Page 72 of Unmarked

“You, Alpha.”

“Thencome,Omega,” he practically barks. “Now.”

My hips jerk wildly, riding my own hand as I sob into the door.Slick floods down my thighs, fingers slippery and soaked as wave after wave of release crashes through me.

I grind into my hand like a woman possessed, riding the wave of it, falling apart in a sweaty heap of shame, satisfaction, and extremely damp cotton.

I shatter fully - loud and raw and unfiltered - and on the other side of the door, I hear him curse.

He’s hard. He’s suffering.

And he still doesn’t come in.

He waits until I’ve come back down to myself, waits until the fog in my mind has eased somewhat before his voice returns.

It’s quieter now - triumphant, smug, and far more dangerous.

“You’ll beg for the real thing soon enough, Omega. And when you do?”

My eyes almost roll back into my head as pleasure floods through me.

“I won’t be on the other side of the door.”

Chapter Seventeen

Rhea

Sleep doesn't come easy.

Shocking, I know - what with the raging inferno in my pelvis and the emotional trauma blanket of unrelenting horniness draped over my soul.

I toss. I turn. I kick the blanket off. Regret it. Pull it back on. Tangle myself in it like a feral cat settling down in a grocery store window display.

The nest I built is now a war zone - pillow carnage everywhere, the spare blanket bunched up like it’s judging me.

When I finally doze off, it’s not sleep. It’s more like someone hit pause on my ability to function and dumped me into the horny fever dream folder of my subconscious.

Lucian’s voice shows up, of course - brooding bastard that he is, whispering in my head like some sexy sleep paralysis demon.

You’re okay. I’ve got you. Just breathe.

Sir. With all due respect; get the hell out of my dreams and take your calm dominance kink with you.

The phantom words he's never even said burrow into my brain like splinters dipped in pheromones anyway. I reach for them in my sleep, but they vanish like my dignity at the gala.

And I wake upaching.Like…absurdlyso.

The sheets are twisted between my legs like I tried to mate with them in my sleep. Which I probably did.

Sorry, 1,000-thread count Egyptian cotton. It wasn’t you, it was me.

My mouth is dry. My thighs areverynot.Again.

I groan, rolling over like a dying sea creature. The lights are dimmed, thank god, because I’m not emotionally prepared to see my own reflection right now.

That's when I realize that someone’s been in here.

There’s food on a tray: bread, cheese, fruit, a thermos that smells like maybe tea or possibly regret. Honestly, I’d kill for a coffee and a tranquilizer.

---