Page 37 of Let It Snow (Eden’s Omegaverse #7)

"At the moment, it’s just talk. He’s been making threats about revenge, but no concrete plans, no moves yet. Still, I felt obligated to warn you and suggest hiring extra protection. Maybe a private security team for the house."

"Shouldn’t you be the one protecting us?" Snow asks sharply. He really is in another mode today, usually so relaxed and calm, now he’s all fire and fierceness.

Detective Arnold grimaces awkwardly.

"We’re planning to increase the number of police patrols in the area, but you’re not under witness protection. You’re not testifying against Anzo Ferro or Rocco Ferro, so my options are limited. I just privately felt it was my duty to warn you, to tell you to stay alert."

Lake lifts a finger thoughtfully.

"Our house already has a security system that calls a patrol when the motion alarm triggers, but we could add an in-person guard package."

Arnold nods approvingly. "I’d highly recommend that. Even if Ferro’s plans are vague right now, he could act eventually. Better keep your defenses up."

Right then, a low moan escapes me as another contraction hits my hole. My body arches slightly, desperate to be impaled again. I can’t stand his presence anymore.

"Snow," I groan, "I can’t take it—please, get him out of here!"

"But—" the detective starts, and Snow places a firm hand on his shoulder.

"Please leave my house, Detective. Thank you for the information, but Summer needs peace right now."

Well, I wouldn’t call it ‘peace’ exactly…

Arnold sighs, nods, and walks out, giving me one last odd glance.

Lake follows, throwing me a warm, sympathetic look.

Snow turns toward me, his eyes locking on mine with wild intensity.

"Fuck me?" I whisper softly again, shyly—but really coyly—then toss the blanket aside in one quick move, pulling my knees up high to my chest.

"My hole’s waiting. It’s been waiting too long, so long, so long, so long…" I murmur, giving my voice a sweet, playful lilt.

Snow smiles darkly.

"Poor thing," he says with a low growl. "Let’s fix that right now."

◆◆◆

The next few hours pass in a blissful haze, completely free of any thoughts about Detective Arnold.

Did that even happen? It doesn’t feel real, and the threat from Ferro seems like pure abstraction now.

I’m floating on pink, bubbly waves of orgasm, diving and surfacing, stuffed like a Thanksgiving turkey, so full of cum that every time I stand up, it literally gushes out of me, dripping with each wobbly step I take toward the bathroom.

Snow is insatiable—an alpha in rut is a power to be reckoned with, a fucking sex machine. He can stay hard around the clock, even while sleeping.

There is, however, one brief moment when something shifts.

While he’s fucking me with his knot fully expanded, he lets out a low sound, the Permission-To-Mark AO call.

His lips slide over my neck, warm and wet against my skin, his teeth skimming there lightly, and for a heartbeat I freeze, caught between instinct and hesitation.

I want to answer him with a matching sound, but something inside me stalls, maybe fear, and I stay silent.

The moment passes quickly. Snow doesn’t bring it up again or repeat the call, and eventually, I just let it fade from my mind.

At night, I fall asleep with him inside me and wake up still feeling him, rock-hard and buried deep.

Everything blurs into one long stream of pleasure, satisfaction, and release.

I don’t think at all about what will happen once the heat ends, or how I’ll have to face the question of what my future with Snow should look like.

Will I forgive him?

Sometimes I lie there with my eyes closed, pretending to nap. In those moments, I can feel Snow leaning over me, his gaze fixed on my face. His energy, golden like a veil, drifts down and wraps around me, his fingertips brushing my skin tenderly, smoothing my hair.

Every so often I hear him whispering to me in his mind,

"I so want you to be mine, Summer… You’re everything."

But I stay quiet, still, pretending to sleep, even though my heart is breaking inside with the urge to answer him…

◆◆◆

I think it’s the end of the third or maybe the fourth day when I start feeling the waves grow weaker, the last one rolling in by evening.

I spend it sitting on his hips, riding him at a slow, rhythmic pace.

We lock eyes the whole time, but we don’t speak.

This way, it's more intense and intimate. His hands rest on my thighs, occasionally brushing against my bouncing cock. Not a single word is exchanged. I just rise and fall, my entrance clinging to his shaft, drinking in every drop of pleasure. I lift myself effortlessly with my power, so there’s no strain on my thigh muscles, just a gentle float upward, then a slow descent, taking him so deep that my stomach bulges slightly.

The last orgasm feels like a dying swan’s song, final, fading, sending a trembling wave through me before melting into nothingness. I collapse onto the bed beside Snow and close my eyes.

But I don’t drift off right away.

I watch him slowly sink into a deep, peaceful sleep. His rut must be ending too, his body finally getting a break, his dick can rest too. Good job, Snow’s dick! You’ve done a master-level job. Congrats, mister.

I pull a blanket over my lover, then roll onto my back and stare at the ceiling, where tiny LEDs sparkle like scattered stars.

That’s when I remember what’s coming in a few hours: the so-called heat recovery, the worst phase of heat.

It’s known for pushing many omegas into something close to depression, a deep emotional crash. There are even recorded cases of omegas who, already struggling, took their own lives during this stage. There’s a term for it: post-heat suicide. A tragic social phenomenon.

I just hope it won’t hit me that hard. That somehow, I’ll get through it.

I can feel a bit of strength returning to my legs, so I sit up, swing them off the bed, and finally manage to stand. Time for a bathroom trip.

Before, Snow used to carry me there, even help me pee a few times. Once, I asked him to hold my dick for me—ha,ha, ridiculous—but to be honest, it didn’t bother me. Anyway, things are supposed to be going back to normal now.

As I let out a stream of urine, sighing deeply, my eyes land on something sitting on the shelf under the mirror.

A box of suppressants. Snow’s suppressants.

The packaging has that familiar Malden Pharmaceuticals logo.

I stare at it for a while, maybe even with a hint of hate. I’m still kinda hoping those pills are to blame for the lack of the so-called First Orgasm effect between me and Snow.

Everyone in AO society knows that when True Mates join for the first time, their torn souls reconnect. It’s supposed to cause this strange static effect: an electric ring of light, like fireworks swirling around them as their energy coils fuse back together.

But there are certain types of suppressants that can block that, and I just assumed this must be one of them.

I finish peeing, wash my hands, and pick up the box. I turn it over a few times, then pull out the leaflet and start reading the product description.

With every line, I feel sicker and sicker.

This suppressant turns out to be one of the weakest available!

Its primary effect is blocking the scent of pheromones, and even that’s mild. Snow can still sense the Allure of others, so it only works one way! He already knows my pheromonal scent, our mateship level!

And he’s been silent. Why?

There it is, clearly stated: this first-level suppressant does not block the First Touch or the First Orgasm effects. Yes, it lists them separately! It’s been clinically tested and approved as safe even for fated mates.

Still, it hasn't happened for us.

My breath hitches.

My heart speeds up.

This is further proof that we are not True Mates.

I squeeze my eyes shut, fighting the growing panic.

The last hope is flickering. Maybe we are some rare case? So many things fit. I’m drawn to him, I crave him, I can feel his energy—and when we touch, it’s like I can sense his thoughts. Hear them.

Still, no veradiol spike.

No dying from separation.

No First Orgasm.

So confusing…

I return to the bedroom and collapse onto the bed, glancing at Snow. His long lashes cast shadows over his chiseled cheeks.

I move closer, trying to catch his Allure but his suppressant is holding strong. I only breathe in the scent of his shampoo and shower gel, then I close my eyes.

Maybe when I wake up, I’ll feel a little more optimistic?

◆◆◆

Unfortunately, no.

I wake up in a horrible, miserable mood.

The heat recovery is in full force!

Snow is still sleeping next to me, lost in a deep post-rut slumber, while the hormonal crash inside me grows more vicious.

I look at his bare back covered in those magical markings, at his long blond hair tangled across the pillow.

He breathes so calmly, unaware in his sleep of the dark storm gathering over whatever this is between us.

He has no idea how twisted up I am inside, the pain, the sadness, the realization that I can never really have him.

Snow is not destined for me!

Slowly, I slide off his bed, gather my clothes, and sneak out of the bedroom on my toes.

Disappointment fills me to the brim. I can feel myself getting worse with every minute, and I know I’m not supposed to make any big decisions in the dreaded heat recovery.

But that’s exactly what I do.

All the doubts and reservations that were haunting me before the heat are returning now with vengeance, slamming into me like a battering ram.

I climb up the ladder and enter my room. I open my laptop and check flights… to Iceland.

My fingers shake, my body is tired, but one thing is clear.

Snow is not my True Mate.

My fated one is out there somewhere, and I need to find him. My parents are TMs and I’ve seen how perfect that bond is. I need that. I need someone who can piece me back together.