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Even still, I find myself aching to catch even the faintest whiff.
She rolls over, knee bumping mine, and jerks awake.
I snap my eyes closed and pretend to be asleep. Her breaths are quick and fast, but she whispers, “Oh,” when she realizes it’s only me. I wait for her to kick me out. She never does. Quinn releases a soft breath and settles back onto the bed.
I want nothing more than to see if she’s facing me, but I keep my eyes firmly pressed shut. A feather-light touch pushes hair away from my forehead, and I have to brace myself to keep from reacting.
“Good night, Dylan,” she whispers with more affection than she ever lets on during the day.
And with that simple acceptance, every muscle relaxes. After a few minutes, I don’t even have to pretend to be asleep, because sleep comes for me hard and fast, dragging me under. This time, when I dream, it’s not a car crash that haunts me; it’s the fear of never knowing a certain omega’s scent.
Twenty-Four
PRESENT DAY
QUINN
After a shower and fresh layering of descenting lotion, I turn off the lights and crawl into bed, avoiding my nest. Dylan’s touch set me on fire. Brady’s ire doused the flames and made me regret the second I didn’t pull away from Dylan. And I hate that I regret it because, for once, with Dylan by my side, the pain receded.
His presence soothed me.
I roll over on my side, facing the wall, and try to block out every thought of him and Brady and Austin, who came home after the big blowout between the oldest and youngest brother.
My door opens and shuts, quietly. Turning, I take in a familiar form making its way toward my bed. Dylan is a full-grown alpha now, but the sight of him brings back all those memories of waking up with him in my bed.
I hold my breath, trying to be as quiet as I can, so as not to wake him. He still sleepwalks. My heart warms that, even after all these years, it’s my bed he subconsciously drifts to. He crawls under the covers, flops onto his side, and releases a soft hum as his body relaxes. His eyes are still closed, as always, but I still wait a few seconds to make sure he’s sleeping.
When I’m sure his breathing is even, I reach up and push strands of his black hair from his forehead, barely letting my fingers brush over his skin. The simple touch brands my skin. I take a deep breath, savoring his scent in a way I never allow myself during the daytime.
And then I inch as close as I can without actually touching him and close my eyes. This is the closest I’ll ever get to one of them in my bed, and I’m not about to ask him to leave.
I’ve wokenup with Dylan in my bed more times than I can count. It’s always the same. We wake up, always a few inches apart, and he gives me that sheepish grin that makes my stomach flip. Then he saysgood morningin a raspy voice, and we go about our day, pretending nothing happened.
This morning is different for a couple of reasons.
We’re not inches apart. Somehow in the night, I rolled over, and we drifted closer than we ever have. His front is pressed against my back, and his arms are wrapped around me, cradling me to his chest. I can’t see his face. I don’t know if he’s grinning or if he’s still sleeping; all I know is that one of his hands is splayed across my stomach and one finger has slipped beneath my shorts.
And then there’s the erection nestled against my ass, hard and thick and long. I swallow around the lump in my throat. Heat crawls down my neck and over my skin. Unsure of what to do, I stay completely still, battling every instinct that’s telling me to roll over and take that cock and make it mine.
Minutes pass. Dylan’s breath coasts over the skin of my neck and I shiver. That wakes him up. Only, instead of pulling away,he presses his nose to my throat and breathes in. “Fuck, you feel good.”
I struggle to breathe. I struggle not to focus on the way his fingers flex against my stomach or how the one rubs over the seam of my scent-wicking underwear. “Dylan,” I whisper, for fear of my voice trembling.
His nose leaves my throat, but he doesn’t let me go. “Good morning,” he rasps in that voice that makes my heart flutter and my walls clench.
“Morning,” I say, trying to pull away, but his hold tightens. A soft gasp slips from my mouth. “Dylan!”
“Fuck.” He lets me go and jumps out of the bed.
I whirl around, kneeling on the bed and staring at him. His eyes drop to my chest and the cami that barely covers my tits. “Dylan?”
“Don’t,” he says with a harsh exhale. “Don’t speak.”
Cringing away, I drop my gaze.
“Fuck. I didn’t mean it like that, Quinn.” He releases a hard breath. “I’m sorry for feeling you up.”
I’m not sorry he did it, but that’s because I’ve been dying to feel him touch me like that for years. He did it in his sleep, not really realizing who I was. I could have been any omega, and he probably would have ended up in the same position.
