All Hallows Eve, Vol. 3

Chapter 8

Eight

Tomorrow isn’t better. Neither is Wednesday. In fact, Wednesday might be the worst so far. It’s like they’ve set out to torture me. Right this second, as I bring in the latest file, with the three of them looking like snacks in the boardroom, Wade has his tie off and the top three buttons undone, revealing his soft chest hair.

My fingers crave to run through it, and my body wants to feel it brushing against me. I wet my lips and brought my eyes up to his. He watches me with an almost knowing smile before he clears his throat.

“Is that the Brenshaw file?” he asks, coming around the table to take it from me. When our fingers brush, a shock of electricity shoots up my arm, and I jerk back, earning a concerned look from him.

“It is, Mr. Cross,” I say, attempting to cover up my reaction. “Do you need anything else?”

“Can you hold this up? And this?” Ozwald asks. He holds out two photos, and I automatically take them without processing that he’s asking me to stay. They don’t ask for this kind of help. They like to go over the cases with just the three of them.

He steps back, waiting for me to do what he asked. Hastily, I hold them up in front of me. The three of them stare at the pictures, and having all three of their eyes on me feels a lot like Friday night. Except, one, I’m not naked and about to be ravished, and two, they have zero intention of making that happen. Still, slick dampens my panties the longer I stand in front of them.

They talk about the photos and the way one of the angles proves something Oz wanted to prove. It’s all very professional , so why do I feel like it’s foreplay?

When they move on to photos on the table, I slowly lower the ones I’m holding and stand there watching them. They are the same men from Friday; only in their suits, standing in their boardroom, they all feel more put together. More contained.

There isn’t a wild feel to Oz and a demanding quality to Beckett. Although Wade's still considerate and observant, he’s the one who’s the least different between the boardroom and the bedroom. And—I should not be thinking about this. I set the photos down and attempt to slip out of the room.

Ozwald stops me before I’m past the threshold. “Ally, stay, we need a few more hands.”

My lashes brush my cheeks as I inhale deeply before turning back around. I’m a contradictory mess at the moment. Part of me wants to stay and help, but another part wants to run away because the part that wants to stay and help also wants to climb up on the table and ask to be fucked.

“What can I help with, Mr. Ashbourne?” I ask Oz.

He pauses, cocking his head to the side as if something I just said tickled a memory. I hold my breath, waiting for him to call me out. Instead, he nods to himself and motions me forward.

“Tell me if you see any similarities with these photos,” he says.

He presses his palm to my lower back, and it becomes the single point I can focus on. I stare sightlessly down at the photos, my hormones on haywire by only a slight touch. Blinking to clear my vision, I study them for a quiet moment.

Then I touch the corner of one of them with my finger and say, “This one looks like someone photoshopped it.” The shadows across the man's face don’t match the rest of the scene. It looks like someone’s attempting to blackmail someone for something they didn’t do. I don’t know much about the case, only that it’s about some high-level guy in government who has a house in the area.

Oz snatches the photo up and brings it closer. “Good girl,” he breathes absently, and the air in my lungs freezes. “She’s right. Look right here.” He points at the photo, taking his touch away from my back.

Good girl.

Rolling my lips between my teeth, I stand amongst them as they talk about the photos. When I’m sure they’ve forgotten I’m even in the room, I step away from the table and turn to go. Ozwald reaches for my wrist, pulling me back next to him. His thumb runs over my pulse point once, then twice, making it jump before he releases me.

“Stay,” he orders. I look up at him, and he meets my gaze for a second before he pulls himself away and runs his fingers through his hair. “We need a fresh set of eyes. We’ve been going over this for days. A lot of money is on the line if we fuck this up.”

So I do. I point out things they didn’t see. Give a fresh perspective on parts that they ignored. And by the time I come up for air, the sun has said it’s goodnight and the moon’s fully in the sky.

“It’s late, I should go,” I say. Three sets of eyes watch me. It feels warm and comfortable, a lot like home. My heart gives a painful thump as they say goodnight. What did I expect? That they would say, no come home with us, we will thank you with our bodies all night long.

I roll my eyes at myself as I lock up my desk and grab my purse. Of course they aren’t going to do that. They wouldn’t have omega’s sign NDAs if they wanted a relationship with them. Hell, they have no clue it was even me.

After another quick goodbye, I slip out into the fallen night. At least I don’t live that far from the office. Still, I don’t take my time as I head home.

The darkness is thick when I glance behind me, my steps quickening because the sensation of being watched is strong. I fish out my pepper spray from my crossbody and grip it in my fist, ready to use it. Blue Ridge is a sleepy little town, but that doesn’t mean creepy people can’t pass through.

My heels click against the pavement as my muscles bunch and release with each step. I’m tempted to pull them off and make a run for it. But that would give me away. I turn down my block, my apartment complex within sight. Ignoring every instinct that tells me not to let them know I know I’m being followed, I burst into a sprint. Full out fleeing in my best pair of heels.

I’m steps away from safety when I’m pushed against the door I want to open. My breath rushes out of me, and I release a scream. Then, I attempt to twist in their hold so I can spray the pepper spray into their face. Being this close, it will hit me too, but I don’t care at this point.

“Shhh, shhhh, don’t run from me,” Oz says, and I freeze as he runs a hand over my loose hair to push it away from my face. “It’s late, I was just making sure you made it home safely.”

“Mr. Ashbourne, sir?—”

“Oz. Call me Oz,” he demands.

If I hadn’t been taking my blockers religiously since Sunday, just having him this close would have me turning into a puddle of pheromones at his feet. Hell, having him pressing against me after adrenaline crashed through me is its own sort of torture. Because every atom in my body wants him to take me back to that room and tie me up before doing whatever he pleases to me. But I can’t say that. I can’t act on that. Because he doesn’t know it’s me.

He steps back, smoothing his suit over his body, looking like the composed lawyer he has always been at the office. I know it's a mask because I can see past the perfectly styled hair, the impeccably tailored clothing, and the charming office persona. I can see the hungry alpha beneath it all, the one that craves pain as much as he does pleasure. And it makes me weak in the knees as I lean against the door and catch my breath.

Does he still have the marks from my nails clawing down his back? Or have they healed?

Shit, Ally, don’t think about that.

“Why did you follow me?” I ask.

He rubs the back of his neck and looks down the dark and empty street. “You worked late tonight. I was making sure you made it home safely,” he repeats his words from earlier.

I arch an eyebrow and cross my arms over my hardening nipples. God, they remember being clamped and want more. I’m so ruined for anyone else. This man and his pack have destroyed me sexually, and I’m positive I’ll never find anyone else to scratch that itch they woke in me.

“You stalked me in the dark,” I point out. “Scared the shit out of me by chasing me…just to make sure I made it home safe. Mr. Ashbourne, I’ve worked for you for two years and have not had any issues getting home safely after a late night.”

His mouth kicks up in a half of a smile, and he drops his hand to his side with a shrug. He slides his eyes down my body in a slow perusal. “Oz.” He steps forward. “Call me Oz.”

I wet my lips, hesitating. The crazy light’s back in his eyes from that night, and it makes me squirm. There’s no Beckett here to keep him in line. No Wade to ease me into things. Just pure Ozwald walking the edge of sanity.

“Mr—” He steps into me, gripping my throat in a familiar way.

“Oz,” he demands, his breath unsteady and needy like it was when he was deep inside of me.

My pussy clenches in response, and I can’t help it when I say, “Oz.”

It comes out like a plea. The same way it did when I begged him for more.

His eyes drop shut, and a calm washes over his face like I just shouted out to the world that he’s been inside of me. “I knew it was you, Bunny, all along.”