I loop an arm around his shoulders, but he shoves it off, taking a few steps—then freezing with pain as he waits for me to catch up.
An indignant huff escapes my chest. He really likes pushing it, doesn’t he?
I adjust, taking short strides that allow him to keep pace. An attendant opens the hotel doors for us, and I nod at her as I lead Mylo through.
When we step into the busy lobby, Mylo clings to my arm, stumbling to stay close to me.
My alpha instincts are on high alert, and an acrid scent rises sharply from the hotel’s chaos: another unbonded alpha.
There, leaning against the check-in counter on the other side of the lobby: a middle-aged man with fiery red hair, yellow eyes, and an expensive black pinstripe suit.
His gaze flicks to Mylo, and my lips peel away from my teeth, baring as I growl.
Even across the room, he can feel it. His ears tense subtly back—the same muscles that would pin them, if we were shifted—and his nose twitches as he sizes me up.
Whether it’s because he clocks the four inches I have on him, he’s not as strong as he used to be, or he’s just a more agreeable alpha, he drops his eyes and bows his head in respect.
Mylo clings to me so tightly I might actually lose circulation in my hand, and I lead him to the elevators, stepping inside and tapping my room key to punch in my floor, second to the top.
As soon as the doors slide shut, Mylo drops my arm like it’s a dead fish. Enclosed spaces filled with my scent make him bold, apparently.
“I bet you’re loving this,” he snarls.
The first sound from my chest is an increduloushah. “Why would I love this?”
“You get to be the center of attention. Everybody’s favorite. This is all just a big ego trip for you, isn’t it,princess?” He spits that last word, dripping with bitterness.
A wave of rage sweeps me forward, and my hand slams into the elevator wall just above his head, sending the metal clanging.
He freezes, and his wide eyes turn up at me.
A growl surges past my bared fangs. “You want to say that again?” I grip his jaw, and he jolts at my touch. “Go ahead. Call me ‘princess.’”
His breath trembles in his open mouth, and his pupils blow wide. Then his throat tightens in a low, needy whimper.
My instincts react on a hair trigger, and I pull his mouth to mine. His moan deepens as his eyes flutter shut, and I sweep my tongue along his. He returns the kiss, hungry and desperate.
I hook my hands under his thighs, pulling him up and pinning him against the wall with a shudder of hollow metal.
His hands slide around my neck, tangling in my hair, and his hardening cock throbs against my stomach.
I’m vaguely aware of the elevator doors opening too early. A whiff of dull beta scent laced with shock drifts by us before the doors rattle shut again.
Guess they decided to wait for the next car.
When the elevator’s robotic voice calls out my floor, I pull Mylo back from the wall and he wraps his legs around my waist, all without breaking the kiss.
I stumble down the hallway, every exhale a moan as my heart thunders in my chest, limbs tingling with energy.
Only habit guides me to my room, and I paw blindly for the keycard in my pocket, bracing Mylo clumsily against the door.
I get my fingers on the card, and he tightens his hands in my hair, whimpering against my mouth.
My hips twitch, and Mylo lets out a breathy gasp.
It takes more tries than it should, but I finally manage to tap the card on the lock.
As the door swings open behind Mylo, I stumble forward. There’s thethumpof our bags hitting the floor and theclickof the door swinging shut behind us as I brace against the island of the kitchenette, regaining my balance.
