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clydeloganisababe · 4 years

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What I Wouldn’t Do (2/3)

Guess what, it’s date time! Now on AO3. Chapter 1, aka the meet cute, is also available!

Robbie was picking you up in an hour and you still had no idea what you were going to wear on your date. He had made a reservation at a restaurant downtown, Cecily’s, and according to Google it had 2 Michelin stars, an impressive and expensive wine list, and it overlooked the bay. It looked fancy, much fancier than any restaurant you had ever been to before. You did some mental calculations and one meal alone could easily be over $150, even if you were ordering conservatively. It was sweet that he wanted to spoil you, but you would have settled for take-out and Netflix at his place. In his den.

You had tried on several dresses, but none of them seemed right. You needed something classy, but sexy. Something elegant and impressive enough for a 5 star restaurant, but something that would still knock Robbie’s socks off. Was he more of a boob guy, or an ass man? You were going to be sitting down for most of the evening, which meant that he’d be staring at your torso. Boobs it would be. You hoped to find out for sure later.

You settle on a classic black dress with a low neckline. Slipping into neutral pumps to complete the ensemble, you swipe a swath of ruby across your lips. Simple, but sexy, you thought. And in your good bra, your tits look perfect.

Your phone buzzes and a text banner with Robbie’s name flashes across the screen. Alpha is here. You quickly give yourself a final once over. Would he like what he sees?

You open the door and there he is in all his brawny glory. A dark blazer complements his large frame, while his dark slacks hug his generous thighs. Underneath the blazer is a crisp white button down with the first button undone, his gold chain glinting from underneath the collar. His dark hair is free tonight, cascading handsomely across his face. You can taste it already, his sweet, spicy, intoxicating scent. “Hey doll,” he rumbles, and the vibration goes right through you. His eyes give you an excruciatingly slow onceover, travelling up your curves. His gaze lingers on your cleavage for a moment, but he tears his eyes away to land on your face. “You look good enough to eat.”

You blush, but can’t hide your pleasure. “Hope you came hungry,” you tease. He takes a step towards you, thick arms braced against your door frame. “Babydoll, I am starving,” he growls.

“Then can I get you a bite before we go?” you say, looking up at him through your lashes. Robbie swallows at the innuendo. An Alpha’s bite. You can’t believe you said that. His foot crosses your threshold, but he quickly stops himself.

“If I come into that apartment,” he begins, dark eyes boring into yours, “then we will definitely miss our reservation.” You want to invite him in, into your nest, so badly. But you’re hungry for other things too.

You quickly grab your purse and lock up, joining Robbie on the steps to your apartment. His hand snakes around to the small of your back, and he bends down to give you a quick peck on the cheek. This sweet gesture surprises you, but it’s not unwanted. You like his boldness. “Come on, my car is this way.”

Car is an understatement. Parked in front of your apartment is a sleek, black Lamborghini. He clicks a button and the doors swing upwards, unfolding like wings. “Holy shit, you drive this?” you exclaim, sliding into the front seat. “Couldn’t resist it,” he chuckles. “I can see why,” you mutter, admiring the supple leather interior. The doors swing closed, locking you in the car with him. His spicy scent is thick and rich here, and your mouth begins to water. How can one person smell this good? You want to rub against the leather, the console, everything in this car to let everyone know that you were here and that Robbie is yours.

Robbie punches the gas, driving with arrogant ease, peeling out of your apartment complex and zipping in between cars down the highway. The speed thrills you even as it terrifies you. He reaches a hand over the console and you instinctively lock your fingers with his. His hand engulfs yours, and you clench to think about his thick fingers inside of you. How many could you take? You consider leaning over to grab his thigh, but the fear of crashing stops you. You mentally chastise yourself, reminding yourself that this is a first date. Your heat is still months away and you are already acting like an animal. You almost wish you had taken a blocker.

“You ok, babe?” Robbie asks, running his thumb across yours. He can probably smell the sour scent of your nerves. “I’m ok,” you return. You decide to be honest. “Just a bit nervous, actually,” you admit.

“You shouldn’t be,” he purrs. You close your eyes, allowing the vibration to relax you. Alpha will protect you. He extends his enormous thumb down to your wrist where he circles your gland. Another happy wave of pleasure washes over you. “I’ve been looking forward to this for a while. It’s gonna be perfect.”

***

Robbie pulls his lambo up to curb, exiting the car with elegant but powerful grace. The doors swing upwards, but before you can even budge, he slides over to your side and offers you his hand, gently helping you out of the car. His actions are gentlemanly, but the smirk playing across his lips is anything but.

“Here,” he tosses his keys to the valet. “Don’t scratch it,” he barks. Reddit would have you believe that an Omega should be thrilled at Alpha aggression, but his harsh words to an innocent bystander make your stomach churn. You understand why he’s protective of his car, but this sudden change in attitude is off-putting. He opens the door for you and you mumble a quick “thank you,” but you cannot meet his inquisitive eyes as you brush passed him into the dimly lit foyer. He follows behind you, a confused, trailing shadow.

The hostess quickly finds your reservation and leads you to a table, weaving through a sea of well dressed couples and picture perfect families. A wave of scents overwhelms you, some sweet, others cloying, some rank, some sour.

Alpha is providing. Accept his generosity.

Your table is next to a large bay window, providing you both with a beautiful view of the sunset as it slowly dips across the bay. Robbie pulls out your chair for you and you sink as gracefully as you can into the seat. His warm palm comes up to rub the gland at the nape of your neck, sending shivers down your spine and forcing your muscles to unclench. Your mating gland. He shouldn’t touch you there, not in public, not so soon, but you don’t want him to stop. His lips kiss your temple. Even though he draws away, you know his scent will linger on you, in one of your most intimate places. He’s marked you. A low, simmering heat ignites inside of you. He settles into the seat across from you, flicking open the menu. “Order anything you want,” he says, coolly. “Everything’s on me tonight.” You blush deeply. “That’s very sweet of you,” you warble. Oh god, you are chirping for him already. His hand reaches across the table and grasps yours. He interlocks his fingers with yours, but his eyes never leave the menu. He radiates contentment.

The menu is full of words you don’t recognize and pairings that seem strange. Is sumac a thing now? What is quince? Why are they serving smoked roe with crème fraîche? It must be good, this place has 5 stars, you reason. There is a single dish in English called “Lucas’s Famous Quail Pot Pie”, which sounds delicious, but you’re worried that Robbie will think your aren’t sophisticated if you pick the only menu item you can pronounce. At least you recognize caviar.

“Good evening, my name is Sammie and I’ll be your server tonight. Can I start you two off with anything?” You snap to attention, but Robbie barely looks up.

“Yeah, I’ll start with a glass of the Domaine Ostertag Muenchberg Riesling and, uh, so will she,” he says without hesitation.

“Wonderful, and did you want to start with any appetizers while you look over the menu?”

“Yeah, let’s start with the duck confit tortelloni.”

“Perfect! I’ll be right back with your order.” Sammie darts off before you can interject.

Robbie runs his thumb over top of yours, oblivious. After a moment you say “What if I don’t want wine?” Robbie perks up, brows furrowing. “What do you mean? It’s a fantastic wine, you’ll love it.”

“Ok, but what if I had wanted a Cosmo? Or a Manhattan?” He stares at you blankly. “Do you want a Manhattan?” he asks. “I can call her back,” he whistles sharply. “Hey Sammie -“

“Robbie,” you hiss. You clench his hand begging him to listen. “I don’t want a Manhattan. I want to order my own drink when I’m ready.”

“Oh. Yeah. Of course.” He chews his lip for a moment, and almost seems lost. “But I thought Omegas liked that.”

“Liked what?”

“Ya know,” he looks at you pointedly. “When an Alpha takes charge.”

“Yeah but there’s a difference between taking charge and being completely controlling.”

He’s silent for a moment. The deepening shadows of the sunset obscure his angular features, casting them in sharp relief. He reaches up and rubs his face, releasing a loud exhale.

“Fuck, I’m sorry babydoll, I’ve already fucked this up. I’m not that kinda guy, I wanted to-“ He begins to pull away, and you can smell his rising panic.

“Alpha,” you chirp, grasping his hand and interlocking your fingers again. You swipe your thumb over the gland at his wrist, sending him a shock of reassurance. “Just ask me what I want next time. And be a little nicer to the server,” He flushes with shame. “I’m sorry. I was trying to do something nice. Guess I’m nervous too,” he mumbles. “It’s ok,” you say, giving his hand a playful squeeze. “Besides, you can take charge in other ways,” He growls appreciatively, re-igniting that low simmering heat in your belly.

You order the seared foie gras, for kicks, and Robbie orders the venison loin, which he tells you is very trendy right now. He’s surprisingly easy to talk to. You were expecting him to be a man of few words, but Robbie has an opinion on just about everything and he wants to hear yours too. When he can resist that Alpha urge to posture, he’s a sweet, attentive guy.

Turns out, Robbie broke up with Sophie for all the clichéd reasons that Alphas and Betas break up. “She was a sweet girl,” Robbie begins “But, eh, she and I, we weren’t really on the same wavelength about things.” He pauses for a moment. He takes a sip on his wine. “And I kinda don’t think she really liked me,” he admits, embarrassed. “I mean, she liked my car, the flowers, the gifts, the dates but,” he rubs his chin, then sighs. “I don’t think she really liked me.”

“Well, then she’s an idiot. Good riddance.” You sip your Manhattan. “And for what it’s worth, I like you.” He gulps his wine.

“You barely know me. What if I’m a brute.”

“I certainly hope you are,” you tease, nudging his knee under the table. Quick as lightning, he snatches your leg, rubbing circles into your thigh. “You have no idea, baby girl,” he promises. “And, ya know. There was this cute omega florist that was driving me freaking crazy with her talent and her delectable scent,” he inches higher. “And her cute hips.” You don’t want him to stop, but you don’t want to get kicked out either. You playfully swat his hand away. “Later, Alpha,” you tease. He pulls back, fingers trailing down your thigh and calf as he goes. Dinner’s over, but he still looks ravenous.

Robbie pays with his sleek black card. He tips generously, you note. A good quality in a mate. When the valet brings the car around, Robbie slips a $20 into his hand. “Sorry ‘bout earlier bud, I got it from here,” he says before the butterfly doors swing open. You smile up at him, but as you begin to slide into the seat, a rough hand slides itself against your ass, giving you a quick squeeze before you can settle into the car.

“Robbie!” you squeak, but he’s already disappeared to the other side of the car. He practically dives into the driver’s side. As the door swing down you are once again engulfed in sandalwood and cinnamon and it makes you want to launch yourself across the console into his lap.

“So, baby doll,” he says, clicking his seat belt into place, “Where are we going?” His gaze is dark and hopeful. You hum non-committally, even as your hand drifts over to his thigh. “I don’t know, I was thinking we could get dessert somewhere?” You give him an experimental squeeze and he growls, igniting the engine.

“Baby, you can have the whatever you like. My apartment’s nearby, sound good?”

“Sounds perfect.” His car peels out of the parking lot with an eager screech.

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