Page 91 of Omega Hunted

“Old fight,” I said. “Not important right now.”

That got something close to a laugh from him, and he leaned down to kiss the words off my mouth instead of asking anything else. I pulled his sweater over his head when he let me, and the sight of him bare above me, moonlight through the window catching every line of him, silver hair loose around his face, put a want in me sharp enough to hurt.

“Tell me if I need to slow down,” I said.

“Please. Don’t.”

Soren rolled his hips—a slow, deliberate grind that pressed his ass down against the hard length of my cock through the friction of denim and worn cotton. The weight dragged a sound from my throat I couldn’t have stopped if I’d tried—something low and rough that scraped through my chest like gravel. My hands, which had been resting on his thighs, went still.

“I want this,” he whispered, and his gaze held mine.

I watched his throat work around a swallow, the tendons in his neck taut with the effort of saying it. My hands found his waistband. I didn’t ask again. I stripped the sweats down his hips in one tug, taking his underwear with them, the fabric bunching at his knees before he kicked them off the rest of the way, then he helped me take off my pants until he was fully bare in my lap, his cock flushed and hard, the tip smeared wet and glistening. The scent of him hit me like a wall—slick, hot, sweet beneath the peach scent that always clung to his skin. Omega slick. My jaw clenched so hard my molars ached.

His hole was wet and ready, the soft skin between his cheeks slippery with it, and when I dragged my fingers down to feel, Soren shuddered, his whole body rippling, and pushed back into the touch.

“I’m sorry I’m…” I pressed gently, and he gasped into the kiss. “My body… isn’t perfect anymore…”

I kissed him before he could finish.

“Your body made a gorgeous, healthy baby,” I whispered. “It’s more than perfect.” His eyes widened, filling with tears. “Look at me, Soren.” He did, though it was hard for him. “This body carried Asha.” My hand settled lightly to his side. “It protected her every second she grew inside you. It brought her safely into the world.”

His lower lip trembled, and I eased my fingers a little inside him to remind him how much I wanted to touch every part of him.

“It survived years of people trying to decide what it should be, what it should do, who it belonged to, and it kept you alive long enough to find me. Do you have any idea how extraordinary that is?”

His breath hitched.

I wiped away the tear that rolled down his cheek with my thumb. “I don’t see something that isn’t enough.” My voice was barely above a whisper. “I see courage when every day you protected the little life inside you when you had every reason to give up.”

“I wouldn’t change Asha for anything,” he said, fiercely.

We kissed some more, and I worked him open slowly despite every instinct screaming at me to take. One finger, then two, through the slick and into the tight heat of his body. Soren bit his lip and rocked into it, silent except for the small, broken sounds he couldn’t quite swallow—half-caught breaths and swallowed whimpers that made my cock throb. By the time I added a third finger, Soren was trembling, his forehead dropped to my shoulder, his fingers digging into the muscle of my arms hard enough to leave crescents.

“Now,” Soren said, the word cracking. “Cassian, now.”

I smoothed my cock with the wet already coating my fingers. The sensation of my hand made my breath stutter, and I watched Soren position himself above me, one hand braced on my shoulder, the other reaching behind to guide the thick head of my dick to his entrance. I knew there was no chance of a pregnancy. Outside a true heat, an omega’s body simply wouldn’t conceive, knot or no knot, and there were no STIs we could pass on, but we should have discussed condoms, or…

“Soren, wait.”

“No… please…”

“Condom—”

“No. Alpha. Please.”

“The mess for you⁠—”

He pushed down on me, and the blunt pressure of my cock made his breath catch, his thighs flexing as he held himself there, suspended on the edge. He opened his eyes, stared right into mine, biting his lip, pupils blown.

“Now,” he whispered, then sank down in one long slide.

Ours. Made for us.

My vision went white at the edges. The heat of him, the slick squeeze of his hole swallowing me inch by inch—it stripped every thought from my head until there was nothing but the man in my lap and where our bodies joined. My hands found their place: one flattened to the small of Soren’s back, the other gripping his hip hard enough to bruise. I let him set the rhythm. Soren rose and fell in shallow, experimental movements at first, adjusting to the stretch, the thickness of me, his mouth open and his eyes half-shut. Then the rhythm deepened. He dropped harder, faster, taking me to the root with each roll of his hips, and the wet sound of slick and skin filled the room—obscene, rhythmic, the kind of sound that would make a man lose his mind.

“That’s it,” I growled. “Take what you need.” My breath hitched as Soren clenched around me, his body gripping my cock like a fist. “Fuck—you feel so good. So tight. So wet for me.” Soren whimpered, and my grip on his hip tightened. “Ride me just like that. Good. That’s good.”

The words dissolved somewhere along the way. I stopped being able to form sentences and started just saying Soren’s name, repeatedly, like a prayer or a warning, and he answered with high, desperate sounds, each one punched out of him on the downstroke.