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It’s a pleasant surprise when she lifts the last morsel of her moro bar to my mouth rather than just handing it to me. I eat it in one go, her fingers lingering on my lower lip. I give into the intrusive thought and bite, capturing her index finger between my teeth, making her giggle breathily at the shock of it, her pupils blown wide. I release her, and with a final, red-cheeked glance she leaves me sitting in a cloud of omega perfume that goes straight to both of my heads.

I don’t want to call Scott. The last thing I want on my mind right now is him and everything that went down between us. I don’t want to think about work. I don’t want to think about Elaine, about how nothing has ever quite worked out when it comes to me and women, and how biological compatibility is no match against human will.

I call him anyway. “He’s not going to answer,” I mutter, staring across the water at the cone of Rangitoto maunga in the distance. The ringing ends and his voicemail begins. I roll my eyes at the predictability of it all.

“Hi, this is Scott Harris from Dickson Greene Law Wellington. Leave a message and I’ll get back to you.”

“Scott, I’ve got to talk to you about something important. It’s not work related. Call me back.”

I could send him a text, but I’m petty enough to call this a job done for the time being. I may be an alpha, and I like sharing, but I’m going to make the most of the fact that I found Lizzie first. I can enjoy a day or two with her before he gets involved.

Chapter Four

Lizzie

Matiu brings up my heat suppressant dilemma again as we arrive at his place, a colonial style building similar to all the other houses on the street.

“I’m not blaming you. This is a genuine question because I’m curious. You couldn’t get some new suppressants at the airport? Most terminals I’ve been through have pharmacies.”

“It’s prescription only,” I explain, climbing out of the car and shielding my eyes from the mid-afternoon sun. “I tried anyway in Toronto, because sometimes you can get an emergency supply, but the brand I’m on is Canadian made and wasn’t in stock, and the pharmacist explained that there was no way I was going to be able to access that specific med in the US airports or in New Zealand because the equivalents are not the same formulation. So essentially I have to go through this heat cycle and then start on a different brand of suppressants after my next heat. Preferably a generic one that’s available worldwide.”

He carries my suitcase in through the front door. “I don’t know why they don’t make this stuff readily available when it’s basic healthcare for omegas.”

“Because alphas want receptive omegas who are desperate for knots,” I say, slipping my sandals off and leaving them just inside the door alongside Matiu’s shoes. “Sorry,” I add, looking up at him. “I don’t mean you, I just mean alphas in general.”

“I know. It’s a systemic issue,” he nods. “So what were you going to do? Check into a heat clinic here?”

The entryway in this old house is a small, narrow space, and Matiu’s big frame takes up much of it. “Yes,” I find myself saying, heart beating wildly in my chest. I can’t quite meet his gaze, so opt for staring at his full lips instead. “But now I’ve found you, and…”

“And what?” he asks when I don’t finish my sentence. He takes a step forward. I take a step back, bumping up against the wall behind me. He’s been the sweetest gentleman up until this point, but the way he crowds me now, big arms and bent head caging me in, is pure alpha. “What are you hoping for, Lizzie?”

I let out a small, breathy laugh, drunk on his alpha pheromones that seem to have been made just for me, tilting my head back to look him in the eye. It seems as if this entire place is filled with the fog of our mingled scents. “You know what. That you’ll…” Another shaky breath as his head dips further, his lips brushing my ear. I offer him my neck, and when he scent marks me a moment later, his cheek dragging down the column of my throat, I let out a low moan.

“That I’ll…?” he prompts, lips pressed to my skin. His erection is hard against my hip.

“Service me through my heat. Fuck me through it. Take care of me.”

His teeth close around the junction of my neck and shoulder, biting down gently, and I swear the only thing holding me up at this point are his hands on my ass. I whimper, turning my head at the same time as him, our lips meeting in a hot, urgent kiss. He tastes even better than he smells, sweet, a hint of peppery spice on my tongue, and I moan into his mouth, my hands fisting the front of his shirt.

“I’ll take care of you babe,” he growls, teeth nipping at my jaw. He lifts me, and I wrap my legs around him, gasping at the press of his hard cock against my pussy. He carries me further into the house, hesitating outside the door to his bedroom.

“This okay?”

“This is perfect,” I say, kissing his neck, my tongue on his scent gland, revelling in the spice of him. At the end of the day, I’m an omega and I love sex. Sue me. “You smell so good,” I whine.

He ducks his head, carrying me through the threshold, and deposits me on the bed. It’s tidy but sparse in here, only a single pillow on the bed—a cardinal sin, in the eyes of an omega—and not even a cuck chair in sight. The warm sun shining through the gauze-covered window is a big redeeming factor, and I can already imagine lazy days in here, curled up on the linen bedspread like a cat, a good book in hand.

“I have a very important question, since we already discussed the fact that I don’t need a second accidental child,” he says. “Birth control?”

“IUD. And I got tested recently, and I have the all clear on the STI front, and I haven’t been with anyone since then,” I say between kisses.

“Same. I signed up for a new heat clinic last week and they put me through the wringer.”

A flash of possessive jealousy runs red hot through me at the thought of him with another omega. It must show on my face, because he pauses, his shirt half undone, and leans forward to kiss my forehead with a smile.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ve got no interest in using the service when I have you right here. Do you want me to use a condom?”

I shake my head and reach for his buttons, helping him out of his shirt. “I’m an omega,” I say in answer to his question. “We’re practically allergic to condoms.”