Page 24 of Omega's Fire

“Just get it over with,” I say. “And my ‘yes’ is just to the heat. It’s not consent to your entire worldview.”

“Always so concerned with being right.” Nash shuts the door behind him. “Even now.”

“One of us has to be.” Another wave of heat makes me shudder, and I hate how his eyes track the movement. “Since you’re so happy to be wrong.”

“We’ll see who’s wrong when you’re screaming my name.”

The arrogance, the absolute certainty in his voice should infuriate me. Instead, it sends another pulse of heat straight to my core. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

Nash moves toward me, deliberate as a predator. “It’s not flattery if it’s true.”

“You think pretty highly of your abilities for someone who’s never touched me.”

“That’s about to change.”

I back up until my legs hit the edge of the bed. “This is just heat. It doesn’t mean anything.”

“Keep telling yourself that.” He’s close enough now that I canfeel the heat radiating off his body, smell the alpha pheromones that my omega body is programmed to respond to. “Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” I accuse, even as my hands itch to grab him, to pull him against me. “Being proven right. Watching me need you.”

Something flashes in his eyes—not just desire, but frustration. Good. I want him as off-balance as I feel.

“What I’m enjoying,” Nash says, his voice a low growl, “is watching you fight yourself and lose.”

That does it. I grab his shirt, yanking him toward me. “I never lose.”

I crash our mouths together, teeth clashing, nothing gentle about it. This isn’t surrender. It’s an attack. I bite his lower lip, hard enough to punish, and he groans into my mouth, his hands finally, finally coming up to grip my hips.

Nash kisses like he argues: with intensity and absolute conviction. He takes control of the kiss, one hand sliding up to fist in my hair, tilting my head to deepen the angle. I fight back, nails digging into his shoulders, refusing to yield even as my body melts against his.

“Just chemistry,” I gasp when we break apart, both breathing hard.

“Keep lying to yourself.” He pushes me back onto the bed, following me down, his weight pinning me in the most satisfying way.

His mouth finds my neck, teeth grazing the sensitive scent gland there, and I arch beneath him, a moan escaping before I can stop it. My hands push under his shirt, desperate for skin contact, nails scoring down his back.

“Off,” I demand, tugging at the fabric. “Take it off.”

Nash sits back on his heels, straddling my thighs, and pulls his shirt over his head in one fluid motion. The sight of him—alllean muscle and golden skin—makes my mouth go dry. I’ve tried not to notice how attractive he is for the past week, but now, with heat coursing through me, there’s no denying it.

“Like what you see?” he asks, that infuriating smirk playing at his lips.

“Shut up.” I reach for him, pulling him back down. “Just shut up and touch me.”

He complies, but on his terms, not mine. His hands slide under my sleep shirt, calloused palms against overheated skin, moving with maddening slowness. “So demanding,” he murmurs against my neck. “Always trying to control everything.”

“And you don’t?” I challenge, gasping as his thumbs brush over my nipples. He chuckles against my skin, the vibration sending shivers down my spine. “The difference is, I know when to let go.”

“Prove it,” I bite out.

Nash’s eyes darken. With one smooth motion, he tears my shirt down the middle, buttons scattering across the bed. The display of strength makes something primal in me respond, slick flooding between my thighs.

“That was unnecessary,” I say, fighting to keep my voice steady.

“No.” His gaze rakes over my exposed chest, hunger evident in every line of his face. “It was very necessary.”

His mouth replaces his hands, hot and wet against my skin, and I arch into the contact, fingers threading through his hair. He’s methodical in his exploration, finding every sensitive spot with unerring accuracy, as if he’s studied me specifically for this moment.

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