Page 84 of The Rejected Omega

I turn my head to stare at him. His fangs are distended, pressing against his upper lip—something that only happens when an unmated alpha’s deep into rut.

“Bite me, Connor. Please.”

“I can’t.”

His hand wraps around my front to stroke my clit and fucks deeper, but I’m clearheaded enough right now to recognize the distraction for what it is. I start to clench around him, and he snarls and yanks the kitchen towel off the oven door, shoving it between his teeth and gnawing on it like a leather strap. The pan on the stove starts to smoke.

Something cold unfurls inside my chest, spreading its dark tendrils.

Why won’t he bite me? Does he regret me biting him? He asked me to, right?

Doesn’t want you, doesn’t want you, doesn’t want you.

Temporary.

Not good enough.

Not his. Never his.

Connor keeps fucking me, plowing deep, and his efforts pull me back into a haze of lust. His fingers dig marks into my hips. He grunts into the rag as his knot swells inside me.

I start to sob as I come undone around him.

We’re locked together while he feeds me fruit and eggs, then he carries me back to the bedroom. The next time we fuck, he rolls us so I’m on top.

"Ride me. Want to bite you too bad."

The empty feeling inside me grows. My heart clenches.

"I want you to do it."

He gives me a terse shake of his head. "Not now. Need to talk about it."

What was there to talk about? We were mates. The only reason to talk would be to try and talk one of us out of it.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Coming down from heat,it turns out, feels a lot like a hangover.

I could feel when it started to fade, but I rode the high as long as I could, trying to stay in the dream we constructed around ourselves for the past week. One where there was no outside world. No Cassandra, no Mac, no Dr. Kanata. No past to corrupt our future.

I wake half on top of Connor, my leg flung over him and my face nestled in the crook of his neck. There’s a wet spot where my pussy straddles the muscle of his thigh.

I’m only allowed a few moments of peace before my brain ruins everything. Events come back to me in snatches, clarifying beyond the blur of naked flesh and endless pleasure.

Near the end, I begged him over and over again to bite me.

Did he, though? Or had I just convinced myself of it? Did my delusion run that deep? The last few days are dreamlike and insubstantial in my memory. I was mindless by the end, just a mewling fuck puppet made of cum and orgasms.

I raise my hand to touch my mating gland, and it’s sore like a bruise, with the indentations of teeth marks all around it. But shouldn’t I feel…different?

I try to slide away from Connor, and he grunts and pulls me back against him. His arm is like one of those roller-coaster lap bars.

"What need?” he grumbles, half awake. “I get."

"To pee."

“Hurry back,” he says into my hair and releases me.

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