Page 8 of Worthy or Knot (Serendipity Omegaverse #3)

Eight

MARCUS

M y head is empty, my body a mass of numb limbs that don’t seem to respond to my commands anymore.

My work computer sits open on the coffee table in front of me, the list of the current wishlist of donors beckoning me to abandon the movie I’ve flipped on and focus on it instead.

Realistically, I should be sleeping. Tomorrow might be Saturday, but I still need some amount of rest. Unfortunately, sleep since Tuesday has been as elusive as my Omega has been these last three years.

My Omega .

Not my anything, not even an elusive dream I’ve kept close to my heart. Not anymore. Even now, he’s probably already matched with a different pack, a different group of people that the Council decided is a better fit for him.

A fresh slice of pain steals my breath, and I freeze, trying to keep my reaction in check.

God, I want to break something, fight someone, do anything that feels remotely productive to the mess I’ve become over the last few days.

But at nearly two in the morning, drowning myself in work is about the only option I have.

There’s a soft knock, almost imperceptible over the noise of the movie playing.

“Marcus?” Charlotte’s voice is nearly as quiet, but it cuts across the large room like a lifeline. I pause the movie and twist until I can see her.

She’s dressed in a small pair of shorts and cropped pink top, the one whose sleeve always droops off her shoulder and falls halfway down her arm, baring her beautiful brown skin.

Her waves are pulled back, falling over her shoulders in twin braids.

She crosses her arms as she leans against the entry to the den in the basement of our townhome.

The dim light of the movie casts her frown in shadows that just bring out the worry in her body.

As the moment extends, her sage scent drifts toward me, the bitter edge of it betraying her fear.

Guilt twists my stomach. She has to teach a pilates class in only a few hours. The last thing she should be doing is trying to coax me from my melancholy in the middle of the night.

“Did I wake you?” I ask, shutting my laptop. “I’m so sorry.”

She shakes her head and crosses the room.

She stops in front of me. Automatically, I palm her hips, but I don’t pull her into me.

She trails her fingers along my shoulders, her scent growing more potent around us, the bitter edge not fading in the least. After a long minute, she pulls me into her, pressing my cheek into her belly.

My throat closes for a terrifying moment, tears coming unbidden.

I slam my eyes shut before they can fall.

“Lottie…” I trail off, not even sure what to say, and pull away from her.

I can’t fall apart right now. If I do, I’m not sure I’ll ever manage to pick up the pieces and put myself back together.

Her lips purse, and she palms my neck, letting her thumbs run along the sensitive spots just under my jaw and ears.

I shiver under the attention, and a small thread of nutmeg blends with her sage.

Wordlessly, she drops to her knees, all willowy grace.

My breath catches, and my scent strengthens around us.

“Lottie,” I say again, this time with a bit more heat. “You don’t?—”

She puts a finger against my lips. “No, Marcus. You’re going to let me do this.”

“You have class,” I mumble against her finger.

She shakes her head. “Mina is covering me.”

I can’t manage to come up with another reason for her to go up to her bed and let me wallow down here. Her eyebrow rises as I hesitate, that knowing look curving her lips. She palms my knee, her nails biting into the skin despite the warm-ups I’m wearing.

“You’re going to let me make you feel better, Marcus.”

Her tone brooks no argument, a fraction of Alpha bark laced through the words. It’s the most confrontational I’ve heard her be in months.

I force a swallow before slowly letting my legs relax. She doesn’t hesitate, filling the space between them with her lithe body. Her breath coasts across my skin as she leans forward, her lips brushing mine. Her hands are soft but firm as she eases the warm-ups off my hips and down my thighs.

“Close your eyes,” she whispers.

Oh fuck . I can’t help but rise to her challenge.

“Or what, Lottie?”

She smirks, mirth dancing in her eyes now.

“I’ll go grab one of your ties,” she says, her voice light now, practically innocent.

Anticipation slowly curls through my stomach, overshadowing the bone-deep sorrow. Nutmeg surrounds us between one moment and the next.

She grins. “Is that what you need right now? You need me to force your brain off?”

Yes .

She must see the word in my face because she nods before I can give any kind of agreement. And then, in a moment that proves she knows me better than anyone else in this world, she reaches into the pocket of her sleep shorts and pulls a simple black tie she must have grabbed from my closet.

The fabric is soft and cool against my skin, caging me in.

It should feel claustrophobic, but I only feel the weariness slowly bleed out from my body.

Charlotte tests the knot and then her body heat disappears completely.

I count the rushing beat of my heart as she eases the warm-ups even lower and then guides them off completely.

The crush of fabric sends a bolt of heat through me, and my cock jumps.

Her hands are soft and sure as she strokes me, root to tip and back. With every rough slide, her hold tightens, until I can’t keep from crying out. A warmth settles between my hips, and I twist my body, needing more, already dangerously close to the edge.

“ Fuck ,” I gasp.

The touch falls away at once. I count my heartbeats again, their speed lightning quick now. She eases my knees wider. The soft, quiet movement of her pajamas comes a fraction closer, and then her shoulders press into my inner thighs.

I suck in a startled breath as she runs her tongue along the underside of my cock. And then groan, long and low, as her lips surround the head and she takes me deep in a single slide. She sucks, the pressure so intense that another ragged noise falls from me and my hips jerk.

Jesus, I’m not going to last more than a few minutes if she does that again.

She pulls away, leaving me aching. As realization slowly settles over me, I drop my head back, closing my eyes even though I can’t see anything.

“You said you were going to make it better,” I mutter, the words hoarse.

Her hand strokes me again, a quick caress that’s gone before I can really absorb it. My stomach clenches.

“I am,” she says. I can hear the smile that must be curving her lips, that must be giving her eyes that coy glint when she’s feeling equal parts playful and sly. “Now hush.”

The darkness heightens every brush of her lips, every swipe of her tongue, every biting prick of her nails.

When I roll my hips next, though, her hands brace against them and force me entirely immobile.

I rub my feet along the carpet, trying to keep from breaking her hold on my hips and fucking up into her.

One of her braids brushes against my hand, and I twist my fingers, grabbing it before she can pull away again.

I use it as an anchor, slowly inching my hand up it until I feel the warmth of her cheek.

“ Lottie ,” I say, desperate now. “Oh, fuck, I?—”

She sucks me deep again.

The orgasm rushes through me, hot and consuming.

Her throat tightens around me as she swallows, and I moan, the sound pulled from the depths of me, hoarse and ragged.

She settles in my lap before she removes the tie.

The light from the TV casts her in a yellow light that brings out the warmth of her skin and hair and eyes.

“I love you,” I whisper.

Her smile is radiant as she cups my face. “Good.”