Page 30

“For a while, yeah. 2006 was a weird year for me. I’d moved on by ’07.”

He had. There’s a picture of him in an ill-fitting suit and tie, sitting in what looks to be a lecture theatre, with a similarly dressed boy next to him that I recognise immediately. “Matiu! Aww, you guys were babies.”

“Wait, he’s in there?” Scott leaves the dinner cooking for a moment, coming to lean over my shoulder at the album. “That was at the university’s mock United Nations event. That’s how I met him. I was France, he was the Cook Islands and said he had beef with me about my history of testing nuclear weapons in the Pacific. He grabbed the NZ representative too and they ganged up on me in the general assembly. That’s so weird that this photo ended up here.”

“How long have you known each other, then?”

“Eighteen years.”

“That’s a long time.”

“Yeah, it is.”

“And now you share a scent match.”

Something unreadable passes over his face. I want to ask him what that’s about, but he reaches forward, turning the page, and then the sadness in his eyes is as apparent as the pain that’s echoed in his voice. “That’s my mum.”

“She’s beautiful.” It’s his university graduation photo. His mother stands a head shorter than him, her brown hair sleek and her grin a mile wide. He has her mouth and nose.

“She really was.”

Scott returns to the kitchen, bringing dinner to the couch a few minutes later. We chat about everything and nothing as we eat our creamy pasta and watch the sunset. I finish my wine and Scott drains the rest of his beer, and we sit in companionable silence while Barry snores softly in his big dog bed beside the sofa.

“When did you lose her?” I dare to ask. I don’t bother to specify who I mean. I don’t need to. Scott’s mother is everywhere in this place, from the cross-stitch that hangs above the kitchen countertop to the old clearfile full of outdated brochures for tourist attractions.

“Ten years ago. Breast cancer.”

“I’m so sorry.”

He nods, tears welling in his eyes, and I wrap my arms around him, an involuntary purr starting up in my chest. I try to stifle it, but he whispers, “Don’t stop,” and so I hold him tighter, his face pressed to my neck, until the sun dips below the horizon, the light now dim and blue-toned. I lean back further, getting comfy, until his head rests between my breasts, my chest still vibrating as he mutters, “These are the best pillows in the world.”

I huff in a small laugh. “I got them after I revealed as an omega.”

He lifts his head at that, and I realise what I’ve said. “They’re real,” I clarify. “My body just changed a lot after I became an omega. The working theory is that because I was older when it happened, the hormones messed me up a bit. I used to be this athletic little thing,” I tell him, his face mere inches from mine, “with abs and a small chest and a really perky ass, and now⁠—”

“And now you’re perfect,” he interjects, his fingers squeezing at the ample flesh of my hips. “Seriously, I don’t want to sound rude, but these tits are the best fucking thing I’ve ever seen in my life.”

“You’re just saying that.”

“No I’m not.” I must look like I don’t believe him, because he lets out a short alpha growl. “I’m not,” he insists, biting gently at the curve of my right breast. “I’m in heaven right now. You are so fucking hot, and I love this body of yours.”

“Matiu said the same thing.”

“Yeah, I bet he did, lucky bastard. He got to play with this first.” He grabs a handful of my ass, shaking it with his hand, making it jiggle. “Did he fuck you from behind yet?”

“No.”

“Good, I got to beat him at that, then. Nothing is better than the view of this big arse as I fuck you.”

“You Kiwi men are very blunt,” I say, not because I’m defensive, but because I’m almost struggling to keep up with how emphatically he seems to want me.

“Yeah, well, if you’re saying stuff like you think you’re messed up then I think you might need that bluntness. You’re gorgeous. I’d like to dick that message into you until it’s set in your brain that you are amazing.”

“Are you going to punish me if I say bad things about myself?”

“I could.” I raise my brows and he adds, “A little. I’m more of a pleasure dom, but I’ll spank you harder than I did before if you’re into that.”

“I’m into that.”