Page 193 of Beautifully Scarred Omega

“I’m so hot,” she says. She reaches for the hem of her hoodie.

“Sophie—” I start.

She pulls it over her head.

None of us moves.

She’s in a thin gray t-shirt underneath. She makes a sound of frustration and peels it off too, and now she’s in her bra, the flush on her face spread down her throat and chest. Her scent surges so powerfully that I have to grab the edge of the shelving unit behind me to stay where I am.

“I’m so hot.” She presses the back of her hand to her own cheek and flinches at the heat of her skin. “Is this normal? Am I supposed to feel this hot?” Her voice wavers. “It feels like something is wrong with me.”

“Nothing is wrong with you.” Max has turned from the door. He’s looking at her like he’s barely holding it together. “Sophie. Nothing is wrong.”

Her lips part and her eyes go wide and then her whole body shudders.

She reaches for the waistband of her jeans.

“Sweetheart.” My voice comes out somewhere between a plea and a warning. “Please don’t do that.”

“I have to.” She pushes herself to her feet and shoves them down her legs, kicking them aside. Then she’s standing there in her underwear, her dark hair loose around her shoulders, and every instinct I have is screaming. “Please.” Her eyes find mine. “Please, I need⁠—”

I’m halfway to her before I realize I’ve moved. Then I’m sitting on the blanket in front of her, her scent absolutely everywhere and the rut has its hands around my throat.

“Finn.” Her voice is desperate. “Finn, please.”

She straddles me, her hands landing on my chest.

The sound that comes out of me is not dignified. I grab the edge of the blanket with both hands and hold on. Every muscle in my body is rigid with the effort of not touching, not responding to the warm weight of her against me. Her hips shift, just slightly, and I feel the contact like a current running straight up my spine.

“Sophie.” My voice is wrecked. “God. Sweetheart⁠—”

She kisses me.

And then all the careful distance I’ve been maintaining for the last ten minutes ceases to exist.

My hands find her waist instantly—her skin is burning, fever-warm, and she makes a sound against my mouth that I feel in every part of me. I kiss her back. Of course I kiss her back.

She shifts her hips again, deliberately this time, and the moan that tears out of me is guttural and desperate.

“Jesus Christ, Sophie⁠—”

“Finn.” My name comes out fractured. Pleading. Her hands are in my hair and her forehead is against mine and she’s looking at me with those green eyes—heat-blown, entirely unguarded—and it is taking everything I have. “Please. I need you. All of you. Please.”

I want to. God help me, I want to so badly that it’s a physical pain.

“Listen to me.” I take her face in my hands and make her look at me. “Sophie. Listen.” She quiets, barely. Her breathing is ragged, her pulse visible in her throat. “If we knot you now—during heat—we’ll want to mark you. All three of us. The bond will be permanent.” I hold her gaze. “Do you understand what that means?”

She goes still.

Not all the way—her body is still burning with heat and running on instinct that the suppressants have never let her feel before—but her eyes clear just enough. She looks at me, then at Max over my shoulder, then at Ethan.

She bites her lip.

“I—” she starts.

Ethan gets to his feet and crosses the room to one of the storage units. He pulls something from a case, then comes back and kneels beside her, opening his palm. A single pill—small and white. “Before this goes any further, you need to know you have a choice.”

She stares at it.