Page 35 of Mating the Omega
It had been glorious.
This could be glorious too, if he’d stop trying to protect me. I was in no way far enough along that it would be dangerous or uncomfortable, though if he didn’t get a move on, I’d have to pee again before we were done. I decided to go a little full moon on him this morning, and I began to twist and grind my hips in the same way that I’d seen the young delta wolves doing at the full moon party.
He groaned and pressed his face against my chest. “Fuck, when you do that.”
“Mmmm,” I hummed and continued to do it. He’d turn the tables on me soon enough, but I was going to enjoy my brief bout of power. “How about this?” I twisted and squeezed with the muscles of my ass at the same time, cradling his head against my chest because I just loved the feel of his coarse red hair against my nipples, especially now that they were becoming more sensitive. Hormones, Adelaide said. Bonus, was what I thought, and I twisted my chest to get more of the delicious feeling.
Mac laughed and began to ride me in earnest. He braced his arms on either side of me and swung his hips with a solid power that made me feel both loved and owned. I clutched at him as the pleasure built inside me once more, like it had on our first night, digging my heels into the hollow under his ass and gasping for air as he hit that spot inside me over and over. The world disappeared, and there was only me and Mac and the rising tide of ecstasy that was about to carry us away.
And then the wave crashed over us and we both cried out with the joy of it. I held him close as he came back to himself, and kissed him with all the love of my heart.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
After all that, we needed a shower, and I—of course—needed to pee. Adelaide called it the result of a high metabolic load—I called it a pain in the ass.
Mac met me in the kitchen, with breakfast already cooking on the stove. Eggs and bacon, coffee for him, and tea steeping in a mug for me.
“I should be doing that,” I said, moving to put slices of bread in the toaster. “Alphas shouldn’t be waiting on omegas.”
“I want to. You’re my omega. Why do you think that anyway? I know you guys tend to be nurturers, but I’m not seeing the problem.”
I wrapped my arms around myself, suddenly unwilling to sit while he was standing. “I don’t want to displease you.”
“Woah!” He left off poking at the bacon and turned to put his hands on my shoulders. “Why are you suddenly worried about that?”
The floor became intensely interesting. “You’ve been really good about it, but I know I should be doing more here.” Memories of lessons in my tiny class of omegas, days and years of learning the best way to remove stains and how to cook a brisket twenty different delicious ways. How to be organized and make do. My responsibilities as an omega. Later, vague discussions about the bedroom and what I should expect. And then there was the urge to look after him that I could never quite ignore, even during that month when I spent more time with the toilet than I did with him. It was hard to tease the two apart, know what was natural to me and what was a result of my training. I couldn’t go by Bram—as an unmated omega with no one to teach him how to behave, he had a frightening amount of freedom here, except for his season in the fall. But I’d been raised pretty strangely too.
I looked up to see Mac watching me with those sharp blue eyes of his. He probably knew more about me than I did myself. “What are you thinking?” he asked.
“That I’m not a very good omega. I argue with you, and don’t keep the house as clean as I should and—” I dissolved in tears and slumped onto the floor. “I’m sorry!” I wailed and sobbed harder.
“Fuck,” he muttered, then his arms surrounded me and I was sitting on his lap, a disgusting mess of tears and snot. “I guess the rest of it was just the lead up.”
“To what?” I blubbered, burying my face in his chest.
“Mood swings.” He laughed and rubbed my back. “Get it out, then we’ll go to the garden. I’ve got a surprise there for you.”
“A surprise.” The mention of a surprise started to beat back the tears. “What surprise?”
“Not much of a surprise if I tell you, is it? Have your cry, then we’ll eat and go.” He stood up and put me on my feet, but held me close with one arm while he scooped our breakfast out of the pan with the other. I cuddled close, hiccupping occasionally and wiping away the tears that still streaked down my face, and Mac just held me while our breakfast got cold.
I blew my nose into a paper towel and tossed it in the garbage. “I think I’m better now. I hate hormones.”
“I don’t mind. Sit, I’ll bring breakfast over.”
I started to protest, but he gave me an alpha look, and I meekly took my tea over to my chair and sat. Moments later, a plate of bacon and eggs landed in front of me and Little Mac gave a kick, reminding me that he was hungry too.
“I saw that,” Mac said. “He’s a feisty little bugger. Kind of like his bearer.”
“Hmmm,” I said through a full mouth. It was so nice to be hungry and be able to eat. And I really wanted to eat. Like, all the time. You couldn’t have a strawberry within smelling distance of me or I ate it. Ditto with the homemade cheese one of the pack members made, and barbecued pork. Often all at the same time. I was pretty sure I’d be horrified at my eating habits once the baby came, but right now, I didn’t care.
Mac put my toast in front of me, slathered with strawberry jam he’d traded for with another of the pack members. I hadn’t realized how much of their own food they made themselves, or how much more they wanted to, until Mac started catering to my crazy cravings. That was when I started tracking how much money they saved by growing food for themselves, and comparing it to Montana Border, where we were beholden to the human community for everything, and all we had was the money the government gave us and what the few of us with valuable skills could earn outside walls.
Mercy Hills was way better.
My appetite took that moment to completely desert me. The thought of going back to Montana Border—no matter how many time Mac and Abel told me it wouldn’t happen, I couldn’t trust it not to happen—I’d rather be dead than mate there. And I would be mated, if I went, there was no doubt about that. Bram was looking into pack records, and what little history had been recorded, trying to find out the truth behind my mother’s naming me as a True Omega, and Montana Border’s determination to have me back.
“Did I make too much?” Mac asked.
