Page 33 of Omega Untamed
The hair washing took up long minutes where I was silent, pliant. Bast took up a cloth to wash away the shampoo that began to run down my face—and maybe brush away the tears as well. I wasn’t sure of anything at that point. My mind floated in a daze.
His palm held the back of my head up as he guided me forward through the water and toward the running faucet to rinse my hair. Cool liquid threaded through my tangles. Warm hands gently squeezed hanks of my hair.
I wanted to thank this man. Hug him. Grasp onto him. He wasn’t the type for that sort of thing, it seemed, but I was so grateful I wanted to climb up his body and try to fit myself inside it.
Hold me.
Just as I had that thought, arms came around me. Powerful. Strong. I wasn’t a small Omega, but he lifted me from the water as if I weighed nothing.
“Think you can stand now?” He righted me, setting me on my feet but keeping his arms around me to help my balance.
My bandage on my foot flopped, half off. My knees started to give.
Bast held me as I grabbed around his neck to keep from falling.
“Hmm.”
The little hum he made meant everything to me. A way out. Better things. Nurture. Comfort. To him, though, it probably meant only annoyance.
With a sigh, he said, “Hold onto my shoulders. Those pants need to come off.”
He was going to strip me? I almost laughed, but I had no strength. I gripped the cloth of his shirt, my splint sticking out in an obscene gesture, hanging on as he undid the knot at my waist and slid the wet pants down my hips. The material clung to my skin, forcing him to bend closer to me and yank the material down. I fell toward him, my cock and balls swinging toward his chin.
Alphas were often surprised at my length and girth. A lot of them liked to ignore Omega cocks and go only for the hole. It was fine by me, but I had a cock most couldn’t ignore. It made itself well-known, for which I was proud.
If Bast noticed, he made no reaction. He knelt and pulled one pant leg off, then the other, taking the foot bandage all the way off as well.
He rose back to full height. Completely nude now, I leaned against him. My wet hair trailed over my shoulders, sending cold streams of water down my back.
He stood very still for a moment, as if he couldn’t decide what to do next. My forehead pressed against his rock hard chest. I felt wrung out, exhausted. Dizzy. But the nausea had receded, at least for now.
“Kee. Kee!”
I looked up, realizing he’d been calling my name. Our faces were very close and his eyes weren’t really black, but a beautiful dark brown with pinpoint pupils, shining, lit up. His face had strong contours—high cheekbones, square jaw—beneath smooth, tanned skin. I noticed he was usually close-shaven, but right now he sported a dark shadow that covered his jaw and chin, outlining his lips. A pinkness slowly edged up his cheeks.
So. I did have an affect on him.
“Kee,” he said again.
“I’m right here, damn it!” I could smell his breath, hot and fiery, making me want him even in my desperate condition.
“You were passing out again.”
I lowered my forehead to his chest again and mumbled, “Was not.”
Without anymore argument, he lifted me up. I half-shrieked, half-yelled as his arms came under my naked ass and beneath my upper back. I hugged my arms around his neck.
Without a word, he took me to the bed and lay me on it. The covers had been pulled back, the sheets crisp and clean, newly changed. I lay back on utter softness, groaning as I did so, not caring that I was entirely exposed, legs bent, cock resting on the inside of my thigh. I had little body hair, so nothing really covered me down there. My balls had to be shining pink under the lights, still wet, skin glistening.
I thought that would be it. Bast would turn out the light and leave. Instead, he took up a towel by the bedside and gently began to rub me down. Gods, it felt so good. At this point, I’d let him do whatever he wanted. The towel was fluffy and soft, the rhythm he made had me melting into the sheets as my fever abated even further and my mind gave in to simple pleasure.
He used another towel on my hair, gently lifting my head as he ran it over my tangles.
When he was done, he tossed the towels aside and stood by the side of the bed like an Alpha lording over an Omega—I couldn’t think of it any other way—and stared at me.
I blinked up at him. I knew he was looking at me. I wanted him to look. I worked hard to be pretty, to be strong with a tight body and supple skin. I wasn’t sure how I looked right now, though, frazzled and sick, damp from a bath, not quite put together, reeling half in and out of reality. Maybe the whole sick and helpless thing worked a little, I didn’t know, but I liked him looking. I liked that he couldn’t ignore me. What I didn’t like was the circumstance. Having death hanging over my head. Feeling too ill to function.
Finally, Bast drew a sheet over me to mid-chest, turned and left the room. The light remained on, and I started to call out, but soon he returned with a glass of water and some pills in the palm of his hand.
