Page 40 of Broken Arranged Mate
And still, I reach up and clamp one hand over her mouth, watching her eyes widen, feeling her clench around my cock, clearly liking it. I hold her like that, loving the way her tongue darts out to touch the palm of my hand.
She’s mine.Mine.
When she comes, it’s hard and fast, a single tightening around my cock that sends blazes of lightning through my vision.
Each time I thrust into her, moving against that friction, I hear the word in my head like a chant to the gods—mine, mine, mine.
At the very end of her orgasm, I feel my cock starting to grow, the knot forming at the end of it, pulsing with the need to release. I drop my hand from her mouth and bury my nose in the crook of her neck, breathing deeply until I catch the current of her scent.
Then I come, the knot releasing a large amount at first, then moving into the slow, consistent pulses that always follow after.
Ash is liquid in my arms, hers wrapped around my neck, her hair wet against my chest. I gather her in my arms and move her into the other room, stepping over her wedding dress and lowering us down, together, onto the bed.
She never takes her arms off of me, and with me stuck inside her, I end up slightly propped at the head, her draped over me.
In moments, she falls asleep, apparently as at home with my body as I am with hers.
***
We wake up once in the middle of the night, already moving together, me pushed into her from behind, spooning as I thrust long and slow, one hand reaching around her body to find her clit. It doesn’t take much to make her come again.
“I was dreaming about you,” she whispers into my ear, which pushes me right over the edge, and once again, we fall asleep while my knot empties inside her.
Hours later, I wake up and realize she’s not in bed with me. I bolt up, heart already pounding, but her scent is fully back now, and I follow it to the kitchen, where she sits at the table, her hands shaking around a mug of tea.
I don’t have much experience with omegas and their heat—my sister is an omega, but would rather die than share any of that information with me. When her heat started coming on, our mother would take her out of the house, for obvious reasons, so I never saw the way that it affected her.
“Hey,” Ash says, looking up when she sees me.
She’s gorgeous, cheeks pink, hair mussed from fucking and sleeping together, and the only thing I want to do is gather her up in my arms and carry her back to the bed.
Though I don’t know much about an omega’s heat, I do know that it generally involves them wanting to have a lot of sex. Right now, though, Ash doesn’t seem turned on.
She seems sad.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, and the moment the words are out of my mouth, she bursts into tears. Panic rises in my chest—I’ve never been good with crying women—but I move to her, taking the chair next to hers and pulling her to my chest. “Hey, hey—are you okay?”
A new worry slices through me, and I push her back, holding her by her shoulders and examining her. “Did I hurt you?”
“No, no,” she half-sobs, half-laughs, using the side of her thumb to wipe tears from her cheeks. “Sorry—I just—my heat makes me like this. I know it’s a huge bummer.”
“What are you crying about?”
She pauses, like she’s not sure if she wants to tell me, then sucks in a deep breath and looks out the window, where the scrubby desert lies. I watch her, resisting the urge to reach out and touch her. The last thing I want right now is to make her feel worse, or to make her feel like the only thing I care about is having sex with her.
Even though thatisthe only thing I should care about.
“It’s stupid,” she says, shaking her head like she’s frustrated with herself. “But I…I’m just having this feeling of not belonging. Like I’m here now, and it’s not really my home. None of my friends are here, and I just—”
Ash lifts a hand to the window, touching the glass, then glances back at me, “When I look out the window, it’s like…fake. Like everything out there doesn’t even feel real to me.”
I stare at her for a long moment, wondering how it is that what she’s feeling right now could so closely mirror the way I feel about myownhome. My father warped this place until it no longer felt like it belonged to me—no longer felt like it belonged toanyone.
“Come on,” I say, standing, moving toward my jacket at the door.
“Come on?” she asks, and I distantly remember that omegas don’t usually leave their house during a heat, but I’ll honestly welcome the opportunity to fuck up any shifter who dares to look at her right now.
Besides, where we’re going, there won’t be anybody else. I’m sure of it.
