Page 46 of Omega's Forbidden Heat
Leaning forward, she clasps her hands around the back of his neck, his gland hot against her fingertips, and kisses him, plunging her tongue deep inside his warm mouth as she crests over the wave and comes in his arms, and he follows her straight after, gathering her up and holding her to him. He holds her like that for several long moments as they catch their breaths. Then she opens her eyes and smiles at him.
“You’re really beautiful, Amy,” he says. “I should have told you that already.”
She cocks her head. “You told me everything you needed to say.” Sometimes words aren’t necessary.
They lie out on the sofa together and he drags the blanket from the sofa’s arm over them.
“I still don’t know how we’re going to handle this. Your brother and your dad, shit your mum too, they won’t approve of it.”
“They all love you, Jack. They’ll come around.”
He swallows. “Things have changed. I’m not exactly a catch, am I?” He shifts. “What did Finn say to you? About me?”
She rests her cheek on his chest, hearing the pound of his heart in her ear. “He said you should have been out much sooner than you were. That stuff happened in there.” His body stiffens underneath her, but she needs to know. “Honestly, I think he worries that night wasn’t a one off, that maybe there’s this violent man inside you.”
“You mean, violent Alpha. I suppose that’s what everyone thinks now.” His tone is resigned, and it irritates her. People think things about her too, she won’t let their prejudices define her.
“What happened in there, Jack? Why weren’t you out sooner?”
She hears him open and close his mouth, his tongue scrape along the ridge of his mouth as if he’s searching for his words. And she wonders why she always has to ruin things like this. Why she can’t leave him alone? Why she’s always scrabbling at that wall with her nails, desperate to break through.
He rolls her from him and sits up, leaning into his knees. He examines his right hand, flexing and relaxing his fingers. It’s something she’s seen him do many times since he’s come home. A tick she doesn’t remember from when he was a boy.
“You turn up there, as an Alpha, and everyone’s keen to show you your place,” he says. “Fucking hell, Amy, I was 18 and terrified.” She reaches for him and he brushes her hand away. “Yes, I suppose I could’ve rolled over, rolled with the punches, and I would’ve been out much sooner. But I didn’t have anyone giving me that advice. You know, only my mum, aunt and Finn ever came to visit me. None of my other friends, not your parents.” He looks at her. “Not you. I was just trying to survive.” He scrubs his hand down his face. “I worked it out in the end. But by that time I’d gained a reputation for handling myself anyway, and they left me alone.”
“I’m sorry, I never came. I didn’t think you’d want me to.”
“Any friendly face from home would’ve been nice. But your parents would never have let you come, anyway. For the same reason they wouldn’t want you seeing me now.” He smiles flatly at her, then a cloud passes over his face. “You know what Finn said about you?”
She shakes her head, her blood running cold.
“He says you have a compulsion, a habit,” he spits out the words, “for collecting broken things. A need to mend and fix … people.” He peers into her eyes as if trying to read her. “It makes sense. When he said you were studying to be a social worker, it seemed so Amy to me. I remember how you’d always adopt the new kid at school, taking them under your wing. How you’d make friends with the weird kids who were ignored because you felt sorry for them.”
“You say it like it’s a bad thing.” She hugs her knees up to her chest.
“Is this what this is all about? Are you taking pity on another broken soul? Are you trying to fix me?” She flinches. There’s such venom in his voice, she can almost see it running off his lips, can almost hear it dripping onto the floor. She shivers against his sudden coolness and lowers her feet to the ground, giving him a hard stare.
“Let me tell you something, Jack Johnson. You can only push me away so many times. I won’t keep doing this forever. Eventually I’ll reach my limit, because these things you say to me, the way you push me away, it hurts.” She feels her lower lip tremble as the realisation of her own words hit her. She doesn’t want to cry in front of him. Leaping from the sofa, she bundles her clothes into her arms and dashes from the room.
“Amy,” he calls, “Amy.” But he doesn’t follow. She tugs down her skirt but doesn’t bother with her tights, running across the cold driveway, and into the car. He’s not following her. Why not? Why can’t he race out here now and gather her up in his arms and tell her he’s sorry? That’s all it would take. The tears stream down her face, and she swipes them away and switches on the engine.
Chapter Seventeen
Running is the only thing that will clear his head right now. The only thing that stops the voices from cajoling and tempting him. And maybe, subconsciously, is the hope that he’ll catch that scent and track her down like he did before. A chance meeting. If it’s an accident, it doesn’t count, right?
But there’s no intoxicating smell in the air today. It’s just the arid stink of mud and rotting leaves and the sky above him is so grey, so heavy, it makes his headache and the usual lightness he feels as the distance increases and his arms and legs work harder and harder, does not materialise.
He walks the last few metres, sweat running down his chest, pooling at the base of his spine. The first sign of winter stains the hedgerows with bright scarlet berries that glow among the dark green leaves. He picks one, and rolls it between his thumb and his forefinger, backward and forward, as his feet squeak on the wet grass growing along the side of the lane.
He squeezes the tight ball as he turns in to the drive and it gives with a satisfying squelch, red juice spilling over his fingers. He wipes them on his shorts and stops.
There is a car parked in the driveway. One he doesn’t recognise. It is sleek and silver, yet large and practical. Something that the driver decided was an investment, not a luxury. He squints, trying to see who is inside. A probation officer, maybe? They don’t usually drive something that costly. All he can make out is a dark figure, the build of a man. He doesn’t recognise the shape and the shadows make the colours unreadable. The driver’s door opens as he approaches and a large middle-aged man steps out. He squints again, blinking.
Mr Stephens?
Really?
It’s been what five, six years since he saw him last. The school cut off pretty much all contact with him once he was arrested and the proceedings started. He hasn’t seen that man since then, but he is exactly the same. Just a little older looking, perhaps.
