s ready.” He adds more time on the oven timer and leads us into the bedroom he shares with Marcus. Up on the walls, large prints have been hung up in thick, black frames.

They’re mostly closeups of intimate moments or a backlit model showing off the curve of their anatomy printed in black and white. Not all of them are explicit, although all of it is erotic. Some focus on the play of shadows across the model’s ribs, or the way clawing fingers leave shallow divots as they grasp a thigh. Each one is beautiful in a raw, distinctly primal human way.

The largest one hangs over their bed, and it shows the closeup of a man’s throat as an alpha bites his claiming mark into flesh, sharp canines sinking deep until a small trickle of blood runs down the other male’s lightly muscled chest. I know that chest. Those hands. That small scar on the bicep.

“That’s you guys. You photographed your mating,” I say, staring at it. The alpha’s face is shadowed in the dim lighting, his hair hanging down, so all the viewer’s attention is focused on the flash of white teeth that bite into tender skin.

“I did. And I’d like to photograph yours too.” Tom smiles and stares up at the pictures with fondness. “When you’re ready.”

I reach and grab Emily’s hand, threading our fingers together and squeezing. She squeezes me back. “I’d like that.”

“Me too,” she says.

The timer’s beeping draws us back into the kitchen, and we eat and make plans and wait for Marcus to come home tonight and the contractors to leave so we can speak freely.

We’ll decide to wait for our nest to be done. For it to be special.

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