Page 103 of The Don’s Omega

The noises he makes as he pushes back on my dick are obscene. Needy, desperate sounds that break from his throat as if they’re being fucked out of him. He can’t stop them. They’re sounds of pure lust and they make me so hard, I almost can’t take it.

His nails dig into my hip as he breaks first. A shuddering cry erupts from him, his body clenching around me as he paints the shower wall with his cream. His hips jerk forward as he comes, and then back again, impaling himself harder on my shaft. He cries out and spurts more cum, his body convulsing and his hole quaking.

“Fuck, yeah,” I growl and I follow him over the edge. I press deep, spilling inside him with his name on my tongue. I start to thrust harder, filling him with my load, pushing it as deep as possible. His body jerks with every rough pump of my hips, and he cries out as I take him hard.

“Yes,” he whimpers, taking my cock deep. “So good. So fucking good.”

Once we’ve climaxed, we’re both breathing hard. I kiss the nape of his neck, and he sighs, squeezing his hole on me. I groan and give a weak push, wishing I could fuck him all over again. But I’ll need a minute. That took a lot out of me.

I pinch the base of my dick to stop the knot from forming. Then I carefully pull out of him and turn him, gathering him against my chest. He slips his arms around my back, his face in my neck. After a few moments, we part to clean off. I gently shampoo his hair, pressing soft kisses on his skin. Once we rinse, I turn off the water and we get out of the shower.

I gently dry him with one of the soft towels, taking care of him before myself. I kiss him tenderly on his full lips, and he smiles shyly. He’s pliant and heavy-eyed as I rub the towel over his shoulders, down his arms, across his chest. I feel he trusts me, which is not something I’ve ever really felt from him before. Not fully.

I cup his cheek and he holds my gaze. “Thank you for coming back to me,” I say quietly.

He swallows. “I needed my alpha.”

My heart aches happily at his words. “Yes, that’s right. You’re where you belong, Elio.”

He doesn’t say anything.

I get him into bed. Pulling the soft, warm covers over us. He curls onto his side, and I fit myself behind him, my arm across his waist, my face in his damp hair. I hold him tight, relishing the feel of his body against mine again. He’s asleep in minutes.

I don’t sleep. Not for a long time.

I lie in the dark with my omega in my arms, more content than I’ve ever been. I’m still stunned by what has happened between us. I never saw this happening, not in a million years. This was supposed to merely be a transaction between us. A deal with an expiration date. No complications, just business.

But I’ve fallen in love with Elio.

What’s terrifying is I have no idea if he feels the same. He said he needed to be with me, his alpha. But is instinct love? What I’m feeling isn’t just instinct. It’s deeper. I’m a selfish man, but I’d give Elio anything he wants. Anything at all. I’d take a bullet for him without a second thought. His life matters more than my own.

What if he doesn’t feel the same? I don’t know how much of him I get to keep. And I’m not a man who does well with uncertainty. He said he’s accepted who I am so he can stay with me. Does he mean for the duration of the contract or longer? I need him to mean longer. But I can’t force him to care about me in return. What will I do if he doesn’t feel what I feel? What will I do if he tries to leave me in three years? I said I’d never let him go, but I don’t want him to be my captive. I want him to be here willingly.

I press my lips to the back of his neck, inhaling his familiar scent. He sighs in his sleep and presses closer to me. I tighten my arms, close my eyes, and hold him, willing him to love me back.

****

I finally do drift off, but Elio wakes me before the sun is fully up. The bed shakes and I become alert to the sound of him rushing toward the bathroom. I sit up, listening to the unmistakable sound of retching. In an instant, I’m out of bed and across the room, hurrying to him.

He’s on his knees on the cold tile, gripping the toilet, his shoulders heaving. I crouch beside him and put my hand on his back. He flinches.

“Are you sick?” Stupid question, obviously. I awkwardly pat his back. “I’m here. It’s okay.”

“Go away,” he rasps, looking embarrassed.

“No. It’s okay. I’ve seen worse.”

He winces and turns back to the toilet. He retches again, bringing up nothing. He does that for a few minutes, muscles straining, but nothing but bile comes up. Eventually, he sits back on his heels, pale, shaking, and covered in sweat.

“I never get sick,” he mumbles.

I frown, stroking his back. “Maybe it’s stress.”

“I don’t know.” He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “I’ve felt a little off for about a week.”

“Off how?”

He looks at me, letting out a shaky breath. “I don’t think it’s anything I ate. I think I might be… something else.”