Page 11 of Knot Their Starlet

I melt into his touch. My eyes flutter shut. I can’t bear to look at him.

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?” he scoffs as if my words are stupid.

“For needing to be comforted.”

“No need to apologize. This isn’t the first time. Won’t be the last.”

His words just twist the knife already lodged in my chest.

I hate how reliant I am on him. I know I’m a burden, but the reminder hurts.

And I will be reliant until the pharmaceutical companies get their shit together and come up with a suppressant that works as well for male omegas as the current suppressants that exist on the market for female omegas.

Because my designation seems to be a weird sort of mutation–one that’s only started appearing recently–no one knows what the hell to do with us.

Eli’s thumb brushes between my eyebrows, smoothing out the line that’s appeared there.

Something about his touch makes something stir in my lower stomach.

I’m so stupid.

I know I am.

But as my eyes flutter open, I take a step forward, closing the distance between us.

My hand rests on his chest, and a grunt leaves the back of his throat as he stares down at me intently.

He’s so tall I have to lift my head, but I lean up and gently press my lips against his.

Maybe I can blame this on the alcohol.

A growl vibrates through his chest as he melts into the kiss.

This isn’t the first time. Since Eli has helped me through my heats, we’ve done a lot more than kissing.

But there’s something different about this kiss.

It’s not during my heat.

Eli stiffens under my touch before taking a step back and breaking the kiss.

A noise that’s suspiciously close to a whimper leaves my throat before I can catch it and shove it back down into the dark cave where I try to keep my embarrassing omega reactions.

“Sorry—”

“Don’t say sorry,” Eli interrupts. “Just... not here.”

“Where else?” I ask, shoving my hands into my pockets.

Eli shrugs. “Definitely not here. What if someone sees us walking out together if someone needs to use this restroom and we look like we just fucked?”

My heart stutters in my chest.

Fuck.

I’m not a prude. I use the word all the time.