Page 25 of His Snowbound Omega

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“You’re my kept omega,” he reminded plainly. Satisfied with his hair now, Baal dropped the towel and then bent at the knees, sweeping Thorn off his feet in one swift motion. “Open the door.”

“I can walk.” Thorn did as he was told anyway, grabbing onto the handle. The alpha carried him from the bathroom into the nearest bedroom and deposited him onto the mattress. “How did you know this was mine?”

“The other room is nicer,” Baal said.

“So?”

“You’d obviously give all the better things to your brother.” He turned. “Wait here.”

Thorn slipped beneath the covers and took a fresh look at his space. The room was below modest, practically empty, with water spots on the ceiling and cracks along the edges. The single window got stuck and couldn’t be opened, and currently, a thin layer of frost coated the inside panel of glass.

His comforter was lumpy from too many washes, and while there weren’t any stains, it was clear it was old. Sincethe alpha had brought him a shirt and sweatpants, he must have gone through the contents of Thorn’s closet and seen his practical, inexpensive clothing.

What did Baal think of him?

His house was a far cry from even the cabin in the woods.

The alpha’s return interrupted his thoughts, and he accepted the steaming mug when it was held out to him, too cold to be prideful.

“Sip slowly,” Baal ordered.

“Thank you.”

“Milk is the only thing in your refrigerator. You don’t even have cocoa mix anywhere.”

“I know.” Thorn liked hot milk, so it was fine. “This will help warm me up just as well.”

“And costs less,” Baal drawled, “is that it?” He tsked. “Tomorrow, I’ll take you grocery shopping.”

“That won’t—”

“Enough. If you’re malnourished, how do you expect to uphold your end of the deal?”

Right. Thorn pretended to find interest in his cup, when in reality he was hanging his head.

Again.

Was it instinct as an omega that constantly had him wanting to bow to this alpha? Or was it the fact that nothing Baal seemed to say was off the mark?

Baal removed his jacket and draped it over the three-legged chair in front of Thorn’s old desk. Then he unbuttoned his cuffs and rolled up his sleeves, before rounding the bed and motioning for Thorn to move over.

“Finished?” he asked once he was sitting next to Thorn, and when Thorn nodded, he took the mostly empty mug and set it aside on the windowsill.

Had he…made Thorn move so he could take the colder spot by the window?

No…That would be too thoughtful.

That spot was furthest from the entrance. As a mafia member, he probably just didn’t want to be closest to the door.

“Lie down.” Baal clicked off the lights and settled into the bed, turning so he was facing Thorn. He didn’t argue when Thorn gave him his back, but his arm wrapped around his waist and hauled him against his chest. “Relax, sweetheart.” His nose trailed lightly up the line of Thorn’s jaw.

“I don’t know how you expect me to do that,” Thorn admitted.

“You’ll get used to this.”

Did he want to? Putting out was one thing, but this was too foreign.