Lola & the Millionaires: Part One (Sweet Omegaverse #2)(82)
I was getting less and less worried about the prospect of the heat the longer I sat surrounded by Matthieu’s pheromones. I was aroused. Hell, I was soaked. I was taking thin brief breaths to try and keep from sucking down dizzy lungfuls that might make me do something regrettable. Like thigh-ride Matthieu for the remainder of the drive. I would definitely be ready for whatever Rake needed when I got to the house, and I was only a little nervous about what that would mean. If it satisfied this hunger, I’d deal with the repercussions later.
Suddenly, it occurred to me what Matthieu’s scent might be about.
“You must be anxious to get to Rake,” I said, relieved to sound halfway human and not have all my words fall out in a needy whine.
“Hm?” Matthieu startled, turning his head to me with his brow furrowed. “Rake?”
“For his…his heat,” I said, swallowing. Leo hadn’t mentioned Matthieu being in the room too, but maybe the alpha was more possessive with Rake and wanted one on one time with him? I didn’t really know enough about the whole thing, and I wished Rake and I had discussed it more before I ended up deciding to come.
“Rake’s heat?” Matthieu stared at me blankly, my own lips parted in confusion and his eyes darting down to glance at them. All at once, comprehension lit up on Matthieu’s face. “Oh! No, no I… Rake and I aren’t bonded in that way. I go to the house when I can so he has his whole pack around, but we have a-a platonic romance,” Matthieu said with an amused smile, a little line of confusion left digging into his brow.
I stared straight ahead at our reflection in the partition. “Oh.”
Then why was he filling the car with his scent right down to the stitching in the leather seats?
“Oh,” Matthieu echoed softly, his own stare moving forward until we were holding each other’s gaze in the black glass. He cleared his throat and my eyes fell to his hands over his knees, gripping until his knuckles were white.
You know exactly why, I hissed to myself.
It was like when I’d worn Baby’s scent and caught Buzz’s eye, except this time there was no omega perfume to explain Matthieu’s reaction to me.
“I’m sorry,” Matthieu murmured, shifting to face me. “I didn’t realize how difficult it would be. Would you like me to move up front?”
I bit down hard on the inside of my lip, studying his earnest expression, the clarity in his gaze. I shook my head slowly.
“Are you sure? I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable, Lola, and this is entirely my own issue.”
That hawkish nose. The lines around his eyes and lips from years of deep smiles. The broad shoulders. It wasn’t just Matthieu’s alpha scent that had such an effect on me, although it certainly didn’t help. That was just the siren song. Matthieu was the cliff I wanted to throw myself from.
“I’m sure,” I said, words breathless. I twisted to face him too, our knees bumping together, and then I parted my thighs, cool air sliding up under my skirt and making the arousal against my panties even more obvious.
Still, I was only a beta, and it took Matthieu a moment to notice. I watched the exact moment my scent reached him, his nostrils flaring and pupils blooming black. He let out the softest vibration, the lowest combination of an alpha’s hungry growl and satisfied purr, before swallowing the noise. Not fast enough to stop goosebumps rushing over my skin and my nipples hardening to points.
“Lola.”
I caught my breath, eyelashes fluttering at the slow, round notes of my name on his lips. It was a caution, or a prayer, musical and deep in my ears.
The hand on his leg slipped over to mine, ducking beneath the soft fabric of my skirt, fingertips sliding down to the hypersensitive skin of the back of my knee. An embarrassing broken moan slipped from my loose lips at the faintest touch. With a gentle nudge from him, I slid my leg up onto the seat, spreading myself wider, the tart whiff of my desire growing stronger.
I lunged forward and Matthieu caught me, sliding over squeaking leather to meet me halfway. Our foreheads bumped, and then my mouth was suckling and searching over rough stubble to find his lips. His tongue swept in immediately, bringing with it a drunk and heady flavor burning on my tongue that left me craving and searching for more. The kiss was rough and messy to start with, but soon Matthieu’s hands were on my back, sliding up to hold my head. He took the lead, guiding and working my lips with his—teeth scratching and tongue soothing—until I was twined around his body, whining and writhing. This is why the French were famous for kissing, or maybe Matthieu had just had the best practice. Every touch was masterful and affectionate and left my pulse thrumming from my head to my toes, my clit pounding and begging for attention.
He was getting hard. I could feel it against me, and I started to grind against him, my core already tingling with pleasure like I’d been waiting the entire ride for just a little bit of touching to push me over the edge. This was the high I’d been doing everything I could to avoid for the past year, the dizzy drunk desperation. I would do anything to keep Matthieu’s hands on me, keep his attention.
It was like someone had turned up the volume on life. I was more sensitive, more aware, more alive.
“Lola,” Matthieu growled, mouth pulling away as I tried to chase him for more. His teeth nipped my chin, and then I was arching back as he sucked kisses on my throat, strong pulls against my skin that echoed in my cunt. “Lola, tell me this is all right.”