by Aiden Bates
And besides that—I wasn’t a safe thing for Anders to be kissing, anyway. The way I’d thrown him down last night hadn’t escaped my mind. How out of control I’d been. The way I’d curled my fingers around his windpipe, convinced that he was some kind of enemy combatant even as I heard him choke—
Nope. Wasn’t gonna happen. He was too fragile right now, and I was too dangerous.
I took a step back before I gave him a cheesy, teasing grin that I hoped would soothe his ego a little better than it was placating my hard-on.
“Thought you were already late there, sweetheart,” I pointed out.
Anders’ brow lowered into a pout again, but he washed it away effortlessly and returned my smile with a nod. “Right. See you in a bit with my latte then, coffee bitch.”
“Your wish is my command,” I called after him, still half-dazed by his presence as I watched him go. It wasn’t until he’d disappeared down into the subway that it hit me what he’d called me, leaving me shaking my head and grumbling. “But I’m not a coffee bitch.”
Half an hour later, I strode into the main floor of the Ballroom, two caramel lattes in hand. I’d been expecting to walk into the thick of a sexy, sultry dress rehearsal for that night’s stage show—but instead, I only heard the music from the orchestra pit tumble to a halt as three of the dancers crashed into each other, leaving Anders throwing his hands up in the air, his temper about ready to blow.
“Rough practice?” I guessed, coming up alongside Noah Layton and chuckling at the way Anders’ face was nearly as red as the feather boa wrapped around his neck. “Never seen Anders so worked up before.”
Noah crossed his arms over his chest, resting them on a very pregnant belly and grunting in annoyance. He’d been a dancer at the club before his pregnancy—and before Foster had raised him up to a much-earned management position. Seemed like he was just about as over the new dancers as Anders was.
“Can’t sing, can’t dance, can’t keep time,” Noah grumbled. “Anders has every right to throw a tantrum right now. He even gave one of those idiots his phone to watch an old video of the routine on, and they only managed to lose it. Not sure why we hired these new dancers to begin with at this point.”
“Surely there’s some reason. Can’t they be…trained, or something?” I blinked uncertainly. I could vault a chain-link fence in about three seconds flat and had no trouble with a solid two-step, but the things that Anders did up on stage were so beyond me, I knew if I gave it a try it’d look like I’d worn my boots on the wrong feet.
“I think we’re hitting a sort of monkey-typewriter scenario here at this point,” Noah said with a sigh. “The Backdoor has scooped up all the real talent in town over the last few months. Except for Anders and a few of the guys who are just moonlighting while they wait for Evita to come back in on Broadway, we’re just throwing people at the dance floor and hoping that one of them gets a few steps right by accident now.”
“Think some coffee will cheer up our only functional Angel?” I asked, raising Anders’ cup and waiting for permission to interrupt practice.
“At this rate? If it’ll keep him from walking, it can’t hurt.” Noah took a step forward, clapping his hands together to get the dancers’ attentions. “Okay, boys. Take five—that’s one, two, three, four, five, since some of you seem to be struggling with your own abilities to count.”
I smirked as Anders hopped down off the stage and made his way over to us, clad in a top hat, a bow tie, tight black pants and no shirt. He threw his red feather boa at me, giving me a mouthful of feathers as he relieved me of the coffee I’d brought for him.
“God, this is so good,” Anders breathed with relief. “Now if we can just get these dancers in line and find my fucking phone…”
“You’ve got an iPhone, right?” I asked, seeing a quick solution to at least one of those problems. “That Find My Phone thing enabled?”
Anders nodded warily. “Yeah, but without my laptop—”
“Here.” I fished my own phone out of my pocket, spitting feathers as the boa settled around my neck. “Log into your Apple account on mine. That’ll do it, right?”
Anders fell silent as he typed in his information. A few seconds later, a ping! emanated from behind the bar.
“God, thank you, Blake. You’re such a lifesaver.” Anders popped up on his tiptoes to give me a kiss on the cheek before he ran off to rescue his device.
“Looks like some of our new dancers were doing a little extracurricular drinking.” Noah rolled his eyes and shook his head. “No wonder they’re all over the place. They’re drunk.”
A grin spread across my lips, even as Anders’ kiss still burned on my cheek, as I realized I might have a solution to Anders’ final problem of the day. Noah glanced over at me, furrowing his brow when he saw the way I was smiling.
“You have something to share with the class there, Blake?”
I shrugged slightly, feeling sorry for the other Omegas for what I was about to say. “I ever tell you about the time my commander caught us drinking during basic?”
Noah’s eyes narrowed as his full attention shifted onto me. “No…but now that you mention it, I’d be fascinated to find out.”
8
Anders
On the way back to my place that night, I found myself laughing harder than I had in years—that full-body, face-aching laugh that left me winded and half-sick by the time I finally regained my composure.
“That was genius, Blake,” I sputtered, shifting a little closer to him to avoid the other pedestrians on the sidewalk in the summer heat. Blake’s body was even warmer than the breeze that swept through the city like an open oven, but the cool sweat that was soaked into his black t-shirt was strangely refreshing as I brushed my arm against his abs. “That whole drill sergeant thing you did before the show tonight…God, I thought that redhead in the middle was going to cry.”
“Aw, it was nothin’,” Blake said, waving the compliment away with an aw, shucks movement of his hand. “I don’t like doing that kind of thing, you know? All the yelling and hollerin’…”
“Yeah, but they deserved it,” I argued. “No wonder they were so terrible—it takes a pro to be able to go on stage shitfaced like that, and those amateurs…”
“Probably finished a bottle of house vodka between the five of them.” Blake chuckled, running his fingers through his sweat-damp hair. “Just needed a little fear of Jesus put into them, that’s all. Happens to the best of us.”
“Yeah, I just doubt that when your drill sergeant yelled at you like that, you ended up with such a stiffy.” I covered my mouth to hide the wicked grin I got every time I remembered the way Blake’s little verbal undressing of the troops left everyone’s pants a little tighter—mine included, although Blake didn’t need to know that.
“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Blake said with a laugh.
“Really?” My eyes grew wide, impressed. “Didn’t think you were the Alpha-on-Alpha type.”
“My commander for basic was an Omega,” Blake revealed. “The armed forces aren’t just Alphas, you know.”
“I recall. Noah’s an Omega too, remember? And he’s a vet.” I cast a sidelong glance at Blake, feeling a strange flash of jealousy pass through me. “So this commander of yours…what’d he look like?”
“About a head shorter than me, pretty blue eyes…one hell of a shouting voice. Looked a lot like you, actually.”
“And that got you hard?” I teased, relishing the heat that flooded my chest at his revelation. An Omega that looked like me—and Blake had fancied him…
“Guess you could say I’ve got a type,” Blake said with a shrug as we came up to my building. “Come on—let’s get you inside.”
As I unlocked the front door to my building, I couldn’t pretend that I wasn’t a little relieved that Blake and I were still on good terms. Take away his muscles, his handsome jawline, his gorgeous eyes and the way he looked in those blue jeans of his, and I was coming to find th
at I honestly just enjoyed his company. Being around him. Laughing and joking, talking trash and teasing each other—it was the most fun I’d had in years. The most fun I’d had with an Alpha, well, ever. Add in the fact that he did have the kind of ass that filled out his jeans so well, he could have been a butt model—not to mention the way he made me feel safe, whether it was securing my apartment or finding my iPhone—and I had to admit that out of everything my villainous stalker had done to my life, giving Blake a reason to stick so close to me was probably the best thing that could have happened to me.
But at the same time, there’d been that kiss—the kiss that we’d both agreed was an accident. A mistake. Something that wouldn’t be repeated again. Blake hadn’t treated me any differently since then, just like I hadn’t treated him any different after he’d come out of his nightmare with his hand around my throat. But ever since those two moments, it had felt like both of us were waiting for the other to pull back. Pull away. Blake from my affections, me from what was obviously a serious case of PTSD.
I guessed in that sense, we were both kind of damaged goods. Blake was obviously still working through whatever had happened to him overseas, and I was apparently so sex starved for an Alpha who didn’t make me feel like he might kill me any moment. Considering the choking incident, I supposed I shouldn’t have felt so comfortable around Blake—but he’d been so apologetic after, and he’d made me feel nothing short of safe ever since. Maybe I was just quick to forgive him—after all, it hadn’t really been his fault.
Or maybe…Maybe I liked the idea that I had such a strong, capable, violent man hanging around at my side, ready to protect me at any moment.
Hell, maybe he liked the idea of a horny, overly affectionate Omega hanging around at his side just as much.
“You want a beer?” I asked, unlocking the new fixture Blake had put on my apartment’s front door that morning and heading for the fridge. “After the way you saved my ass last night, and the show tonight, you’ve earned one.”
“I didn’t do anything. Just chased down a creep and made your new dancers too afraid of me to dare missing a step.”
“That’s more than anyone else has done for me lately,” I pointed out, popping open the fridge. “Is that a yes or a no on the beer?”
“Depends…” Blake collapsed on the couch, pulling his boots off and grinning up at me. “You mind if I crash here again tonight?”
“Because you’re exhausted, or because you want to make sure we don’t have another attempted break-in?”
Blake reached over to the baseball bat we’d balanced against the couch after last night’s encounter. “A little of column A, a little of column B…”
I laughed, pulling two beers out of the fridge and walking one over to him. “I guess you’ll have to sleep over, then, Commander Ayers.”
“Captain Ayers, to you, Sailor.” He took the beer from me, our fingers slipping against each other along the frosty surface of the bottle.
“Well, excuse me, Captain.” I smirked at the way he opened the bottle with the buckle of his belt, drawing all the more attention to the lap of his jeans—as if I needed more of an excuse to stare. “Frankly, you strike me as more of a rear admiral, but—”
“Rear admiral.” He laughed, short and sharp, tilting his head back to stare up at me from my position behind the couch. “Are you flirting with me, Anders?”
“Just pointing out the obvious,” I said with a shrug. “Everyone knows how you seafaring boys feel about booty.”
“Yeah?” Blake turned, resting his arms over the back of the couch. “And how do we feel about it, since you’re such an expert.”
“You tell me,” I said, grinning coyly and emphasizing the swing of my hips as I turned to walk away.
“Oh, that’s funny, Anders. You’re very clever,” Blake called out after me, voice dripping with amused sarcasm.
I cast a glance back at him, not missing the way he was watching me as I walked away.
Rear admiral, indeed.
“Keep me safe tonight, Captain?” I asked, pausing at the hall to give him a little wink.
“Always, sweetheart.” He raised his beer to me like he was toasting me goodnight as I slipped down the hall and back into the safety of my bedroom—all too aware that our little flirtation had made me too hard to be anything at that point—least of all funny or clever.
Blake fucking Ayers. He’d forced his way into my life, all worry and insistence. I hadn’t been sure about it at first, taking up his time like I was. Taking up his worries. So much space in his day. At first, I’d been so sure that letting Blake in like this was only giving credence to my paranoia—making all the fear I’d been feeling all these years somehow more pressing, more present, more real.
But now that he was here, I had to admit that having Blake around was the best thing that had happened to me in a long while. I didn’t want to think about what would have happened if he hadn’t been there to keep watch last night. To force my door shut, guard my windows. Chase the boogeyman who’d been stalking me all this time back into the shadows. Keep me safe.
I only wished that I could do more for him in return. He was taking all of this time out of his life to ensure my safety—and all I could do was flirt with him, which I wasn’t even sure he wanted. Pop boners every time he so much as looked at me. Bring him beer from the fridge and thank him for his services—when all I really wanted to do was service him instead. But if our kiss had told me anything, it was that Blake wasn’t about to let himself be serviced by me, no matter how hard my cock throbbed at the way his lips wrapped around the mouth of his bottle of beer. If there was any righteousness in this world, I would’ve spent the night on my knees in front of him while he sat there on the couch, sucking what I was coming to believe was a very impressive cock just so I could show him how grateful I was for everything he’d done for me.
What I ended up doing, of course, was lying in bed naked, watching the ceiling fan spin round and round while I stroked myself off to the thought of his big, brutal hands on my body all over again.
I was close. So fucking close. I could imagine the taste of Blake’s lips against mine in perfect detail—his scent, his heat, even the feel of his fingers wrapped around my throat. Not in combat this time, but with a sensuality. A possessiveness. If I focused, I could feel the sweat from his brow dripping down onto me, his warmth pouring over me as our bodies slid together, my knees apart, back arched, his cock plunging between the cheeks of my ass and delving deeper, deeper, until—
“Anders,” a gruff voice said at the doorway, pushing it open so hard it slammed against the wall.
I startled, scrambling backward on the bed, my hard, throbbing cock still in my hand. For a moment, I thought it must have been my stalker. The man who’d left me terrified every night since he’d come into my life finally come to take me. Hurt me. Make me his—and there I was, stripped of my clothing and already hard for him.
But as the near-orgasmic haze cleared from my mind, I realized that it wasn’t him at all—it was Blake. Blake in his boxers and nothing more, shoulders heaving as his chest lifted and lowered the scars that he bore across his skin. There was a strange look in his eyes, a hunger that didn’t come to pass as his gaze washed over me, taking me in. If anything, it only intensified. I felt him caress every inch of my body, from my neck to my shoulders, my abs to my hard, thick cock, still drooling precum from the way I’d been touching myself to the thought of him.
It had been hot in the room before. Now, it was boiling over.
“Blake, I… Are you okay?” My voice came out as barely a rasp.
“Another dream,” he said simply, taking a step into the room. “Bad one.”
“How…how can I help?” I asked, completely aware of how ridiculous that must have sounded, considering I still hadn’t taken my hand off my dick.
Blake nodded down at my pelvis, a fire smoldering away in his gaze. “Were you thinking of me?”
“I…” I blus
hed pink at the thought, but as Blake’s gaze lingered, I realized that it was even more ridiculous to be embarrassed to admit it. An Alpha didn’t look at an Omega like that for just any reason. If Blake was going to stare at me like that, then I didn’t need to be ashamed. Afraid. “I was. Yeah.”
A smile flashed across Blake’s lips, dangerous as it was delicious. “Then I think I might know how you can help.”
9
Blake
I didn’t fucking know what I was doing. I didn’t know if it was even right. But when I woke up from yet another of those awful fucking nightmares, the kind that plucked me up off of Anders’ shitty couch and dropped me right back in Syria again, I’d lost all sense of control.
Adrenaline was a hell of a thing. It shocked the system completely, sent the brain rushing down its preestablished neural pathways. Everyone was different, but it always boiled down to the same things. Fight, flee or freeze.
I’d never been much of a runner, and I hadn’t been born to lock up in the face of a challenge. When you were a SEAL, running away or losing your grit weren’t options, anyway. The only thing left then was to fight—and this time, when I woke up, there was no body looming over me, no would-be predator for me to tackle to the ground.
All that was left was the sweat on my brow, my chest heaving as my pulse pounded against my ribs. After a few breaths, the sensation that I needed to beat some enemy combatant’s face in slowly left me, but the stiff, aching hardness that was pitching a tent in my boxers didn’t. It was the worst thing about PTSD, I’d come to find. You could talk about the night sweats, the flashbacks. The way you came home after fighting for your country, only to discover that you never really felt at ease around all the exploding fireworks on the Fourth of July. But no support group on the planet wanted to hear about how you’d wake up in the middle of the night either needing to fight something or fuck someone—and until that moment, I wasn’t even sure if I could trust myself to keep the two straight, even if I had someone to lie in bed next to me at night.
