Page 71 of The Rejected Omega

He cracks a smile. “Smut.”

I wriggle closer until my thigh presses against his. He wasn’t lying about running hot.

He trails his spare hand through my hair, gently combing it.

I cuddle close and fall asleep on his bare chest while staring at the quiet glow of the e-reader, thinking about how much I’ve missed him.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

I wake slowly,feeling fuzzy and hot behind my eyelids. I’m surrounded by a delicious scent and suffocatingly warm.

I crack open my eyes and blanch.

Not my room.

The events of last night filter back all blurry and otherworldly, like they belong to a dream instead of reality. Connor’s arm and thigh are draped over me, caging me in like he was afraid I might try and escape in the night.

My entire body’s flush with his, and his hand has snuck beneath my shirt to palm my belly.

Then I feel his erection prodding into my back through his thin pajama bottoms, and it’s fucking huge. I resist the urge to grind up against him.

I try to extricate myself from his grasp without waking him. I’m halfway out from under him when he yanks me back against his chest and grumbles sleepily.

Then someone knocks at the door to the apartment. It’s not quite a cop knock, but they sound impatient.

Connor sighs, then kisses my forehead and rolls off me, his weight lifting off his side of the bed. Was he awake this whole time?

"Expecting someone?"

"Go back to sleep. I’ll get rid of them."

I burrow back under the covers and try to chase after the delicious dream I’d been in. It lingers just on the edge of memory, more of it drifting away every second I don’t reclaim it, until I can hardly remember it at all, just fleeting details and emotions.

I relent and roll out of bed, weaving toward the bathroom to splash my face with cold water. My hair looks like a rat’s nest, and I slept with my makeup on. Eyeliner and mascara are smudged out of place, making me resemble a hollow-eyed skull.

There are voices from the living room, and I still. He invited them inside?

I open the bedroom door a sliver to peek out and go rigid.

Connor and a familiar woman stand by the couch. She’s aged well, and she’s as expertly put together as she always was, wearing a spotless cream sweater with her pretty blond hair up in an elegant chignon.

“Surprise!” she yells and flings her arms around Connor’s neck, sinking into a familiar embrace.

My heart slams into my throat.

No.

Not again.

My gut lurches. The door I’m leaning against creaks, and Cassandra’s gaze darts my way.

I stumble into the living room in Connor’s t-shirt and boxers. They both turn to me, Cassandra still clinging to him.

Cassandra’s here. In his apartment. Throwing her arms around Connor.

My scent shifts, pungent this close to my heat. Connor’s nostrils flare, and his eyes go wide.

Cassandra’s still clinging to him.

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