Finally valued. The words hit exactly where they're meant to, soothing old wounds about being overlooked and dismissed.
"By you?" I ask softly.
"Especially by me."
The promise in his voice makes my chest tight with emotion I can't name. When he looks at me like that, like I'm precious and perfect and everything he's been searching for, I can almost forget the confusion and fear.
Almost forget that I still don't fully understand what's happening to my body, or why his presence is the only thing that makes the burning subside.
But when he helps me to my feet and guides me back toward my quarters, his hand warm and steady against my lower back, those questions fade into background noise.
All that matters is that tomorrow will bring more sessions, more of his attention, more chances to prove I'm worth the risk he's taking on me.
Even if I'm starting to suspect the risk might be bigger than either of us wants to admit.
That night, the dreams are stronger than ever. Not just heat and hands, but scenarios that leave me gasping with their intensity. In the dreams, Thorian's careful control finally snaps. He pins me beneath his massive frame, whispering commands against my throat that make me arch and submit in ways I've never imagined. His scent overwhelms me—that woodsy warmth mixed with something purely alpha that makes my dream-self whimper and present for him. He calls me "perfect little omega" while his hands explore places I've never been touched, and dream-Maya responds with desperate eagerness, begging him to claim what's his.
I wake with my nightgown twisted around my waist, skin alternating between burning hot and shivering cold, the sheets beneath me damp with sweat that carries a scent I don't recognize—something sweet and desperate that makes me flush with embarrassment.
There's a wetness between my legs that has nothing to do with sweat, something slippery and warm that makes me squirm with confusion and shame. I've never felt anything like this before, and the clinical part of my mind tries to rationalize it as some kind of magical side effect.
These can't be omega symptoms. They can't be. Omegas go into heat cyclically, predictably, and this is just magical adaptation. But when another wave of desperate need crashes through me, making me whimper his name into the darkness, a tiny voice whispers that maybe I don't know myself as well as I thought.
My body feels foreign, hypersensitive, like every nerve is crying out for something I don't understand but desperately crave. In my half-asleep state, I catch myself arching my back in ways that would be embarrassing if anyone could see, presenting myself to empty air like my body is following instincts I've never felt before. The position feels natural, right, like I was made for it.
I find myself gathering every pillow and blanket I can reach, arranging them around me in a way that doesn't make logical sense but feels necessary. Like my body knows something my mind doesn't. The configuration leaves space beside me—space that aches to be filled by someone specific.
When I press my face into the pillow that carries his scent, my body reacts in ways that shock me—a deep, desperate inhale that makes my eyes roll back, like I could breathe him in forever and it still wouldn't be enough. The faint trace of woodsy warmth and something uniquely him makes the wetness between my legs pulse with need.
But it doesn't fade completely—if anything, breathing in his scent makes the ache grow stronger, makes my body clench with need that has no name. I find myself pressing closer to that faint trace of his presence, imagining what it would feel like if he were really here. If those careful, controlled touches became something more demanding. If he stopped treating me like I might break and showed me what that hunger in his eyes really means.
If he whispered those dream-commands against my throat for real, told me to submit, to be good for him, to let him take care of everything.
The thought makes me shudder with want so intense it's almost frightening.
Tomorrow can't come fast enough.
CHAPTER 10
THORIAN
Maya arrivesat the laboratory earlier than usual, and I can smell her pre-heat the moment she walks through the door. Sweet desperation mixed with her virgin scent creates a combination that makes my cock go rock-hard instantly. She's been building toward this for days, her omega biology waking up exactly like I planned.
But the dark circles under her eyes and the way she clutches her research portfolio tell me the process is hitting her harder than she understands.
"You look tired, little scientist," I say, moving closer to study her flushed face and dilated pupils.
"Couldn't sleep again," she admits, swaying slightly on her feet. "The dreams are getting stronger."
Dreams. I can imagine exactly what kind of dreams have been tormenting her untouched body—visions of submission and claiming that her rational mind would reject but her awakening biology craves. My prehensile length stirs restlessly at the thought of her writhing in her sleep, desperate for things she can't name.
"What kind of dreams?" I ask gently, though I already know.
"Confusing ones. Hot ones. Dreams where you..." She trails off, her cheeks going red as she realizes what she almost said.
"Where I what, Maya?" I step closer, letting my presence wrap around her. "What do I do in these dreams?"
"You tell me what to do," she whispers, her dark eyes wide with embarrassment and need. "And I... I like it. I like following your orders, making you happy. It feels right, like that's what I was made for."
