Page 13 of My Alien Angel (Supernova Casanovas #6)

Fin

Once we’re done with the food, Omni gathers the plates in the sink and starts washing them.

He frowns suspiciously at the sponge and uses way too much dish soap, but shoos me away when I try to help, so I leave him to it.

It’s actually nice to not have to do it myself.

Just as it’s nice to have someone to come home to and talk to and…

Damn, I can’t believe I’m imagining a man in my life?

Am I really that lonely? It’s not like I don’t have a social life.

I chat with my friends all the time and we meet at least once a week.

Still, it’s not quite the same as having someone waiting for me at home.

Let’s face it. I’m not imagining a man in my life. I’m imagining Omni.

Chuckling at the absurdity of Omni being my boyfriend, I stand and stretch out my arms and back, enjoying the odd pop and crack as my spine realigns itself into the correct position.

Wanting nothing more than to sit down and relax in front of the TV, I pause while my brain begins an internal struggle.

My couch is currently set up as Omni’s bed, neatly made with the sheets and pillows in order.

It doesn’t feel right to sit on it, like we’re about to have sex or something.

Which we aren’t! No way. No sex. That would be a terrible idea.

I can’t exactly remember why, but I do remember that it is definitely a bad idea.

I should text Imani. She could tell me a dozen reasons why getting intimate with Omni would be wrong.

“Fin?” Omni looks at me over his shoulder from a sink overflowing with bubbles. God, how much dish soap did he use? “Sit and watch TV?”

“I don’t want to invade your bed like this.” Especially since I’m only wearing a bathrobe. “And it’s pointless to fold it back up when we’d just be pulling it out again in a couple hours, so—”

Omni scowls, though his serious expression is hindered by the sauce stains on his chest and the mountain of bubbles behind him. “Fin. Sit and watch TV,” he repeats, not phrasing it as a question this time.

“Yes, sir,” I say, intending it to be playful but my pussy has hijacked my brain, and it’s definitely getting wet at the idea of calling Omni “sir”. Dammit, Fin! No lusting after the stranger!

Pushing the pillows aside, I settle in the corner of the couch-turned-bed and grab the remote.

Omni either hasn’t figured out how to change the channels or he really loves reality shows because instead of Survivor, The Bachelor is on.

Bleh. I’d rather watch a slasher horror movie than a bunch of women falling over each other to win the affection of some random dude.

Mindlessly, I flick through the channels, hoping something grabs my attention.

I could bring up the program menu and see what’s on, or choose something from the endless options of the many streaming services I subscribe to, but making a decision feels above my current mental capabilities.

An intrigued sound from Omni takes a few seconds to permeate my tired mind. Stopping the idle clicking of the channel button, I quirk my brows in query. “Yes?”

“Watch that TV?”

I frown at the screen where two men in expensive suits discuss the stock market. “That?” Well, at least I won’t have trouble falling asleep.

“No. That, er…” Soap bubbles float around him as he waves his hand, looking frustrated.

“The one before?” I guess what he was trying to say and switch to the previous channel that’s playing one of those electronic techno trance videos.

“This?” I ask, hoping he’ll say no. Nothing against the music, but listening to the same synthesized tune heavily underscored by a monotonous drumbeat is not my idea of a relaxing evening.

To my relief, he shakes his head. “No. Before that.”

The program before the music video shows a WWII documentary, which Omni also rejects and the one before that… “Oh my god, you have got to be kidding me,” I groan as I watch a little crazy man vividly describe how he was kidnapped by aliens. “Really? This?”

“Yes!” Omni nods excitedly. “Good words.”

“Good words?” I parrot with another groan. “It’s all bullshit. There’s a good word. Lie. Scam. Crap. Fraud. Fake. More good words. None of this has ever happened. It’s ridiculous. There’s no such thing as aliens.” I scowl as Omni chuckles in response. “What? Don’t tell me you believe in aliens?”

“Yes. Aliens real,” he replies in all seriousness.

Toppling down onto my side like a felled tree, I groan into one of Omni’s pillows. “Of course. It figures. You’re too perfect to be real. Naturally you have to be crazy. Not just crazy, though. No, you have the worst flaw of all.”

“Perfect, hmm?” Omni teases. “No ass?”

That’s right, I called him an ass. Ass suits him well if the nutjob believes in aliens. “Yes. You’re an ass. Perfect, but also an ass.”

“Perfect ass.” As if to prove he knows exactly what he just said, Omni slaps his own ass in a movement that’s so fucking erotic I feel it all the way to my pussy. It’s not fair. He’s so damn hot! Why does he have to be crazy?

“Except, you suck at doing dishes,” I say, desperate to steer the conversation away from Omni’s ass.

“Did you use all of my dish soap on those two poor plates? Did the commercials not tell you that you only need a small drop?” He looks so sad about the dishes failure I immediately regret teasing him about it.

“Just leave it. It will fizz out and you can try again in the morning. Come on, let’s watch this stupid documentary about a guy getting his ass probed by aliens. ” Why did I say ass again? Am I mental?

“Okay.” Omni tries to wash his hand in the sink, but the faucet is hopelessly buried under the mountain of bubbles and every time he tries to run water, that mountain grows and wobbles precariously.

Sighing in defeat, Omni ventures into the bathroom before joining me on the sofabed.

I can’t even call it a couch because it’s a literal bed now and we’re on it together.

Just then, the man on screen starts recounting how the bald, gray aliens probed his, you guessed it, ass.

Scowling at the screen, Omni utters something in his language that sounds like a curse, as if he’s angry with the very fictional aliens for kidnapping the crazy guy.

“Ugh,” I grumble. “If he got taken to an alien ship, how come no one ever saw it? There are hundreds of satellites in orbit and not one noticed a freaking alien ship? This is total bullshit.”

Chuckling, Omni shakes his head. “Satellites no see ship.” He’s sitting on the other side of the bed, sideways so that the backrest doesn’t get in the way of his wings.

Before I start grumbling again, he reaches out and takes my foot into his hands.

His hands are smooth and a startled moan escapes me as he runs his thumb up my sole.

“Yes, Fin?” he asks, waiting for my response.

Unsure what is happening, I stutter out something unintelligible which he must take as consent because he resumes massaging my foot.

Reaching behind him, he brings out the lotion he must have brought from the bathroom and squirts some in his hands.

“You tired. You relax,” he says in a voice that brooks no argument from me.

“Um. Okay?” Settling more comfortably against the back of the couch, I let him pull both of my feet onto his lap, my eyes closing in pure pleasure as his large, strong hands work their magic.

Fuck. I’ve never had anyone massage my feet before in my entire life and I would have never thought it could feel so good.

Or so damn erotic, which is ridiculous. Feet are, like, the least erotic part of the body.

Yet, the way Omni touches me has me rubbing my thighs together as arousal blooms deep inside my core.

On the other hand, it’s also incredibly relaxing, and it doesn’t take long before I’m half-lying on the bed, reduced to a barely conscious sack of bones and flesh.

Even the idiot on TV doesn’t irk me as much anymore.

Once Omni’s massaged every square inch of my feet, including in between my toes, he sets my feet down, then touches my shoulder to get my attention.

I give it to him. Well, at least as much as I can muster up which, admittedly, isn’t much.

“Massage yes, Fin?” he asks, flexing his fingers around my shoulder and damn, I could really, really use a massage.

Most of my days are spent hunched over one screen or another, and even when I’m not near any devices, my posture is hardly correct or healthy.

I don’t really get back pains, not yet, but I’m well aware of how tense my upper back muscles are. But…

I’m not wearing anything under the bathrobe. If I take it off, I will be naked in Omni’s bed and I’m not sure I want to go that far. I like him, but having sex with him would be a terrible idea. For…reasons. I’m sure there are reasons. But a massage? “Just a massage? Nothing else?”

“Yes. Nothing else,” Omni confirms. Oddly enough, I believe him.

I think he is a little bit attracted to me.

Probably not as much as I’m attracted to him because, well, he literally has the body of an angel and I’m just me, but I recognize desire when I see it.

Still, I believe him when he says he won’t try anything else and, with how amazing my feet feel right now, I really do want that massage.

“Okay. Close your eyes.” Making sure he isn’t looking, I slip out of my bathrobe and wrap it around my waist to cover the important bits.

Then I lie down on my stomach, double checking that my boobs are as tucked under as they can be.

My arms want to go up by my head, but it’s safer to lay them by my sides to cover any side boobage.

Especially since I’m the one who can’t seem to calm my stupid libido. “I’m ready.”

It’s impossible to miss the ragged breath Omni sucks in.

Is he alarmed at the sight of my bare back?

Or perhaps he’s just reacting to the ass probe guy from the TV.

I’ve long stopped listening to the “documentary” so I don’t really know what’s going on there.

A shiver runs down my spine at the feather-light touch of Omni’s fingers as he trails them across my back.

“Perfect,” I think he whispers but the word is too quiet for me to be certain.

I hear him squirt more lotion onto his hands, rubbing them together before gently placing them on my shoulder blades. “Good?”

“Hmm,” I manage to hum and not moan. “Perfect.”

His chuckle is soft. “Good.” He starts moving his hands rhythmically over my weary muscles and my mind turns to mush.