Page 52 of Omega's Fire

Leo shakes his head. “What are you waiting for? I’m already fucking pregnant.” His hand wraps around me, guiding me where he wants me. “Just fuck me.”

As begging goes, that’ll do. I’m not a patient man.

I claim his mouth in a searing kiss as I position myself at his entrance, finding him already slick and ready. His body is prepared for me. It is designed for this.

I enter him slowly, reverently, watching his face. Leo’s eyes flutter closed, his lips parting on a soundless gasp as I fill him inch by careful inch.

“Yes,” he breathes when I’m fully seated within him. “God, Nash.”

Hearing my name on his lips after so long is its own kind of ecstasy. I begin to move, establishing a rhythm that’s neithertoo gentle nor too rough, mindful of his condition even as desire threatens to overwhelm my control. I’m going to make him want me so bad, he’s never going to leave again.

Leo’s legs wrap tighter around my waist, his heels digging into my lower back, urging me deeper. His hands clutch my shoulders, nails leaving indentations in my skin.

“Harder,” he demands. My omega is never content to be passive. “I won’t break.”

I comply, increasing the force of my thrusts, bracing one hand on the desk beside his hip while the other tangles in his hair. The desk creaks beneath us, pens and papers scattering to the floor.

“Look at me,” I command.

He obeys his eyes wide open and dark with desire.

“I’ve missed you,” I confess, the words torn from somewhere deep inside me. “Every day. Every night.”

“Shut up,” he says. He’s breathing hitching in a way that tells me he’s close. I slip a hand between us, wrapping around him, matching the rhythm of my strokes to my thrusts.

“Nash,” he gasps, the sound of my name a warning, a plea. “I’m going to—”

“Yes,” I encourage, increasing the pace, driving us both toward the edge. “Let go. I’ve got you.”

He comes with a shuddering cry, his body clenching around mine in waves that trigger my own release. I bury my face against his neck, breathing in his scent as pleasure crashes through me, obliterating thought.

For long moments afterward, we remain entwined, breathing hard, neither willing to break the contact. My forehead rests against his, our breath mingling in the scant space between us. Leo’s hands have gentled on my shoulders, now stroking rather than clutching.

Reality intrudes gradually: the chill of the air-conditioned office on sweat-dampened skin, the uncomfortable angle ofthe desk edge against my thighs as I lean between his legs. I straighten slowly, reluctantly slipping free of his body, but keeping him caged within my arms.

“We should talk about this,” I say softly, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead.

Leo’s expression shutters immediately. “No. We shouldn’t.”

He pushes at my chest, creating space between us. I step back, allowing him room to slip off the desk, to begin gathering his scattered clothing.

No. He’s not doing this again. Fucking me and then walking away as if it is nothing, but even as I think it, I know that trying to push him into what I want isn’t the right way to do this.

“Are you going to pretend this didn’t happen?”

He shrugs. “I’m sure as hell going to try.” He moves toward the door, then hesitates, hand on the knob. “About the new policy—”

“I’ll see what I can do,” I promise. “No guarantees, but... I’ll try.”

Leo nods, acknowledgment if not quite gratitude. “And the eviction notice?”

“I have nothing to do it,” I repeat. “But I meant what I said about the squat not being safe for you or the baby.”

His lips tighten, but he doesn’t argue. “I have to go,” he says again, avoiding further discussion.

“Leo.” I stop him before he can leave. “Will you at least consider letting me help? With the baby? With finding you safe housing?”

He pauses, hand still on the doorknob, not looking at me. For a moment I think he’ll refuse outright. Then, he says, “I’ll think about it.”

---