Page 45 of Omega's Faith

We lie in his destroyed bed, not touching but close enough to feel each other's warmth. The room reeks of sex and pheromones. Reality is starting to creep back in.

"So," Alex says finally.

"So," I echo.

He studies me for a long moment.

"We should... I should go back to my room," I say.

"You can barely walk."

He's not wrong. Every muscle aches, and I'm pretty sure my legs won't hold me if I try to stand.

"I'll manage."

"Jonah." His voice is serious now. "Stay. Sleep. We can figure out what this means tomorrow."

"It doesn't mean anything," I insist.

"Fine. Then it doesn't matter if you stay."

I hate his logic. Hate that he's right. Hate that part of me doesn't want to leave this bed that smells like us.

"Just sleeping," I say.

"Just sleeping," he agrees.

But when I wake up hours later, we're tangled together, hisarm around my waist, my back pressed to his chest. I close my eyes and pretend I don't notice how right it feels.

11. Alex

Jonah is gone when I wake up. I roll over onto the cool sheets where he had been lying and bury my nose in the pillow, breathing in the remnants of his scent.

That was the hottest fuck I’ve ever had in my life. The hottest heat I’ve ever spent within an omega. Who would have known that little mister prissy was so bossy?

And pushing his buttons made him even more so. One thing I’ll say for him, that’s an omega who knows what he likes. If you’d asked me a week ago what Jonah would be like in bed, I’d have bet that he’d just lie there with his legs up waiting for it to be over.

It turns out I’m an idiot, but then I already knew that. I also know that Jonah and I need to talk. This entire marriage thing has been a whirlwind. I’ve had newspaper interviews where I’ve spoken to the journalist for longer in a half an hour than I have my own husband in the whole time we’ve known each other.

We got off on the wrong foot and that’s my fault. I can be an asshole as well as being an idiot.

Whether we like it or not, we’re stuck with each other. I also don’t mind admitting that, after that incredible sex, right now I quite like that I’m stuck with him. It might not be as bad as either of us think as long as I don’t fuck it up.

But first I need to clear my head. I roll out of bed and towards my dressing room. I need a run.

Five minutes later, the morning air hits my exposed skin as I push through the estate's back gates, my breath forming small clouds.

My muscles protest the first few strides—a pleasant ache that reminds me of the last three days. Every twinge brings back flashes of Jonah above me, beneath me, demanding and desperate by turns.

I pick up my pace, feet pounding against the gravel path that winds through the estate.

I need to run until my lungs burn, until I can't think about the way he looked at me when he came, the way he said my name like a prayer and a curse all at once.

My omega—my husband—is in the house right now, maybe showering, maybe—

Stop.

I’ve just spent three days straight having sex and I still want more. I veer toward the longer route, the one that loops around to the front gates. I need the distance. I need to clear my head before I face him again so that I don’t say or do something fundamentally stupid again.