Page 69 of Omega's Fever
I can’t form words, too overwhelmed by the feeling of him inside me, around me. This is different from before. Deeper. More.
When he moves, it’s with devastating control. Each thrust measured, each angle calculated to drive me higher. I cling to him, nails digging into his shoulders, chanting his name like a prayer.
“Gonna claim you now,” he growls, rhythm starting to falter. “Everyone needs to know you’re mine.”
“Yes.” I bare my throat, offering. Begging. “Please, Kellen. Please.”
His teeth find my neck just as pleasure crests, white-hot and endless. I feel the moment his teeth break skin, feel the bond snap into place like coming home. Mine, mine, mine.
I tuck my mouth into the nape of his neck, scenting the deep Kellen scent that has been driving me crazy since the day that we met. I dart my tongue out, licking the skin then bite down soft into the scent glands, making him mine in return.
That’s when he follows me over, my name a broken sound against my throat. We stay tangled together afterward, both breathing hard. I can feel the claim pulsing between us, new and precious. I can feel him in ways I never imagined possible.
“No going back now,” he says quietly.
I touch the mark on my neck, bloody and tender. Still perfect. “I don’t want to go back.”
He kisses me, soft and sure. “Me neither.”
The pizza arrives eventually, late, stone cold and somewhat worse for wear. We eat it anyway, curled together on the couch, and it’s the best meal I’ve ever had.
21
Kellen
The claim mark on Milo’s neck is still fresh, still perfect, when I pull up outside Schmitt and Petersen. My omega—mine, finally, completely—shifts in the passenger seat, fingers ghosting over the bite. The gesture sends satisfaction rolling through me, primal and possessive.
“Stop touching it,” I tell him, but there’s no heat in it. There can’t be, not when I want to do the same thing. I want to trace the mark with my tongue, feel him shiver against me.
“It’s sensitive.” His cheeks pink, and I catch the spike of arousal in his scent. “Different than I expected.”
Different. Yeah. Like everything about us.
I put the car in park but I don’t kill the engine. “You don’t leave this building without me. For any reason.”
“Kellen—”
“Any reason, Milo.” I turn to face him fully. “Not for coffee, not for lunch, not if the fucking building catches fire. You wait for me.”
His jaw sets in that stubborn line I’ve seen so often from him in the last few weeks. “I’m not a child.”
“No. You’re my pregnant mate who’s been threatened by dangerous people.” I soften my voice, reach over to cup his face. “Please. Just... give me this.”
The fight goes out of him. He leans into my touch, eyes fluttering closed. “Fine. But you better not be late.”
“Three hours. Four at most.” I press a kiss to his forehead, breathe him in: the sweet note that says mine. “Go.”
He laughs, soft and warm, then steals a proper kiss before sliding out of the car. I watch until he’s safely inside, past security, before pulling away.
The nursing home looks worse in daylight than it did on the computer screen. It’s a squat beige building with barred windows, trying to pretend it’s not just a warehouse for people waiting to die. The parking lot’s half empty, cracked asphalt sprouting weeds through the gaps.
I sit in the car for a minute, watching the entrance. A few staff members drift in and out—scrubs in various colors, tired faces, the universal shuffle of underpaid healthcare workers. No sign of Cobb’s people, but that doesn’t mean they’re not watching.
I picked up two potential tails on the way here, and lost them both.
The lobby smells like disinfectant and cafeteria food, that particular mix that makes hospitals and nursing homes interchangeable. The receptionist doesn’t look up from her romance novel when I sign the visitor log using a fake name.
Finding her takes some wandering. The halls all look the same: mint green walls, buzzing fluorescent lights, the occasional splash of cheerful artwork that just makes everything more depressing. Then I spot her.