To ruin an Omega

Chapter 135: Buttercream and Battlelines 1

FIA

I woke to the sensation of fingers tracing lazy patterns across my shoulder blade. The touch was feather-light, almost reverent, and it pulled me slowly from sleep like being drawn up from warm water.

My eyes fluttered open to find Cian propped on one elbow beside me, his gaze fixed on where his fingers moved across my skin. The bedside lamp still glowed softly, casting everything in amber.

“Welcome back, sleeping beauty,” he murmured.

I was so tired. My body felt heavy, languid, like I’d run a marathon. I started to turn away, to burrow into the pillows and escape back into sleep, but his hand pressed gently against my hip.

“It’s four,” he said.

I blinked at him, confused. “What?”

“By six, the servants will come flurrying in to get us dressed.”

“Dressed for what?” The words came out thick with sleep.

Then it slammed into me. My eyes flew open wide. “Today is the wedding.”

“And we smell like sex, spit, and cake.” His mouth curved into that infuriating smirk.

Heat flooded my cheeks. I could feel the stickiness of dried frosting on my skin, the lingering scent of what we’d done hanging in the air between us. But he was right. It was Alpha Julius Knight’s wedding. One of the prominent Alphas in the territory, and we were expected to attend looking dignified and composed.

“It’s good policy we spare them the sight.” He leaned closer, his breath warm against my ear. “We should shower.”

He glanced back at the clock on my nightstand. “We have less than two hours. What do you say? Should we shower together?”

“Go back to your room, you dog,” I said, trying to sound stern even as my traitorous heart picked up speed.

“I’m an Alpha.” He sat up, the sheet pooling at his waist. “The last thing I need is to let the world see what kind of horn dog I was last night.”

Before I could protest, he stood and scooped me up in his arms, carrying me bridal style toward my bathroom suite.

“Cian!” I struggled halfheartedly, my hands pushing against his chest, but he didn’t stop. His grip was secure, and there was something in his expression—determination mixed with playfulness—that told me resistance was futile.

He didn’t stop until we were in the shower, and he’d closed the glass door behind us.

The water came on in a rush of warmth, and I gasped as it cascaded over both of us. Cian reached for my shampoo bottle, squeezing some into his palm.

“Turn around,” he said softly.

I did, and his fingers sank into my hair, massaging my scalp. I couldn’t help the small sound of pleasure that escaped me. His touch was gentle but firm, working the lather through every strand. When he tilted my head back under the spray to rinse, his other hand cupped my forehead to keep the water from my eyes.

It was such a simple gesture. But it meant so much.

“Your turn,” I said when he was done, reaching for the shampoo.

He crouched slightly so I could reach, and I worked my fingers through his hair. It was softer than I expected, and I found myself taking my time, dragging my nails lightly against his scalp the way he’d done for me.

He let out a low sound that I felt all the way to my toes.

When I rinsed his hair, water ran down the planes of his face, over his shoulders, following the lines of muscle down his chest. I forced myself to look away.

He reached for the body wash next, lathering his hands. “Arms up.”

I obeyed, and he started at my shoulders, his palms sliding over my skin with slow, deliberate movements. He washed the remnants of cake and frosting from my collarbone, his touch lingering.

“You had buttercream here,” he murmured, his fingers tracing the hollow of my throat.

“I wonder whose fault that was.”

His laugh was low and rich. “No regrets.”

His hands moved lower, washing my arms, then my sides. When he reached my ribs, I flinched—ticklish—and he grinned like he’d discovered a secret.

“Don’t,” I warned.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” He swore. But his eyes glinted with mischief.

He turned me gently, washing my back with the same attention he’d given the rest of me. His hands moved in broad strokes down my spine, then lower. When he reached the small of my back, he paused, his thumbs pressing into the muscles there.

I bit back a moan.

“Tense,” he observed.

“I wonder why,” I managed.

He worked the knot with patient pressure until I felt it release. Then he continued washing, efficient but thorough, until every trace of our night together had been rinsed away.

“My turn,” I said, taking the body wash from him.

I started at his shoulders, marveling at the breadth of them. My hands looked small against his frame. I washed his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat under my palm, then moved to his arms. His muscles flexed under my touch, and I wondered if he was as affected by this as I was.

When I washed his back, I took my time, tracing the strong lines of his shoulder blades, the dip of his spine. There was a small, almost invisible scar near his left shoulder, and I let my fingers drift over it.

“How did you get this?”

“Training accident when I was sixteen,” he said. “I made the mistake of telling a trained sentinel not to hold back.”

I made a soft sound of sympathy and continued my work. When I moved lower, to his sides and then his stomach, I felt him tense under my hands.

“Fia,” he said, and there was a warning in his voice.

“What?” I kept my tone innocent. “I’m just washing.”

“You’re playing with fire.”

“Maybe I like the heat.”

His hand caught my wrist, stilling my movements. When I looked up, his eyes were dark, intense. “If you keep touching me like that, we’re never making it to this wedding.”

Something in his expression—the raw want barely held in check—made my breath catch. But he was right. We didn’t have time. Julius Knight’s wedding would be packed with prominent Alphas and their families. Missing it wasn’t an option. Especially with everything he has told me.

“Fine,” I said, stepping back under the spray to rinse off.

He did the same, and we stood there for a moment, water streaming over both of us, the air between us charged with everything we weren’t saying.

Then he shut off the water and stepped out, reaching for a towel.

“See you in a couple of hours,” he said, wrapping the towel around his waist in a way that somehow made him look more indecent than if he’d been naked. The fabric hung low on his hips, emphasizing the sharp V of muscle that disappeared beneath it.

He shot me one last look—something between a promise and a threat—and left.

I stepped out a minute later, wrapping a towel around myself, and padded back into my bedroom. My eyes went immediately to the bed. His clothes were gone. The messed-up cake still sat on the trolley along with the other food I hadn’t touched last night.

A smile tugged at my lips despite myself.

I moved to the mirror and started working the tangles from my damp hair. Ten minutes later, a knock sounded at my door.

“Who is it?” I called.

“I’m here to help you get dressed, Luna Fia.”

The title still felt strange, unearned somehow.

“Come in.”

An Omega entered, her eyes going straight to where I stood working my hair. “Oh, we’ll do that.”

Three more Omegas filed in behind her. One immediately took over my hair, gentle hands replacing mine. Another approached with a bright smile.

“I helped put the clothes you bought in your closet,” she said. “Did you have anything in mind?”

She disappeared into my closet and emerged with three gowns draped over her arms. “These were the most striking.”

My eyes went to the pink one first. It had a modest neckline and a skirt that fell in soft, romantic waves. I’d fallen in love with it the moment I tried it on at the boutique.

But then I remembered Hazel. The way she’d watched me, her eyes tracking the dress I was wearing with a sneer.

It wouldn’t be below her to actually take a similar style for herself.

It wasn’t the first time she’d done something like this. Hazel had a talent for taking things I loved and making them into weapons. If I wore that pink dress today, she’d show up in something similar and spend the entire wedding letting everyone make subtle comments about who wore it better.

Withe my public reputation, it would be a stellar attack.

I couldn’t give her that satisfaction. Not today. Not at this wedding, where half the territory’s elite would be watching.

My gaze shifted to the second option. Silver fading into midnight blue, like twilight captured in fabric. Soft glitter caught the light when the Omega moved, and I could see the mid-open back that would show just enough skin without being scandalous.

“That one,” I said, pointing to the ombre gown.

The Omega’s smile widened. “Wonderful choice.”

As she went to prepare it, I caught my reflection in the mirror. My hair was already being worked into something elegant, though my skin still flushed from the shower from Cian’s hands on my skin.

I pushed the thought away and focused on the dress being brought toward me. Alpha Julius Knight’s wedding would be the social event of the season. Everyone who mattered would be there, watching, judging, measuring us all against each other.

And somehow, after last night, that felt less daunting than it should have.