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No response.
I stop waiting for a reply and set the alarm on my phone. I’m exhausted and I don’t have the mental energy to deal with this anymore.
As I stand to shut my door, I hear River’s soft snoring again.
I can’t imagine he’s that comfortable contorted on my couch without even a blanket on him.
Before I can second-guess myself, I make my way to the closet. I stare at the top shelf for a good minute, looking at my folded and unused nesting blankets.
I haven’t brought them out in more than a year. They’re luxurious, comfortable, and the softest material I’ve ever felt.
I would argue that they’re the best freaking blankets on the planet.
I don’t have a throw on the couch. There are only the two pillows, and they’re not that comfortable.
Just do it. It doesn’t have to mean anything.
I pull my favorite lilac colored blanket from the shelf and gather it in my hands. Before I lose my courage, I pad back into the front room to face River’s sleeping form.
He hasn’t moved. His eyes are closed, his breathing is deep and even, and he looks peaceful. Even his scent is muted—there’s not as much spice. It’s gentle, and almost as welcoming as Landon’s.
It has to mean something that someone so guarded can sleep like that around someone else.
It doesn’t matter. He probably never sleeps, and this is his only opportunity. You’re not special.
I gently drape the lilac fabric over him, keeping my eyes on his face. His dark stubble complements his strong features, and his hair has fallen halfway into his eyes. His lips twitch as the blanket covers him.
He looks much less intimidating as he sleeps under my blanket.
I don’t linger long, though. I need to sleep, and my body aches with need. If he opens his eyes and sees me staring at him, he’ll think I’ve lost my mind.
But before I head to bed, I do something foolish.
I carefully pull his leather jacket off the top of the couch and hold it to my chest. Turning away quickly, I hurry back to bed, clutching my treasure tightly.
I can’t believe what I’ve done.
What if he wakes up right now, and sees that I’ve snatched his jacket like some needy, desperate Omega?
I should give it back immediately.
But as I sit on the edge of the bed, hugging the leather material, I can’t bring myself to do it.
It smells like River.
Like the hug we shared an hour ago, like the feeling of his arms wrapped around my waist as I cried quietly into his chest.
It smells like Alpha.
I whimper, burying my face in the jacket, and inhale deeply.
Two things happen at once.
My body becomes a live wire, with all the energy focusing directly on my cunt.
Second, an absolute mess forms between my legs.
My Omega awakens with a roar, ready for attention and tired of being put on the backburner.
