Page 149 of Claiming the Pack's Omega
“I—I’ve never... You know…”
“Cuddled?”
He shakes his head, his shaggy hair falling in front of his eyes, hiding them from me.
I brush some of it away from his face and grin up at him.
“Well then, we’ll just have to change that. Cuddling is awesome. Big fan.”
I really didn’t get to do it much. Not until Theo started buying my time. There’s just something wonderful about intimacy without the expectation of things leading to something more.
Honestly, the lack of expectation makes me even more hot and bothered than I would’ve been without cuddling.
“Lay down,” I say, when it’s obvious Milo’s not moving a muscle without some sort of guidance. “Get comfortable. Cuddling is supposed to get rid of stress, not stress you out.”
He gives me another jerky nod before setting his laptop down on his nightstand and getting into bed. He lays like he’s a Victorian child who just died of the plague, every muscle in his body locked tight.
I set my phone on top of his laptop and crawl into bed next to him, pressing my body against his and letting my hand drift up his chest.
“Relax,” I murmur. “You’re forgetting to breathe.”
“Can you blame me?" He says, his voice strained.
I hike up my leg so it rests on him and he lets out a strangled groan from the back of his throat. I purposely avoid the hardness I can see growing in his sweats. No need for me to embarrass him even more, even if he is cute as hell.
“So, do you normally pull all-nighters?” I ask, in an attempt to distract him and get him to relax.
“Yeah, pretty often," he says. “I have trouble sleeping, but even if I didn’t, I’m a bit of a night owl. I get my best work done at night.”
“I am, too. Well, I’m a night owl. I don’t think I get my best work done at night, I was just forced to work nights, you know?” I say. “I think it’s really cool that you like the work you do. You’re really passionate.”
“I am," he says, his body finally starting to relax. “What are you passionate about?”
The question makes me freeze.
Damn. Do I really have nothing I’m passionate about?
I’ve spent so much of my life, so much time, so much effort, so much blood, sweat, and tears, into making sure my family is okay that I never really had any time or energy left for myself.
I swallow hard, biting the inside of my cheek as I search for an answer.
“I—I don’t think I’ve had a chance to be,” I say, softly.
“Well, now that you have the chance to figure it out, what would you want to be passionate about?" He asks. The way he says it makes my chest squeeze. He says it so earnestly, like figuring out what I’m passionate about is as simple as doing whatever I want.
But is it that simple?
God, I don’t know.
“I—I think it’d probably have something to do with helping people. My purpose has always been to help my family, but now that they don’t need me anymore, I think I feel a little lost.”
“So do you want to help people because you think that’s what you need to do in order to be valuable or because it’s actually something you want to do?”
Damn.
My head jerks up and off his chest as I turn my head to stare up at him.
That was a really heavy hitting question, God damn.
