Page 10 of Omega’s Forward

I don’t.

My hand is around myself before I think better of it.

I imagine him backed against that big oak desk, gray eyes gone black. His mouth saying my name instead of get out.

I know what his skin is going to taste like. It’s going to be that scent but even better.

But there are things I don’t know. Whether he’d be quiet or loud. Whether he’d give orders or want to take them.

In the fantasy he wants it. In the fantasy the horror on his face never happened. In the fantasy, he’s begging me for it.

I come hard enough that my knees nearly go, forehead against the tile.

I stand in the water until it runs cold, and then I stand in it some more.

I’ve never once jerked off to thoughts of a real person. I don’t know why. My fantasies have always been fairly faceless. I guess I think about the act more than the person. This time it was the other way around, just thinking about Everett Rourke’s scent was enough to tip me over the edge.

I’m in sweats with my hair dripping when the phone lights up on the nightstand. My stomach knows what it is before I do.

NOTIFICATION OF CONFIRMED PRIME MATCH. Compatibility index: 98.1%. Party one: Callahan, Brody M., registered alpha. Party two: Rourke, Everett G., registered omega. Registration references attached. Mine is dated fifteen years ago.

I knew it. How come it hasn’t come up before? The answer comes up right away. Because he’s not been in the US.

I don’t know what kind of Bureau system they have over in England, but it’s probably different.

I do know that his paperwork coming back to the country would require him to be registered.

I sit down on the edge of the bed. The mattress dips. The house is so quiet I can hear the water heater refilling two rooms away.

I registered at eighteen same as everyone else I know. It sat in a database for fifteen years while I played hockey and got older, and tonight, of all the nights of my life, it pays out. On Gordie’s son.

I think about calling my sister. She’d have opinions. Yeah, maybe not.

I know the basics. Everybody knows the basics. A prime match is legally binding. There are compliance requirements, there’s mandatory cohabitation somewhere in the fine print, and the penalties get worse the longer you pretend the letter never came. The Bureau does not do exceptions.

I look the rest up properly, sitting on my bed like it’s homework, and the word that comes back in every paragraph of every guidance page is mandatory. Assessment meeting: mandatory. Notification to both parties: automatic, already done. Cohabitation, where indicated by the compatibility index: mandatory. I vaguely recall there was some court case some time ago that challenged it, but everyone knows you can’t fight the Bureau. Not really.

And I’m not sure if I want to. Yeah, he threw me out but he was in shock. So was I, I guess. All I can think about is those stormy gray eyes.

There’s a number to call for questions, open until midnight. I get four digits in and stop, because the first question I have is not a Bureau question. It’s whether he’s sitting in some hotel across town reading the same notification and hating it. Hating me. Has the horror worn off? Was he also jerking off in the shower?

Then there’s the other problem. The stupid press is going to love it. But we’ll find a way. We’ll have to. It’s mandatory.

4. Everett

This isn’t going to happen. It can’t be him. I cannot spend the rest of my life with a Barons alpha. I got away from all this.

I’m not going to do it.

I am not mating with a hockey player. I am certainly not mating the hockey player my father loved best.

I’ve said it to myself a thousand times in the past week. It’s not happening.

It doesn’t help that I’ve dreamed of him every night this week. Dreamed of him and woke up hard and slick and panting.

I’ve not seen him since. I’ve not gone back to the office or the arena. I used my authority as owner to invite Sacco to a business breakfast where I made it clear that I’m not interested in taking a hands-on approach. He didn’t approve. But then he wouldn’t. Sacco isn’t interested in managing the franchise. He just wants to do the day-to-day boring hockey stuff of ordering the team to train one way instead of the other, and obsess over tactics.

I’m going to have to find someone else. Callahan is no longer an option for obvious reasons. I’ve put out feelers to an agency that I can trust to be discreet, but so far they haven’t suggested any names that work.