Page 18 of Alpha's Touch
“Yep,” Preston replied, grabbing his wallet from the counter. “Though I still think you’re crazy for showing up at my door at the crack of dawn.”
“It’s ten.”
“Like I said, crack of dawn.”
Outside, the morning had blossomed into the kind of perfect day that made the mountains look painted against the sky. Zeppelin helped Preston onto the bike, savoring the way his mate’s arms immediately wrapped around his waist, body pressed close against his back.
The market was set up in a field just outside town, white tents dotting the grassy area like mushrooms after rain. They parked the bike under a tree at the edge of the makeshift lot, and Preston climbed off, legs a little wobbly.
“You okay?” Zeppelin asked, steadying him with a hand on his elbow.
“Yeah, just... somebody woke me up too early for this.” Preston’s hair was tousled in a way that made Zeppelin want to run his fingers through it.
As they walked between the stalls, Zeppelin noticed how Preston’s eyes darted everywhere, taking in the vibrant displays of fruits, vegetables, and handcrafted goods.
The market was already bustling with activity. Sunlight glinted off colorful produce displays, and the air was rich with the scent of fresh herbs, baked goods, and earth. Vendors called out greetings as shoppers moved from stall to stall, canvas bags filling with the week’s harvest.
At a fruit stand, Zeppelin picked up a ripe peach, its skin fuzzy against his palm. He brought it to his nose, inhaling the sweet aroma before offering it to Preston. “Try this.”
Preston took a small bite, juice immediately running down his chin. Zeppelin caught it with his thumb, bringing it to his own mouth in a gesture that made Preston’s pupils dilate.
“Good?” Zeppelin asked, already knowing the answer from the expression on his mate’s face.
Preston nodded, taking another bite. “Amazing,” he admitted.
Zeppelin paid for a small bag of peaches, adding them to the canvas tote he’d brought.
They moved through the market slowly, Zeppelin buying whatever caught Preston’s eye. Strawberries, blackberries, fresh bread still warm from the oven. At each stall, he’d select something and feed a taste to Preston, watching with satisfaction as his mate’s initial shyness gave way to eager acceptance.
He guided Preston through the crowd with a light hand at the small of his back. The touch was innocent enough, but even through the fabric of Preston’s shirt, Zeppelin could feel the warmth of his skin.
Every few steps, someone called out to Zeppelin—the baker waving from behind his display of sourdough, Mrs. Henderson stopping to ask about her roof repair, the sheriff pausing his conversation to shake Zeppelin’s hand. Each time, Zeppelin made sure to introduce Preston, his hand never straying far from his mate’s lower back or shoulder.
“You know everyone,” Preston observed after the fifth person had stopped them.
“Small town,” Zeppelin shrugged. “Hard not to.”
At the honey stand, Zeppelin bought a small jar and immediately opened it. Dipping his finger in, he offered it to Preston, who, after a moment’s hesitation, leaned forward and wrapped his lips around Zeppelin’s finger. The warm, wet slide of Preston’s tongue against his skin sent heat spiraling through Zeppelin’s body.
“Sweet,” Preston said softly, holding Zeppelin’s gaze.
His mate was out to kill him.
By the time they’d made a full circuit of the market, their bag was overflowing with produce, bread, cheese, and jams.
They sat under the tree where the motorcycle was parked, eating some of the fruit and drinking the fresh lemonade Zeppelin had purchased.
Preston nibbled on a chunk of warm bread dipped in herb-infused olive oil. “I can’t believe how much I’ve eaten today, and none of it was frozen or needed a microwave.”
Zeppelin’s back was against the tree, one leg stretched out before him, the other bent, watching the pure bliss on his mate’s face as he ate a few strawberries.
This time, when the juice flowed, instead of using his thumb, Zeppelin leaned closer, waiting to see if his mate would pull away.
Preston didn’t.
The taste of him settled on Zeppelin’s tongue, stretching the moment into something endless. Then his lips pressed into Zeppelin’s, lingering as if committing the moment to memory. He was shocked Preston had initiated it, a gentle pull that sent Zeppelin’s pulse climbing. His teeth caught Preston’s bottom lip, just for a second, more tease than bite.
The warmth of Preston’s mouth lingered long after he pulled back, leaving Zeppelin breathless.
