I exhale as they hold me.
“You okay there?” Ace asks from behind me.
Luca has his hand on my face, thumb under my chin, and I force my eyes open enough to find his. Even half asleep, that face has me smiling.
“That was incredible,” I murmur, every part of me loose and wrung out and deeply satisfied.
I’m curled up between them, heavy-limbed, my body sinking into warmth on both sides.
“Sleep,” Luca says. “You need it after that.” His thumb strokes once over my cheek. “Sleep easy, our Omega. We’ll do whatever it takes to keep you happy… and we fully intend to make sure you come every single day for the rest of your life.”
A sleepy little sound slips past my lips before I can stop it. My face is far too warm, and if I had more energy, I’d probably say something smart back. Instead, I just nuzzle closer, full to the brim with that soft, aching kind of happiness that feels almost surreal.
Ace’s hand moves through my hair, and outside the window, the ocean crashing against the shore comes in and goes out and comes in again.
This is not a dream.
I know that now.
And then sleep takes me.
18
ADELAIDE
Something is pressed against my face, and it takes three full seconds to identify it as a pillow.
I shove it off, only to notice another one tucked under my left arm. The duvet is somehow both underneath and on top of me, the sheet wound around my legs, and when I attempt to roll over, I find I’ve got a complete nest around myself. I’m a full burrito.
I lie in the ruins of it and blink at the ceiling, which doesn’t belong to my shack.
Right. I had incredible sex with Luca and Ace, then we fell into bed, and I grin at the delicious memory.
I reach for the clock on the side table. Nine forty-seven and it’s bright and sunny outside. It’s morning. I do the math. Then I do it again because the math seems wrong.
Oh, crap, I’ve been asleep for fifteen hours. “Oh my God.”
I sit up so fast the blanket nest collapses completely around me, and I’m sitting in the bedroom, alone, light pouring through the blinds in long pale stripes. I press both hands over my face, rubbing my eyes to wake up.
Then I climb out of bed, my bare feet finding the cool floor, and glance around. No clothes. The bikini and shorts aresomewhere in the living room from yesterday, and by the scent in here, this must be Luca’s bedroom, with his wardrobe three feet away, a dresser, and a guitar in the far corner. I had no idea he played.
I stumble over to the wardrobe, purely out of curiosity, and pull it open.
Shirts hang in a line. I run my hand along the fabric, cotton and linen, all of it soft and clean. Then I push my face in. I take a deep inhale, his scent undiluted, right there, and my shoulders drop two inches. The tightness in my chest unfurls.
“I could retire,” I tell the clothes. “Bottled Alpha scent for Omegas. Complete wellness empire. The scented candle industry has nothing on this.”
I pull open the drawer below. Tees in neat rows. Socks actually paired. Very Luca, apparently. Then, farther back, tucked under a stack folded with suspicious care, I spot a small stash of magazines with very specific cover art.
I pick one up. Blonde. Fair-skinned. Big chest. Not very subtle.
I close the drawer and stand there for a second.
Then I open it again, because evidently I enjoy hurting my own feelings in weirdly specific ways. I flip through just enough to confirm that, yes, Luca has a type, and, yes, it is irritatingly close to my appearance. Two pages are stuck to each other, and I snap the magazine shut so fast I nearly take my own thumb off.
“Hm,” I say to the drawer, because that feels like the only available response.
Trying not to laugh and absolutely not thinking about those women and Luca, I shove the magazine back under the stack, grab the blue tee from the top of the folded pile, and head for the shower before my brain can make any of this worse.
