Page 22

“It was too many, if I’m being honest. Fine in a heat, but…” I shrug. “That wasn’t the reason it didn’t work out,” I add, oversharing as usual.

Scott squeezes my hand as we leave the sand, walking up an access ramp for boats and onto the pavement. “The past doesn’t matter,” he says. “Hey Baz, don’t go too far ahead of us, eh!”

Barry stops ahead at the next corner, his coat shiny under a street lamp, waiting just long enough for us to catch up before starting again, claws rhythmic against the concrete as he leads us back to Matiu’s home. As soon as we get in, leaving our sandy shoes on the doorstep, the dog makes a beeline for his huge, fluffy bed that Scott had brought in earlier.

Matiu is hovering in the kitchen, and raises a single brow in my direction. “All good?”

“All good,” I reply, smiling, and he nods.

“I’ll leave you two to it, then.”

I snag him on his way past, stretching up on my toes while simultaneously pulling him down for a kiss, aware of Scott at my back. “Thank you for waiting up for me.” It’s one of those incredibly sweet things, knowing that he wanted to check my comfort level, and leaves me feeling all warm and gooey inside.

“Of course.”

“I might shower,” Scott declares once Matiu’s bedroom door clicks closed. “Wanna join?”

“Sure.”

Joining proves to be a little less possible—while Matiu’s bathroom has a beautifully tiled double shower that he’d fucked me in just this morning, the bathroom attached to the guest bedroom is a smaller box fit for one. “Maybe we just take turns… you go first,” I suggest.

“You sure? About me going first, I mean.”

“Absolutely.”

I sit cross-legged on the bed, doomscrolling while I wait for my turn, getting caught in the immediate dopamine hit of short-form videos on social media, saving a bunch of posts to my account, adding them to a folder of other posts I’ll probably never look at again. Scott comes out in nothing but a towel slung low over his hips, his damp hair spiked in all directions, and I don’t bother to pretend I’m not watching when the towel gets dropped. He’s already erect, and I crook my finger at him, beckoning him forward, grinning when he obeys without a word. Like Matiu, he’s uncut, and I pull his foreskin back slowly, revealing the pink head of his cock.

I don’t waste any time, encouraging him to step even closer, until my lips are grazing the smooth skin of his dick, making him jump against my fingers. He smells so good, lavender soap a faint overlay on top of his much stronger pine and ocean air, his scent concentrated around his groin. It’s too tempting to not run my tongue over him in long licks, watching his face every few seconds to gauge what he likes. Evidently he likes it all, tipping his head back as he mutters, “Shit, Lizzie. Fuck, you’re too good.”

I am good. I love giving head, love the feel of a man slowly (or quickly) coming undone under my tongue. I bob on his cock now, sucking hard and appreciating the thick girth of it, increasing my pace as I squeeze his knot, pulling out all the tricks to make him come. He realises what I’m doing. There’s no protest from him, and when I dare to glance up at his face he’s biting his lip.

“I’m gonna come down your throat,” he declares, gravel in his voice.

“Good, that’s what I want.”

He gives it to me only a few moments later, groaning as his hot cum fills my mouth. I swallow every drop, licking him clean, biting my lip when I’m done.

“You’re naughty,” he declares.

“No! I thought I was good!”

“You are. But I should’ve tasted you first.”

Matiu had said a similar thing. “I don’t think the order matters when everyone is having fun. Besides, I genuinely want to shower.” I know he’s an alpha, and they tend to be far less precious when it comes to this kind of thing, but it’s been a hot day—I hiked up a mountain!—and I’d rather feel fresh before I let him between my thighs.

Once I’m in the shower I start thinking about the last few days, processing it all, replaying parts and worrying about the future. I get so lost in thought that I can’t remember if I’ve already washed my hair, so I tip more shampoo into my palm and wash it even though I have a vague feeling that this is an unnecessary round. I use the mandarin and manuka conditioner provided, and shave my legs, getting caught up in enjoying an everything shower. I try and be quick, my brain playing me a never-ending loop of distant possibilities, daydreams where I’m happy and packed up, with summers on the beach and snowless winters here in the southern hemisphere.

I check my phone as I’m brushing out my wet hair, my mood sinking when I realise forty-five minutes have passed. It felt like twenty, and I roll my eyes at myself in the foggy mirror. Not once have I ever accurately sensed the passing of time, so I don’t know why I thought I’d suddenly have it right. I hastily finish my hair, aggressively attacking one stubborn knot, wincing as a few strands break in the process. With my towel clutched to my chest I tentatively open the bathroom door that leads directly into the bedroom, and sigh, disappointed and angry at myself.

Scott, who drove for ten hours to meet me and then took me on a very sweet walking date, can absolutely not be blamed for the fact that he’s now peacefully sprawled out naked on top of the bed, fast asleep, when I’m the one who took almost an hour in the bathroom. I feel bad. I messed up our night.

I debate waking him, but he looks so content that it seems cruel. Instead I switch off the main light, set my phone down on the dresser with the flashlight pointing upwards, and slowly, carefully, free the top layers of bedding from under his body. It’s easier said than done. I have to pause when I get the sheets down under his ass as he suddenly moves, muttering something intelligible, but one well-timed yank as he rolls onto his side frees it down to his ankles, and then it’s easy to draw the blankets up over him to his shoulders.

I pause for a moment, taking him in, his face slack in deep sleep. He’s a beautiful man. Long lashes, lovely cheekbones, a smattering of grey in both his facial hair and the hair at his temples. The deepest lines on his face are at the corners of his eyes and around his mouth—smile lines, a testament to his good nature.

Mine, my omega whispers.

I slip in beside him, tucking myself against his back, and miraculously find myself falling asleep easily, the scent of a coastal forest in my nose.