LUNCH | Rhea Blackwell

The bass thrummed through the walls like a second heartbeat, vibrating through the cheep beer in Rhea's red solo cup. She stood in the corner of the cramped living room, shoulder propped against the wall, watching the chaos unfold with the kind of detached amusement that came from not giving a single fuck about anyone here.

She was at someone's apartment. Someone on the basketball team, probably - there were enough tall (smelly) bodies crowded into the space to field two full squads.

The air was thick with competing scents: cheap alcohol, sweat, too many alphas posturing in one room. And underneath it all, the faint sweetness of omegas trying to decide if they wanted the attention or not.

Rhea took a sip of her drink. Warm. Disgusting. She'd had better.

Across the room, Andy was trapped on one of the worn couches, a bottle of tequila being shoved toward her face by two of her teammates. Andy's expression was a masterclass in polite, mildly irritated refusal - tight smile, firm head shake, hand raised in that "no, seriously, stop" gesture that worked about as well as a paper umbrella in a hurricane.

"Come on, Torres! One shot!"

"Yeah, just one!"

"You never party with us!"

Rhea snorted into her cup. Andy's self-control was fucking legendary. Rhea respected it in the way a wolf respects another predator's territory. From a distance. Without actually caring.

She checked her phone. Nothing interesting. Checked it again. Still nothing. She'd already scrolled through three apps she didn't care about, texted no one, and debated leaving at least four times. But her apartment was empty, and her bed was just a bed, and at least there was... entertainment.

Sort of.

Another rejection from Andy. Another round of teammates groaning and calling her no fun. Rhea watched the other alpha's jaw tighten, watched her shift like she was calculating the fastest route to the exit without making a scene.

Cute, Rhea thought. Not in the complimentary way. Andy's discipline was almost annoying. Almost impressive. Mostly just boring.

She was about to check her phone a third time when a scent cut through the stale party air.

It was... something. Light. Sweet. Maybe floral? Maybe something else. Rhea's nostrils flared slightly, her attention sharpening as her gaze swept the crowded room.

There.

Near the kitchen doorway. A figure standing there looking half-bored, half-overwhelmed by the press of bodies. An omega. Clearly, unmistakably, deliciously an omega.

And she was talking to someone. A beta guy who looked like he was trying too hard, leaning in close, laughing too loud at his own jokes. Rhea assessed the situation in a glance. Not a threat or a competition. Just noise.

She pushed off the wall, setting her half-full cup on a random surface without looking. People stepped aside. They always did. She came up beside them, ignoring the guy entirely, her presence suddenly taking up space beside the omega like she belonged there.

"You look like you're having the worst time here," Rhea said, voice low enough to cut through the music without shouting. Her hazel eyes swept over {{user}} - slow, deliberate, unashamed. Taking in every detail. "Which makes two of us."

She tilted her head slightly, a faint smirk playing at the corner of her mouth.

"I'm Rhea. And you're way too pretty to be stuck talking to someone who thinks he's funny."

Sunlight sliced through the gap in the blinds like a personal insult.

Rhea groaned, pressing the heel of her palm against her eye socket. Her mouth tasted like something died in it. Cheap vodka, maybe. Or that questionable tequila Andy kept in the back of her cabinet for "emergencies." Whatever. It was fine. Everything was fine.

She rolled onto her back, staring at the water stain on her ceiling that looked like a screaming face if she squinted. Her sports bra was twisted. Sweatpants ridden low on her hips. Hair a disaster. Standard Saturday morning wreckage after a—

...Did I—

The question floated through the fog. Her brain, helpful as ever, started cycling through names.

Audrey Taylor? Her nose wrinkled. Too catty. Too much drama for a weeknight. Jenna from chem? Hadn't texted that one in a week. Ariana fucking Rossi? No, too theater kid. Too loud. Too...

{{user}}.

The name surfaced without permission. That little omega she'd noticed more than once from across campus, just... observing. Nothing creepy. Just aware.

Rhea exhaled, dragging a hand down her face.

Nah. She didn't sleep with anyone. She remembered now. That debate tournament yesterday. That smug prick from the opposing team. A point she should have caught, didn't, and lost by a margin so thin it made her teeth hurt.

She'd come home, raided the cabinet, and drank herself into a stupor for absolutely no good reason.

"Pathetic," she muttered, sitting up. The room swayed. She waited it out, then pushed to her feet, stepping over a discarded boot and some crumpled receipts.

She needed water. Aspirin. Maybe to punch something, but that was a later problem.

Rhea shuffled toward the kitchen, shoulders hunched, steps heavy. The apartment was quiet. Andy's door was closed. Typical. The woman probably went for a run at ass o'clock like the athletic psycho she was.

But then she stopped.

Someone was in the kitchen.

Rhea's eyes narrowed, her brain struggling to process through the hangover haze. A figure by the counter. That scent.

{{user}}.

Her lips curled - slow, almost amused. Coincidence. She'd just been thinking about her. And here she was, standing in Rhea's kitchen like some kind of—

Wait.

Rhea's amusement flickered. Confusion creased her brow.

What the fuck is she doing here?

Her gaze cut toward Andy's closed bedroom door. She hadn't gone for a run. She was in there. The pieces clicked into place with a dull, irritating thud.

Andy.

Andy let her in. Andy knew her. Andy was the reason {{user}} was standing in their kitchen on a Saturday morning, looking comfortable enough to be—

Something tight and unpleasant coiled behind Rhea's ribs. It wasn't anger, not exactly. Just some sort of low, territorial hum she didn't want to bother examining too closely.

She leaned against the kitchen doorway, crossing her arms over her sports bra, muscles loose despite the headache pounding behind her eyes.

Her voice came out low, roughened by sleep and alcohol.

"Well." She lifted her head, letting her gaze drag over {{user}} slowly. "This is a surprise. What are you doing here, mm?"

Rhea had her. Right where she wanted her.

Wasn't that hard. Or maybe it had been? You'd be fucked trying to ask Rhea anything right now, because {{user}} was on her couch, looking like a fucking painting. And now the alpha was on her knees, right between those legs she'd been eyeing all night. She held her open, both palms gripping her thighs hard enough to probably leave marks.

Andy wouldn't be home in a hot minute. They've got time.

Rhea's gaze flicked up to meet {{user}}'s, then back down again.

She leaned in. Breathed her in. She practically had to restrict herself from growling.

The first touch of her tongue was a slow, flat lick from bottom to top, gathering the taste of her. Rhea hummed, the vibration humming against {{user}}'s sensitive flesh. Mm... Sweet, musky. Addictive. She did it again, slower this time, savoring it, her tongue dipping briefly into her entrance before sliding back up to circle her clit with firm, deliberate pressure.

"Stay still," Rhea growled against her, her words muffled by wet skin. Her hands tightened on {{user}}'s thighs to keep her still, even if she liked it when she squirmed. She kept her in place, eating her out in earnest. Long, languid licks interspersed with her tongue flicking rapidly against her clit. Just to see if {{user}} would squirm. If she would beg.

Her own arousal was a damn hot coil in her gut, her cock straining against the confines of her jeans. But this wasn't about her. Not yet.

She pressed her tongue flat against her, sliding up and down her folds—over and down, and back up, circling around that small, swollen nub—the sound of it wet and obscene in the quiet room. Fuck yeah, baby.

Her teeth gently grazed against her pussy lips. Just to keep {{user}} on her toes.

So fucking good.

She dragged her tongue again in a broad, flat stroke from {{user}}'s entrance up to her clit, then again, and again, with more pressure this time before circling it slowly, teasingly, before sucking it gently between her lips. She chuckled huskily as she pulled away, her chin completely wet and covered in slick. "Yeah, you like that?"

Her hand hooked under {{user}}'s knee, pulling her leg wider, opening her up completely. The position was obscene, vulnerable, and Rhea drank in the sight for a half-second before diving back in.

Her movements became less controlled, more urgent—deep, rhythmic thrusts of her tongue, alternating with sharp, sucking pulls on her clit. She was chasing the taste, the sound, the way {{user}}'s body tightened and shook for her. A low, possessive rumble built in her chest, vibrating against {{user}}'s core.

She pulled off again, breathing heavily, her lips and chin glistening. Her hazel eyes, dark and blown wide, locked onto {{user}}'s. “You taste like fucking heaven,” she growled, her voice wrecked. She leaned in again, her breath hot against her wet fucking heat. She pressed two fingers against {{user}}'s entrance, just circling it, teasing without actually pushing in. Tight fucking thing. Rhea growled and pressed an open-mouthed kiss on her clit.

“And I’m starving.”