Page 14 of Omega's Fever

For a moment, we just breathe. His face is hidden in my neck, lips pressed to my pulse point. I can feel him mouthing something against my skin but can’t make out the words. Maybe it’s better that way.

My arms ache. My wrists throb where the cuffs cut into them. There’s definitely blood soaking into the orange fabric of my jumpsuit. But I don’t want to move. Don’t want to break whatever spell is keeping him in my lap, soft and pliant and mine.

Reality creeps back in stages. The uncomfortable angle of my arms. The cold metal of the cuffs. The fluorescent buzz overhead. The cooling mess between us. The fact that I just fucked my lawyer in a courthouse interview room.

He pulls back first. Won’t meet my eyes as he carefully extracts himself. His legs shake as he stands, and I have to clench my jaw against the urge to steady him. I can’t touch him with my hands bound. I can only watch as my release slides down his thighs, marking him in a way that satisfies something deep inside me.

“Fuck.” He stares down at himself, looking lost. Then heshakes his head and grabs his underwear from where it has been discarded on the floor. He uses it to clean himself with shaking hands, then looks around to work out what to do with it. It ends up in the pocket of his suit pants. He’s going home commando. The thought pleases me more than I care to admit.

I watch him try to put himself back together, piece by piece but he can’t wipe away the scent of what we did. He can’t hide the beard burn on his throat or the swollen redness of his lips.

“Don’t,” I say when he opens his mouth. I can see the regret building in his eyes, the horror of what we just did starting to sink in. “Whatever you’re about to say, don’t.”

He nods once and focuses on fixing his clothes. He looks thoroughly debauched despite his best efforts.

I can’t fix myself properly with the cuffs on. The jumpsuit still hangs open. My cock is still half-hard, glistening with our combined fluids. He reaches over and gently tucks it away, then zips up the jumpsuit.

The silence stretches between us, thick and awkward. He gathers his papers, shoving them into his briefcase. He still won’t look at me.

A sharp knock makes us both freeze.

“Hello,” a muffled voice calls through the door. “Bureau representative here for blood tests”

Milo’s face drains of color. He looks at me then, really looks at me, and I see panic rising in those blue eyes.

“I...” He stops. Swallows hard. Adjusts his glasses with trembling fingers. “I’ll see you Tuesday. For jury selection. If you need anything in the mean time, just get a call through to my office.”

“Milo...”

“Don’t.” He echoes my earlier words back at me, voice raw. “Just... don’t.”

He opens the door and steps out and I hear him exchangingmuffled words with the government stooge on the other side. Then he’s gone and I’m left wondering what the fuck just happened for the second time today.

6

Milo

I stumble out into the hallway, shutting the door and Kellen behind me.

“Mr. Warren?” A voice cuts through my panic. “Are you quite alright?”

A man in a crisp suit stands in front of me, his nostrils flaring delicately. He wears a pass around his neck with the words ‘Omega Match Bureau’ on it. Recognition flickers across his face, followed by something that might be amusement.

“I’m fine.” We both know it’s a lie. He can smell every humiliating detail.

“Of course you are.” He extends a hand and I take it. His grip is firm and I’m horribly aware of how sweaty my palms are. “I’m here to collect blood samples from your client. Though it seems the match testing might be redundant at this point.”

Heat floods my face. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Mm-hmm.” He studies me with interest. “That’s quite the pheromone cloud you’re producing. When did your heat last hit?”

“It’s not... I’m not in heat.”

“Pre-heat then. These reactions can trigger early onset, especially with compatible alphas. Based on what I’m observing, we might be looking at an eighty percent or higher genetic compatibility. Possibly even a prime match.”

Prime match. Ice skates down my spine. No. No, that’s not possible. Prime matches are fairy tales, one-in-a-million genetic lottery wins. They don’t happen to people like me. And I’m sureas hell not a prime match with someone like Kellen Hayes.

But then maybe I am. Because I just didn’t fuck Hayes, I fucked myself. I completely fucked my career too.