Page 56 of The Rust in Her Hair

Owen did good in here.

The room's clean, the clutter gone, no sign of the two messy men who usually sleep in it. The beta even pulled the comforter down on one side so I've got an empty place to set her.

The lamp on the nightstand casts a low, soft yellow light over everything, and the air smells faint and clean. He must have sprayed a de-scenter around too. Smart. It probably won’t be good for her to wake up surrounded by strange alphas soaked into the bedding.

I lean down to lay her on the open side of the bed, but the second her back touches the mattress her arms come up.

They slide around my neck and lock there, quick and sure, and she pulls herself in tight against me.

I go still, worried she woke up. After a second, her face turns into my throat and she breathes out slow, still dead asleep.

Not sure what to do, I stay frozen for a beat, half bent over the mattress, holding her carefully.

"Okay, sweetheart," I whisper, slipping my arm out from under her legs. "It’s okay. You can let me go." But her arms stay looped firmly around my neck.

I look down at her face to gauge how deep under she is.

She shifts a little. A slow roll of her head against my arm, and it tips her chin up and bares the long line of her throat.

And her scent hits me like a door blown open.

It's the vanilla and almond from the bedroom, but thicker now, richer, pouring up off the warm skin under her jaw. It doesn't drift this time. It reaches for me.

Something in the back of my skull goes quiet and dark, and my head is already lowering before I realize it.

Without thinking, I press my nose to her neck, right beneath her ear, and breathe her in.

And that’s all it takes.

Heat pours down through me all at once, low and heavy, my whole body drawing tight around the aroma.

I'm hard before I've taken a second breath.

My canines drop against my tongue and my mouth waters, and everything in me leans toward the soft place under her jaw with one instruction running clear and hot through the rest.

Mine.

Take her.

Taste her.

Now.

NO!

I throw myself backward, releasing her.

Lyra drops the last few inches onto the mattress, boneless, still out cold. I hit the far wall hard enough to rattle the frame beside me, then I stay there, pinned against it, breathing like I ran here.

Thank god she doesn't wake.

I press the back of my hand to my mouth. My heart's slamming and my cock aches, my teeth throbbing with the urge to rush forward and push them deep into her throat.

I stay there, against the wall, forcing air into my lungs, trying to get my instincts to stand down. But the scent of her is still in my head, sweet and thick, clouding everything.

My eyes drift back to the bed, to the small omega laying there, sweet and ready.

The black shirt she’s wearing, Owen’s shirt, has rucked up around her hips. The movement must have happened when I dropped her. The fabric is bunched there, leaving her completely exposed from the waist down.