Page 57 of Heat Clickbait
"You can have both, you know. We're not replacing your family."
"I know." I found her hand on the counter, lacing our fingers together with the same careful precision I used for delicate sauces. "They want to meet you, you know? My mom's been texting almost every day asking when I'm bringing you home."
I felt her tense slightly, anxiety spiking through her scent. But underneath it was something warmer. Want, maybe. Hope.
"What would you tell them about us?" she asked. "About what we are?"
I took a moment, thumb tracing circles on her palm while I chose my words. This mattered. She mattered. "The truth. That you walked into our lives smelling like everything we never knew we needed. That you're teaching us to be better Alphas by respecting your independence. That I wake up every morning and choose you, heat or no heat, bond or no bond."
My voice went rough on the last words. I meant every syllable.
"Milo..."
"I know we're not there yet." I rushed to clarify, not wanting to pressure her. "The biting, the formal bonds. But Callie, I need you to know... for me, this is already it. You're already it."
My scent intensified without my permission, honey sweetness mixing with woodsmoke, broadcasting everything I felt. No hiding from her, not anymore.
"Show me," she said, voice low. "Here. Now."
"Show you?" I asked, needing to confirm what she was trying to say even though my pupils had dilated so fast I felt dizzy. "Callie, we don't have to?—"
"I know we don't have to. That's why I want to." She stood, rotated my chair so I was facing her and moved between my spread knees, hands braced on my thighs, and I thought my heart might actually stop. "No heat driving us. No audience. Just us choosing this."
I pulled her closer, hands spanning her waist, and when I kissed her it tasted like the future. Slow, intentional, savoring every second. This wasn't heat-driven desperation. This was choice, pure and simple.
"Upstairs?" I murmured against her mouth, giving her an out.
"Here," she said, and I nearly came undone right there. "Your kitchen, your domain. Want you here." Her omega was coming to the forefront and I loved it.
I stood, lifted her at the same time before sitting her on the counter, marveling at how perfectly she fit in my arms, in my space, in my life. The marble would be cold against her skin but I'd warm her, always warm her. My hands slid under her shirt, calloused from years of knife work and hot pans, rough against her softness.
"You're sure?" I pressed my forehead to hers, trying to hold onto control by my fingernails.
"Milo." She pulled back, meeting my eyes dead-on. "I want you to bite me."
The world stopped. Completely stopped. "Callie, we talked about this?—"
"During heat. When I couldn't consent. I can now." She tilted her head, exposing her neck, that unmarked gland that I'd fantasized about claiming since the convention. "We're not even making out. There's nothing else driving this and I'm choosing you. Clear-headed, fully conscious, completely certain. Milo Gabriel Moreno, would you please bite me?"
My lungs forgot how to work. "The others?—"
"Will have their own moments when they're ready. This is ours, if you want it to be." She tangled her fingers in my hair, pulling me closer, and I was lost. "I want your mark, Milo. Want everyone to know I chose you. That you chose me back. We can wait if you want, there's no pressure from me. But I want you to know that I choose you too."
I made a sound I'd probably be embarrassed about later, desperate and wanting and completely undone. "You can't take it back. Once I bite you, you're mine. Part of me forever."
"Good," she said simply. "That's the point."
Whatever control I'd been clinging to shattered. My mouth found her neck, kissing and nipping while my hands worked our clothes off with more efficiency than finesse. The counterheight was perfect, like I'd designed my kitchen for exactly this moment.
"Been thinking about this," I admitted against her throat, past the point of playing it cool. "Every day since the convention. Wanting to mark you, claim you properly."
"Then do it," she challenged, and I sucked a bruise just below where my bite would go, marking the territory first.
The marble countertop was cold against Callie's bare skin, but I'd warm her. Always warm her. My hands slid under her shirt, calloused fingers rough against her softness as I lifted it over her head. The morning light streaming through the kitchen windows caught her curves, painting her in gold and making my mouth water.
"Fuck, you're beautiful," I murmured, pressing kisses along her collarbone while my hands explored the softness of her waist, the flare of her hips. The kitchen smelled like cinnamon and brown butter, but underneath that was her, spun sugar and chili pepper, with that vanilla note that meant she was already wet for me.
Callie arched into my touch, her nails digging into my shoulders as I kissed my way down her chest. "Milo, please?—"
