Damsel in Control (18+ Only) - The Rogue Pack

Chapter 3

The bright morning light wakes me from my peaceful slumber. Luckily, I'm an early riser, often waking as the sun peaks its first rays through my window. I shift slightly, desperately warm under the covers, but the Alpha's arm, was his name Damien? is wrapped around me. Resting on top of the covers, his arm is heavy, and even when he's fully relaxed I can see the muscles of his forearm bulging. My back is fit snuggly to his chest, his arm holding me tightly in place.

This is always the hardest part. Alpha's are typically light sleepers, always on the lookout for threats, and although the presence of their 'mate' can lull them into a deeper, more relaxed sleep, it also makes them naturally more protective and therefore the second I leave his arms he'll immediately be on high alert once again. I shift, attempting to dislodge the huge limb, but to no avail. My hand moves around to grip his fingers, lifting his arm slightly as I wiggle forward under the covers. Damien grumbles in his sleep at the loss of contact, and I wince, freezing in my movements, but luckily after a minute, he falls back into a deep sleep.

I continue my slow shuffle forward, arm at an awkward angle to hold his fingers above me. I am forced to pause occasionally, freezing every time the rhythm of his breathing changes, but finally, I am free. Still holding his fingers, I move my pillow into my previous position, hoping its warmth and my scent on it will be enough, and gently lower his arm onto it. He snuggles into the fluffy whiteness, momentarily contented.

Slipping off the bed, I glance around, trying to find my discarded clothes. My ripped underwear lays abandoned at the end of the bed, my trousers and top thrown into the corner of the room. I gently pad over to them, delighted to find that the sturdy material survived last night's ordeal. Slipping them on, I resign myself to having to go commando. I pick up my heels as I creep across the room. My small purse is sitting on the entrance table to the hotel room. Luckily my phone is still there, along with my wallet and house keys.

Feeling slightly cheeky, I peer into his wardrobe and debate stealing a large hoodie to minimise my walk-of-shame appearance. I'm already covered in his scent, and walking out like this may cause some unwanted looks, whereas if I'm wearing his hoodie there might be fewer inquisitive eyes... I pick out the softest-looking one and pull it on, tucking the bottom into my trousers and letting it flop over so that it doesn't fall all the way to my knees.

Turning, I treat myself to one last look at the God I am leaving in bed. His hair has fallen across his eyes, the curls messed up, presumably from my hands. The covers have moved down, revealing his toned pectorals, covered in small love bites. I can't help but feel a small flash of pride at the site. Sighing, I blow him a kiss, grinning at my own ridiculousness, before I slip out of the motel room.

Once outside, I force myself to speed up, despite the twinges between my legs. The train station is not far, yet I still can't help the familiar feeling of embarrassment that comes from my speedy escapes. Despite the early hour, the streets are already busy, mainly Omegas getting things ready for their Alphas. But I'm still aware, constantly on guard in case a Gamma, or a Beta, is already awake and spots me.

It's only when the train pulls away from the station that I allow myself to catch a breath. The first train only travels two stops, into the human part of town. When we are about halfway between the stops, I discreetly shove the hoodie out of the window, hoping to minimise the scent trail I'm leaving. Once in the neighboring station, I move to the lockers, recovering the bag I purposefully left there the night before then, clutching it to my chest to hide my low-cut top, I dash into the bathrooms. The stalls offer a much-needed respite from the stares of my fellow passengers and I quickly change, replacing my suggestive corset top with a loose shirt. Luckily there are no mirrors in my cubicle, allowing me to avoid the usually emotional inspection of my body that accompanies my one-night stands.