Page 181 of Beautifully Scarred Omega

Finn thrusts harder from below, his hips snapping up into her, and the force rocks her forward onto my cock with every stroke. She’s trembling and moaning and I’ve never seen anything so beautiful in my life.

“Fuck, Sophie, your mouth—” My hand tightens in her hair, my hips rocking forward.

“She’s close,” Finn growls. “I can feel her clenching around me. Come for us, sweetheart. Come on my cock while you suck Max dry.”

I know the moment Finn’s knot locks inside her because the moan she lets out around my cock vibrates through my entire body. Her whole body convulses between us. My hips jerk forward and I come with a guttural groan, pulsing against her tongue.

She swallows my cum, her throat working around me.

I pull out slowly, my thumb wiping the corner of her mouth, and she looks up at me with glazed, satisfied eyes, and I know I want to see that look on her face every day for the rest of my life.

Sophie collapses on Finn’s chest, still knotted to him, and his arms wrap around her. Ethan sits beside them on the couch, his hand resting on her back, his thumb tracing slow circles on her spine.

I sit on her other side, my hand finding the back of her neck, stroking her there slowly.

The morning sun pours through the windows. The pancakes are cold on the table. None of us moves.

“So,” Finn says against her hair. “Breakfast?”

Sophie laughs, breathless.

“I think we need new pancakes,” she says.

“I’ll make more,” he murmurs, pressing his lips to her shoulder. “In about twenty minutes.”

She closes her eyes and smiles.

CHAPTER 45

Sophie

“Max, I really need to go.”

He kisses me again. Slow, thorough, his hand cupping the back of my neck, and I’m on my tiptoes, pinned against the doorframe of the pack house. It’s seven in the morning and the sun is barely up and I’ve been trying to leave for fifteen minutes.

“One more,” he murmurs against my mouth, his hands sliding under my shirt and settling on my bare waist, his palms warm against my skin.

“You said that three ‘one mores’ ago.”

“I’m rounding up.”

I laugh against his lips and push at his chest, but it barely moves him. He smiles—that private, devastating smile that I’m starting to get used to—and kisses my forehead, then the tip of my nose, then my jaw.

“People are going to wonder if I show up late to the office,” I say, even as I tilt my head to give him better access to my neck.

“Let them wonder.”

“Max.”

“Fine.” He pulls back, his green eyes warm and reluctant, his thumb tracing my lower lip one last time. “Go. Before I change my mind.”

I kiss him once more, quick and firm, and walk to my car.

The drive to Synthera is barely five minutes. I roll the window down and let the cool morning air hit my face, and even in that short drive, the last two weeks replay behind my eyes.

The best two weeks of my life.

It was hard enough leaving them the first time—going back to the residential wing, keeping my distance, pretending my skin didn’t ache for them every second of the day. This time is worse. And I’m afraid that it’ll only get worse over time.