Alpha & Omega

by K. Webster

  “Set it up, Love. Thank you so much,” I rush out in relief.

  She breaks free from Omega and hugs me tight.

  Why do I feel like I just made a deal with the devil?

  ONE WEEK.

  A whole week of avoiding him.

  Fucking Alpha with the tongue of the devil.

  He still followed me around like a lost puppy and gave me food, but I refused to look at him or even speak to him. I bared my soul to him and he said things to me that broke me again. Everything that was a part of my old life sat up in that box in my closet. There must have been some piece of information that showed him a glimpse into my past. Whatever joke he was playing at was fucked up.

  After I dress in a pair of jean shorts, my combat boots, and a black tank that says, I hate people, I climb up in my closet and retrieve my box. I still have some time before I have to go to see the kids for Poem Day. The box is heavy—just like my heart—but I clutch it fiercely and hop back down with it. Once I’ve set it on the bed, I flip the flaps open and peer inside.

  Folded Marine Corps T-shirt. No name.

  Framed sonogram. No name.

  Photo album. Fuck. I’m not sure I can even look through it to check.

  Jewelry box. Contents: two wedding bands, gold cross. No name.

  Folded American flag. No name.

  Of the things I kept, the only things that fit inside this box, nothing has my husband’s name on it.

  With a gulp and tears threatening to spill, I pull the photo album out. The first page guts me.

  Me and him. I’m dressed like a fucking goth queen and he looks like the boy next door in his white T-shirt and winning smile. I may be glaring at the camera, but my eyes are smiling. One corner of my lips is turned up, too. His muscled arm is slung casually over my shoulder. I remember that day clearly.

  “Sir, can you take our picture please?” he asks a man jogging by.

  The man grins, not at all bothered by us, and snaps our photo. Then he jogs away.

  “You’re my girlfriend now, Lar,” he tells me as he admires the picture on his phone.

  I raise my eyebrow at him, but my heart is pounding happily at his words.

  “Is that so, Army boy?” I tease.

  “Marines,” he growls. “Oorah.”

  I playfully roll my eyes at him.

  “You’re so fucking sassy, woman,” he mutters in a tone that makes me think he enjoys my sassiness a little too much. My suspicions are confirmed when he leans in and presses a hungry kiss to my lips. A needy mewl escapes me as I run my fingers through his blond hair and tug him to me, kissing him deeper. Needing to be closer to him, I straddle his hips on the bench in the park and grind into him.

  “And”—he momentarily breaks away from my lips—“that means we have to do something to celebrate.”

  When blue eyes twinkle mischievously, I know. As I slowly push my pussy against him in the park, I know. Tonight, in his apartment, we’ll make love. I’ll lose my virginity at the Granny old age of eighteen to my sweet boyfriend.

  “I love you,” I tell him suddenly.

  He grins. “I know you do.”

  I lightheartedly swat at him. He’s been telling me for two months that he loves me, and I’ve been telling him that he’s insane. But he’s right. I’ve loved him since the moment he smiled at me while jogging past my front porch one day. That smile. This boy. They’ve owned my heart since then, and I hope they never give it back.

  As the memories fade, I realize I’m sobbing. One picture. I can’t look at two hundred more. I just can’t. I attempt to recall if any picture has his name on it, but I don’t remember there being one.

  Needing to feel close to him, I pull my necklace out the jewelry box with shaking fingers and manage to slide the long chain over my head. Once I tuck it inside my tank top and between my breasts, I pat it lovingly. With a sigh, I close the lid to the box of memories and scoop my purse up off the dresser. Then I haul ass out of my apartment, having made the split decision to talk to Alpha. I need fucking answers.

  When I fling my door open, I expect to see him there. Waiting. Like always. But he’s not there.

  A sudden, painful pang rips through me, and I kick the wall. The drywall in the hallway buckles against the toe of my boot.

  “Pretty girls shouldn’t kick ugly walls,” a feminine voice chirps.

  My eyes skim down the hallway to see stupid Lovenia once again sneaking out of Pedro’s apartment and heading toward Omar and Alpha’s.

  Skank-ass ho.

  “Should pretty girls kick ugly sluts instead?” I snap. I am not in the mood for her sugary bullshit today.

  Her eyes widen in surprise, but a naughty grin curls her lips up. “Aren’t you a little feisty this morning? Where’s your boyfriend?”

  Boyfriend.

  “He. Is. Not. My. Boyfriend.”

  “Yet.” She smiles knowingly as she raps on their door.

  Before I can argue, the door swings open and Omar barrels out, gathering her in his arms along the way. He hugs her so tight that I think he’ll break her. When she makes eye contact with me over his shoulder, I glower back at her. Ignoring me, she flicks her eyes over to Pedro’s door and then raises her finger to her pursed lips as she tells me to be quiet about what I saw.

  I give her a finger back—the middle one.

  Finally, Omar releases her and sends a look my way. There’s sadness in his eyes, and I feel guilty.

  “Where’s Al?” I demand as I walk toward them.

  His brows furrow angrily at me. “Don’t you think you’ve done enough damage, Lark?”

  Whoa. Wasn’t expecting him to lash out on me.

  My hands find my hips and I glare at him. “Where?”

  He rolls his eyes at my blatant ignoring of his rude question. “He’s sick.”

  Sick?

  My heart clenches painfully in my chest. “What’s wrong?”

  I attempt to sidestep him and go into his apartment, but his massive frame fills the doorway, stopping me.

  “I don’t know. Maybe he’s suffering from a broken heart. Look, things would go a lot smoother if you would just continue to leave him the fuck alone. You treated him like trash and ignored him for an entire fucking week. The point was made. You’re not interested. So please stop dragging him along. I won’t watch my best friend be toyed with by a simple girl.”

  Simple girl compared to sophisticated woman like Lovenia? Fuck you, Omar.

  “Out of my way, asshole,” I threaten. I don’t care what the hell he thinks about me. I have questions for Alpha, and Omar’s burly ass won’t stop me.

  When Lovenia giggles from behind me, I have to physically hold back from punching her in her goddamned nose. With a grunt, Omar steps out of my way and pulls her back into his arms. I ignore the smacking of their lips as they kiss and stride through the apartment until I find his room. The bed is empty, so I walk toward the bathroom.

  The sight there scares me.

  Alpha stands in front of the mirror in just a pair of jeans, his shoulders hunched. His tattooed angel wings even appear to be sagging. Black hair is a big fucking mess all over his head as if he didn’t even bother to shower today. As I approach, I can see his reflection in the mirror—the scruff on his face is darker and thicker. His black eyes almost seem grey. The normally olive tone to his skin seems ashen.

  “What’s wrong with you?” I whisper. I came in here angry and upset, but now, I’m just worried.

  The man who always looks after me needs looking after.

  He doesn’t answer me as he continues to stare at his reflection. When he doesn’t respond again, I slide my arms around his middle. His skin is ice cold, so I squeeze tight and attempt to warm him, pressing my lips right between his wings.

  “Alpha, come lie down. Let me take care of you,” I whisper against his back.

  No response. He’s borderline catatonic. Why in the fuck has Omar not taken him to the emergency room?

  I peek around
his shoulder and see his reflection again. Self-loathing. Defeat.

  I don’t fucking think so.

  Even in his statuesque state, he’s still built like a brick wall. It takes some yanking on my part, but I finally get him to break his hold and he stumbles back. Once I have momentum working with me, I pull him out of the bathroom and toward the bed. When the back of my knees hit the bed, I fall and bring him with me.

  “Holy shit, you’re heavy,” I groan as I attempt to push him off. It takes some maneuvering, but eventually, I manage to topple him over.

  “As fucking hilarious as this is, I don’t want you to hurt my friend. Move, Twiggy,” Omar chuckles from behind me.

  I roll my eyes at him but move out of the way and watch in awe as he lifts Alpha as if he weighs nothing and lays him down on the pillow with his legs stretched out along the bed. What took him three seconds and zero energy would have taken me at least thirty minutes and I would have passed out after.

  “Thanks,” I mutter as he leaves me to his friend. Then I kick off my boots, clamber onto the bed, and straddle his waist. “Al, what’s wrong? You’re scaring the shit out of me.”

  As I lean forward and bring my face close to his so I can get his attention, the cross slides out of my shirt and down around his neck. He flinches. When he begins blinking in confusion, I freeze and study is eyes. Slowly, they begin to darken as color returns to his face.

  Thank fuck.

  “Lark,” he murmurs, running his palms up my bare thighs.

  A small whimper escapes me at his touch, but I quickly push it away, remembering why I am here.

  “I’m here. What happened?” I demand as I finally lift away from him.

  Our eyes never leave one another’s as his thumbs circle the insides of my thighs, dangerously high up my legs, and I ignore the wash of dizziness.

  “I’m allergic to mirrors.”

  Some truth, some lie. This man is so damn weird.

  One of his hands leaves my thigh to reach for my breasts. My body snubs the screams from the sane part of my mind and shudders at the thought of him touching me intimately again. I actually sigh in frustration when his fingers probe the cross hanging in front of them instead.

  “This is beautiful, Lark.” He continues to finger it but doesn’t let go. The circling of his thumb on my leg creeps higher and higher until I can feel it graze my panty line just under my shorts.

  Holy shit. Get your shit together, Lark.

  I came here to talk to him. To question him. So why has my mind suddenly gone blank? Why is the only thing my mind can focus on the way his thumb has now connected with my clit?

  Gasps come from me as he innocently massages my throbbing pleasure spot over my panties. I feel myself growing wetter for him with each lazy circle. Both of us are frozen—the only things moving are his thumb and my chest as I struggle to breathe.

  “Come for me, sweet Lark,” he rumbles—so low that I can barely hear him.

  My eyes slam shut as my body seizes in ecstasy. I cry out his name and let him touch my sensitive pussy until I collapse onto his chest, completely spent from my orgasm. His thumb leaves my skin and he holds me in a tight hug.

  Together, we lie in each other’s arms for some time, neither of us speaking. In a perfect world, I would live here. I would never need words or nourishment or sleep. Just his scent and safe arms.

  “Al, we need to talk,” I tell him reluctantly.

  Lifting up slightly, I look into his coal-black eyes. His skin has returned to its olive glow.

  “Are you still wet?” he questions with a raised brow and a half-cocked grin that makes me crazy for him.

  “You’re so distracting,” I pout but find myself slowly rubbing my spread legs against his erect cock.

  “Baby, you are the biggest distraction I’ve ever met and I can’t be happier about it,” he chuckles.

  My body aches to have him one more time. What if, after we talk, it is the end for us? What if I don’t like his explanation? Will I ever have a chance to be with him again?

  Probably not.

  Just one more time, and then we can discuss why he said the name Connor.

  One.

  More.

  Time.

  My eyes must beg him to ask the question again, because he does and I’m too fucking happy to answer him.

  “Are you still wet?”

  “Why don’t you find out, big boy?”

  Just one more time won’t hurt.

  THIS WOMAN IS killing me.

  Literally.

  I will be dead—and soon—because of her.

  Because of this tattooed, dark-haired vixen, my life is over.

  Done.

  Finito.

  Over.

  Do I care?

  Not one fucking bit. She’s worth it, and I’d do it over and over again. I’d forsake my career, my destiny, my life just to spend one second more with her. Of course, I say this now, having not yet been caught, but I know this to be true.

  I will find a way to be with her for as long as I can.

  Her green eyes are liquid lust as she grabs the hem of her wicked tank top and yanks it away from her body. Today, she’s wearing a black bra, and even though I want to see those pink, suckable nipples, I’m very much enjoying the view of her full tits spilling out of the top of her bra.

  This woman is gorgeous. So fucking beautiful. Mine.

  But for how long?

  As long as she’ll have me. And as long as they’ll let me have her.

  My hands find her hips and I urge her to push harder against my dick. The clothes between us seem like brick fucking walls. I need her skin on mine. Now.

  As she reaches behind her back to unclasp her bra, I set to unbuttoning her jean shorts. Once she frees her breasts and tosses her bra away, she eyes me with one brow raised.

  “This is going to be pretty difficult with clothes on,” she smiles.

  I growl and roll her underneath me in the middle of the bed. “We better fix that, then.”

  She giggles when I unzip her shorts and pull them down with her panties. I climb off the bed away from her and shed myself of my jeans. The boxers fall shortly thereafter, and then I’m back in bed between her legs—this time, with my mouth.

  “I need to taste you, sweet Lark,” I murmur as my warning right before I dive in.

  The moment my tongue slides between the lips of her pussy, she arches her back off of the bed. “Holy shit!” she cries out.

  My hair gets tangled in her grasp, but it doesn’t slow my roll. I taste her like there’s no tomorrow—because there might not be. I pleasure her as if she’s my first and last—because she will be. I nibble her as if she’s my last meal—I can certainly hope.

  With one hand holding her hip in place while I give her the best pleasure of her life, I slip a finger inside her wet opening. She’s so hot, tight, and perfect.

  I curve my finger up and search for a place sure to make her crazy. The moment I find that elusive spot, she screams so loudly that I’m sure the neighbors will complain. Oh wait—she is the neighbor and I don’t hear her complaining.

  I don’t have to circle her sensitive skin with my tongue for very long before she completely and utterly unravels. Her body quivers and violently shakes as she gives in to the sheer pleasure of another orgasm. The first one I gave her moments ago was sweet. This one was decadent and sinful.

  “You’re so wet and ready for me,” I growl as I remove my finger from her body.

  Her response is a ragged sigh. Green eyes are hidden behind her eyelids, and suddenly, I need to see her.

  “Lark, look at me please.” I’m not sure where my abrupt insecurity comes from, but I have an overwhelming desire for her to want me just as badly as I want her. To make this all make sense. This can’t be one-sided. That would be the ultimate death for me.

  She lazily blinks her eyes open and finds mine. So perfect.

  “Do you want this? Me?” I question as I cover her body with
mine. My dick, hard as stone, rests between us.

  She raises her head in search for my lips, which will taste like her. I can’t kiss her until I know though.

  “Lar, please,” I whisper against her eager lips.

  “Yes, okay? I want this. You. Us. Now fuck me.”

  This time, my eyes close. She’s Heaven and Hell in one delicious package.

  When my eyes finally fly back open, I meet her pleading, green ones. Then I grab my aching cock and tease the part of her that drips for me.

  “You’re mine, baby. Forever,” I tell her.

  She bites her lip, seemingly uncertain, but nods.

  I’ll take that as a deal.

  I slam into her tight heat so hard that she screams even louder than before. Last week, we made love, but this morning, we’re fucking. And holy shit it’s amazing. It seems like it’s been an eternity since the last time I was inside her.

  When our lips find one another again, I kiss her hard as I’m taking her. My tongue punishes her in a way that seems more like a painful reward. We bite. We suck. We take. We own.

  “Oh, God!” she moans into my mouth. Her body is doing its telltale quivering, so I know she’s coming. When her pussy clamps down on my dick, I lose it. All of it. My release pours into her long and strong. I don’t stop my thrusting until I’m sure she’s completely filled with me. Only me.

  “I love you,” I murmur and suck on her bottom lip.

  Her tiny palms find my chest, and she slightly pushes me up away from her. “You’re insane,” she breathes out against my mouth.

  I expect her to be angry, but her eyes tear up again.

  “How can you love me, Al? You barely know me.”

  But I do know her. I feel like I’ve always known her. Like I always will.

  “I just do. I knew the moment I laid eyes on you.”

  I rest my cheek against her neck and physically stay connected with her. Her fingertips stroke my wings, and it feels amazing. Who needs Heaven when she’s already in your arms? Who needs wings when you have an angel in your grasp? Who needs a career when your purpose is right in front of you?

  “Al?” she finally murmurs, her fingers never stopping their movements.