Page 103 of Captive Omega

I’m sitting at the kitchen island, two pancakes with lemon and sugar on my plate, courtesy of Lex, and I can’t stop looking at Garrison’s hands.

He had them on me.

In me.

It felt good. Really good.

Then I woke up.

The only problem with having a dream like that was it happened while I was cuddling up to his coat in an armchair opposite him.

And he was there.

In my dream, I was moaning.

But what if I wasn’t just doing it in my dream?

Vaughn was crouched in front of me when I woke up, wanting to carry me to bed. No sign of Garrison, and I hadn’t felt rested enough to have slept for too long.

What if he had been there? Worse, what if he had heard me moan and slipped away so he wouldn’t have to listen to me?

I almost lower my head to the table at the thought. It would be less embarrassing if I’d rolled off the armchair and into the fireplace instead. I’d have been crispy around the edges, but still…

“Resa?”

My fork slips out of my hand and clatters off the plate, the table and finally the floor as I whip my head up from Garrison’s hands.

Lex is frowning at me, concerned.

“What?” I ask.

Garrison lifts his head from his newspaper. I immediately look away.

“You’re not eating your pancakes. Did I fuck it up? I can do waffles if you want?” Lex offers.

I heard every single word, yet it’s taking me far longer than it should to process them. “What did you say?” I repeat.

“Waffles or pancakes?”

My eyes dart to the dining table. “I…”

Garrison is on his feet, walking toward me.

Why? What is he doing? Did I slip into a dream, because he looks like he’s on a mission. Just like my dream. I forget everything I was about to say. I’m too busy having a flashback to Garrison dropping to his knees in front of me, a dark smile curling his lips as he slid my dress up, lowered his head and?—

“I’ll get that,” Garrison says, and he crouches.

Right in front of me.

Just like in my dream.

In a panic, I tip back, and my bar stool topples. Garrison’s hands snap out. He grabs the chair with one hand and my right ankle with the other, stopping me from cracking my head open on the kitchen floor.

My face is hot as he returns all four legs of my stool to the floor.

His voice is husky and his hazel eyes are concerned as he rises from his crouch. “Are you okay, Resa?”

No. I am not okay. My panties are wet because I had a stupid, insanely hot sex dream of you that I now cannot get out of my head.

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