Page 69 of The Rejected Omega

“You have something I can wear?”

Another swallow. A long blink. “Yeah.”

He pulls a pair of boxer briefs and an old gym tee out of his dresser and tosses them to me.

“These are the only bottoms I have that won’t fall right off you.”

“That’s fine.” His t-shirt is going to swamp me anyway.

I go into his bathroom and change. My panties are stained with slick from earlier, and I fold my dress around my underwear like I’m at the bloody gynecologist.

The boxer briefs fit me loosely, but the elastic keeps them up. The brush of the silky fabric against my lips reminds me how these have cradled Connor’s cock and balls. An image of him sliding them down his muscular thighs to free his bobbing erection flashes through my mind, and I banish the thought before I slick these up, too.

My brain is tempted to play out the fantasy of giving his boxers back to him full of my slick and seeing him come completely undone, but I shut that shit down. Fantasies aren’t going to do me any favors.

Connor’s faded gym shirt falls to my mid-thigh. It’s freshly laundered but still smells like him, and I want to pull it over my nose and huff.

What am I doing? Am I really going to risk it all to share a bed with Connor Masters?

I’m sobering up way too quickly. I’d prefer the excuse of alcohol to hide my actions behind.

“You okay in there?”

“Yep. Just using your toothbrush.”

A muffled chuckle. “I don’t mind.”

I bust out of the bathroom, catching him with a smile still on his lips. His eyes drop to my legs, then trail up my body. His jaw clenches.

“Lana.”

“Sharing toothbrushes is disgusting. Even if we were mated, I wouldn’t do that.”

Foot, meet mouth.

“If we were mated, we’d probably have a matching pair.”

“But how would we tell them apart?”

“One on the left, one on the right. Just like sides of the bed.”

“You’d take the side closest to the door.”

“Naturally.”

This is way past playing with fire. I’m swallowing it, dousing myself in gasoline and juggling lit matches. There’s no way I’m going to make it until our next tutoring session. I can feel my heat creeping up my neck like a warm breath on a cold night.

I gesture to the clothes I’m wearing. “I’m gonna smell like you.”

“When you smell like me, you smell perfect.”

Butterflies take flight in my stomach. “Are you tired?”

Connor glances toward the living room, then back to the bed. “Yeah. Go ahead and make yourself comfortable. I’m gonna change.”

I slide beneath the covers and fight the urge to snoop through his nightstand drawer.

He comes out of the bathroom dressed in low-slung sweatpants.

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