His mouth tugs into a lopsided smile. “Figured I could return the favor—for helping with my leg.”
I smile back, but it feels a little too polite. I don’t want to be some kind of charity case. Or caught in a tit-for-tat exchange.
He must see something in my expression, because the hand on my hip pulls me a little closer. Our bodies flush now, chest to chest. Heat simmering between us.
“Although,” he adds, voice low and slow, “I guess it’s not really fair. I’d touch you any day for any reason.”
A shiver runs down my spine.
Wyatt’s gaze is steady on my face. And for once, I stop thinking. I just move—rising onto my toes and brushing my lips over his.
The hand on my neck stills. The one on my hip flexes. For one agonizing second, he doesn’t respond.
Then—his hand tangles in my curls, tilting my head back just enough. His arm wraps tight around my waist, hauling me flush against the solid length of him.
And then hekissesme.
Deep. Consuming. Tongue sweeping into my mouth like he’s starved for it. My hands clutch at his shoulders. His body presses into mine, hard and hot, and I can feel the thick ridge of his cock against my stomach.
A moan slips between our mouths—his or mine, I can’t tell.
All I know is that when we finally pull apart, I’m flushed and breathless. He looks just a heartbeat from destroyed, his eyes dragging over every inch of me like he’s memorizing it.
“Your friends are waitin’, Sugarplum,” he husks out.
I'm still stunned.
He slings an arm over my shoulders like it’s the most natural thing in the world, guiding us back toward the others.
But my heart? My heart’s still lodged somewhere in my throat.
Rose
We walk through the door of my house feeling tired but happy. Book Club was a hit, and everyone got along surprisingly well. By the end, Cole and Logan were laughing together. Bram, Clara, Cali, and Harlan were deep in a debate about Shakespearean tragedies, and Wyatt was comparing recipes with Sunny, Jack, and Connor. It felt… easy. Like family.
But then we see it.
On the wall of my living room is a huge sheet of brown paper taped to the plaster, like a teacher’s chalkboard. I blink. Evander, of course, pops out from behind Harlan and waves a dramatic hand toward it.
“Tada!” he announces.
We all just stare at him.
“What’s that?” Wyatt gruffs, frowning.
Evander rolls his eyes. “Come on, Wyatt, you can read. I’ve seen you read menus. Grocery lists. Don’t play dumb.”
Wyatt grumbles under his breath and squints at the paper. I step closer. The top reads,List for the Merriest Omega Christmas.
Every bullet point is written in Evander’s big, looping scrawl. The list ranges fromDrink hot chocolate in the snowtoCut down a Christmas treetoBake cookies… and it goes on.
“What’s all this for?” I ask as they start peeling off coats and scarves, moving through the house like they belong here.
Evander looks down at me. For the briefest moment, I swear I catch a trace of his scent—rich and spiced, like mulled wine—before it fades. His knuckles graze my cheek, a soft touch that makes something in my chest flutter.
“I promised you the best Christmas ever, remember?”
I think it over. “You did. But… why?”
