Page 151 of Claiming the Pack's Omega

When I reach over to check my phone on his nightstand, I see it’s 11:30 AM.

Milo wraps his arm around my front and tugs me back to him with a soft groan. He shifts his hips forward and I can’t help but grind back against him.

Another soft groan leaves his throat and his hold on me tightens before his entire body stiffens.

“Wh—Fuck, I’m so sorry," he says, immediately jerking away from me. His voice is thick and low with sleep. It’s so hot.

It’s such a casual thing to. The last thing Milo’s thinking about is being hot. He just is.

He scrubs a hand down his face, propping himself on his elbow. He’s turning scarlet, all the way up to his ears, with embarrassment.

“No need to apologize,” I say, propping myself up on my elbow to match his pose. “Morning wood is normal.”

“Is it still the morning?" He asks, blinking away the last lingering threads of sleep.

“Just barely. It’s 11:30. But that just means that it still technically counts as morning wood.”

He purses his lips and glances away.

“I really am sorry, I?—”

“Hey,” I say, resting a hand on his chest. I wait until his gaze returns to me. “Don’t apologize. I mean it.”

“But—but I didn’t ask," he says. I can see his mind racing, see the guilt and the memories of his past resurfacing, and I hate it.

“Well then let’s establish some ground rules now,” I say, sitting up in bed.

“Ground rules?”

“Yeah, so you don’t have to feel like you need to ask for permission every time. Obviously, if either of us isn’t feeling something in the moment, we can tell each other, but I don’t want you freaking out every time you touch me, you know?”

“O—okay," he says.

“Perfect!” I clap my hands together and his gaze immediately drops to my cleavage before jumping away in the exact opposite direction.

“First things first, you can look, Milo.”

“I—I’m sorr?—”

“Don’t you dare apologize,” I say, cradling his face in my hands and forcing him to look at me. “I literally said you could look, okay? Ilikeyou looking. Ilikeknowing thatyoulike what you’re seeing. I need you to at least try to believe what I’m saying or this will never work, okay?”

“O—okay," he nods.

I lean back and give him a second to take me in. His gaze lingers on my face, as if he’s gauging whether I’m being serious, but when he sees what he needs to, his gaze starts to drop. It’sslow and intentional, like he’s doing everything in his power to memorize every part of me.

“You look—you look stunning," he breathes. “It makes sense why men have fought wars over women, when I look at you.”

Oh wow.

Fuck, now it’s my turn to blush.

“That’s—that’s really sweet,” I say, nervously brushing some of my messy hair away from my face. “Well, then, the next thing I want to say is you can touch me.”

To me, it feels self-explanatory that if I chose to get into bed with him and fall asleep in his arms that I’d be okay with him touching me. And who am I to blame him for being attracted to me?

I know exactly how attractive men find me. It’s been my only strength, my only source of power throughout my life.

But despite that,knowingthat Milo is turned on by me means something special to me.