Page 26 of My Omega's Baby
“You’re a piece of work, Wyatt. Picking on me when I feel like death.”
“Sorry.” He touched my arm and I jumped. “Relax. I’m showing compassion.”
“I didn’t recognize it.”
“You want me to carry you to bed and tuck you in?” He laughed.
I opened one eye. “Nope.” His smile made my pulse pick up. “I can’t go to bed till you do.”
“You’re so tightly wound it’s absurd. I mean, what’s the difference if you’re puking your brains out or in bed while I’m in here watching TV? Either way, if my Russian friend comes calling, you’re not going to be much use.”
“I’m not going to bed until you do.”
“You know, I’m more than capable of handling myself. I’m not some clueless civilian.”
“Please stop arguing. You’re making this worse.”
“God, you’re stubborn.”
Another wave of nausea rolled through me, and I sat up, feeling alarmed. “Fuck.” I scrambled to my feet, and he stood too and followed me into my bedroom. I waved at him weakly. “Go away.”
He ignored me and when I slammed into the bathroom and knelt in front of the toilet, he hovered near the sink. My gut heaved and I threw up for what felt like an hour. I didn’t have anything in my stomach so it was mostly just a lot of dry heaving, which was agony. I jumped when Wyatt pressed a cool washcloth against the back of my neck.
“Sorry.” I clung to the toilet like it was my best friend. “I’ll be fine in just a minute.”
He sighed. “Be quiet. Just relax and do what you need to do.”
As he finished speaking, another wave of nausea hit me and I spent the next ten minutes repeating the dry heaving from earlier. By the time I felt slightly better, I was weak and sweaty. He wiped my face and gave me some mouthwash to spit into the toilet. Then he helped me to my feet, and we stumbled toward my bed.
I sat on the edge of the bed while he stripped me like I was a mindless toddler. Once I was down to my underwear, he helped me scoot under the covers and tucked me in. I closed my eyes, exhausted and shaking. I expected him to leave me, but he stayed with me on the other side of the bed. I had my back to him, and he stroked my hair softly as I shivered next to him.
“If this keeps up, I’m driving you to the emergency room.” His voice was husky.
“No way,” I groaned. “I’m fine.”
“Bullshit. You were puking blood at the end there.”
I grimaced. “That’s just because it went on so long.” My voice was weak, and I rolled slowly toward him. “You don’t have to worry. I’m fine.”
I couldn’t see his features well in the dim room, but the light from the bathroom cast just enough that I could see he was frowning. “You don’t think this is connected to… to what happened, do you?” His voice was hushed.
“You mean the sex?” I grimaced.
“Yeah.”
Even though I felt like shit, I snorted a laugh. “Uh, no I don’t. There’s no way I’m dying and having ‘fucked to death by Wyatt Smith’ on my tombstone.”
He gave a grudging laugh and patted my shoulder. “Leave it to you to turn even you dying into a battle of wills, Blade.”
I smirked, closed my eyes, and drifted off to sleep.
Chapter Eight
Wyatt
“Where’s your babysitter?” my mom asked with one brow raised.
“He’s in the car.” I felt embarrassed admitting Blade wouldn’t come inside to see my mom.
