After a while he says, “In my profession you see death constantly. Not just fires. That's the smallest part of the job, actually. Most shifts, it's car accidents. Overdoses. Medical calls where you show up knowing there's nothing you can do, but you try anyway. You learn to compartmentalize. You have to. There's no other way to keep doing it."
He looks at his hands. "The problem is that compartments fill up after a while. You don't always notice until something gets in thatdoesn't fit. Something you can't file away. Something that just sits there."
He's quiet for a second. "I've seen what it does to guys who don't deal with it. Guys who drink too much. Who can't be in a relationship. Who leave the job or, worse, stay in until it breaks them. I told myself I was handling it fine. That I was different."
His jaw tightens. "Then that call happened and—" He looks at me, his eyes still rimmed with tears. “I swore I would never do that to myself. That I could never put myself through that kind of torture.”
That’s why he denied our connection. He’s been afraid this whole time. Afraid to love me.
“What changed your mind?” I ask.
He gives me a watery smile. “You are not easy to resist. You're too perceptive for your own good. And you make me laugh when I'm trying very hard not to. When BaseballFucker put his hands on you I wanted to rage. But then when I thought you were in that building, I realized that it doesn’t matter if I accept this or not. The pain is coming either way.” He swallows. “I’d rather have you than spend my life running from it.”
I kiss him and it is… everything. Hot, passionate, loving, compassionate.
“I want you to start seeing a counselor,” I say between kisses. "Not because something's wrong with you. Because what you carry is real and heavy and you've been carrying it alone." I pull back far enough to look at him. "And I need my alpha to take care of himself. That's important to me."
He nods. “Silas said the same thing. I found someone who specializes in first responders and medical providers.”
“Good,” I say, leaning in for another kiss.
“I haven’t made an appointment yet.”
I kiss him again. “Tomorrow.”
He wraps his strong arms around me. “Tell me to stop,” he whispers.
I keep kissing him.
“Princess,” he says again. Firmer this time. “Tell me to stop. You deserve more than this. I need to court you.”
I look at him. This man, who spent weeks running from me, is now trying to slow down for me. I appreciate it, but I’m not waiting.
“My omega is clawing to get out, and I want this to be me and you, not you and her.” When he doesn’t consent, I add, “I want you, Saint. Now.”
He has me in his bed in a matter of seconds. I lie there with his T-shirt riding high at my hips and his tube socks pulled up to my knees. Slick seeps from my pussy, as he stands over top of me, that perfect dick standing at attention. The tip flashes in the light from the bedside lamp. I give into my urge to taste and touch him. I squeeze his swollen base and drag my tongue slowly over the piercing, tasting the salty bead of pre-cum leaking from his slit.
He hisses in appreciation. “Princess, fuck, that’s—”
I take him deeper until my nose presses against his knot, gagging softly. The metal of his piercing slides along my tongue and I moan around him, letting the vibration travel up his shaft.
“Feel good?” I say around a mouthful of his cock. He tastes like ginger, molasses, and something earthier.
He moans his answer, wrapping his fist in my hair and guiding my mouth down to the base of his knot and back again. I hollow out my cheeks and suck hard, flicking my tongue against his piercing when my mouth slides back toward the tip.
“Jesus,” he hisses, then tugs at my hair until I pop my lips from his shaft. “No more of that. The first time I come in you, it’s going to be while I’m knot deep.”
“You can knot my mouth,” I say in my brattiest omega voice.
“Fuck, Lark. You can’t just say those things to me.”
He reaches down and pulls the hem of my T-shirt up over my head, then tosses it to the floor. “I’ll be sleeping with that under my pillow for a while.”
I smirk. I like the thought of him putting my clothes in his room so that my scent is there when he sleeps.
“What about the socks?” I lie back and offer a foot so he can pull off one tube sock.
His eyes rake from my head to my feet and back up. “No, I want those to stay on.” The casual possession in his voice makes even more slick gush out of me. I love that he wants me like this, half-dressed in his clothes, marked by him.
