Page 23 of Drowned By the Dreadnought

Neither of us will ever be lonely again.

Russt is mine and I’m his.

I’ll nurture and challenge him. He’ll protect and pamper me. We’ll heal and build our own happily ever after.

Together.

Forever.

Chapter 8

Russt

After days of rutting and knotting my little mouse, I still can’t get enough of her. I’ll never stop wanting her. Even with exhaustion weighing me down and satisfaction flowing through me, I yearn to sink into her tight, wet heat again. No longer in estrous, she lies on top of me, fully asleep and snoring against my chest.

I stroke my fingers through her hair. Despite the happiness flowing between us, I can’t ignore the dark spots in her soul.

She doesn’t even realize it, but she’s lonely. Even though she’s ecstatic over our union, she yearns for other kinds of human interaction. She was a social butterfly as a child, always flitting around from kid to kid, never afraid to take a struggling outcast under her wing or jump into an ongoing conversation. Our bond helps ease the ache within her, but she needs more.

Her father used isolation as a weapon.

I will not.

She grumbles as I slip her off my chest, but I tuck our ruined nest around her and smile as she huffs and falls soundly asleep again. I stalk to the desk, grab the radio, and slip through the door into the second room. After shutting the door behind me, I step deeper into the room and trail my fingertips over the delicate furniture as I send instructions through the radio. In less than three minutes, I return to my sleeping omega and take my place underneath her. I’ll happily be her pillow for the rest of our lives.

I kiss the top of her head and pause at the scent wafting off her. Unbridled joy sweeps through me as understanding dawns. I roll over, pin her under me, and wake her with kisses. She grumbles and swats at me, but I nip her bottom lip and coax her tongue into dueling with mine.

When I pull back, she opens her eyes with obvious reluctance and stretches, testing my control as her lithe body arches against mine. She slips her hands around my neck and sighs.

“I’m not complaining about the method, but why are you waking me up? I’m tired and sore and just want to sleep.”

Her tone sounds like she’s complaining, but the wistful smirk on her face and the happiness swirling through our bond confirm she’s not mad.

“I needed to kiss you,” I say.

Her smirk morphs into the most gorgeous, ethereal smile on this godforsaken watery planet. With her in my arms, I hold the future. She’s my hope. My savior. My omega.

She scowls as I rise and scoop her, wrapped in the filthiest blanket, into my arms.

“Where are we going?” she asks.

“Hush, little mouse. Let me take care of you.”

Her brows remain furrowed, but she leans her head against me and doesn’t complain as I walk away from our mating nest. I open the third door and set her on the counter. She studies the small washroom with interest despite her tired eyes. With a sink along one wall, a toilet in the back corner, an open shower on the other side, and a drain in the center of the room, the space provides compact comfort and practicality.

I wet a washcloth and clean her face with warm water. She holds the blanket tight around her, savoring the pheromones wafting from the fabric. I kiss her forehead and wash my face before carrying her to the desk in the main room. She sighs and watches me with interest as I pull a t-shirt and shorts from the shelf, but when I drop the shirt on the desk beside her and unfold the shorts to slip them on, she growls and snatches the material out of my hands.

Hunger grips me when she pulls the shorts into her cocoon. Her toes curl as she rubs the silky fabric against her body.

“Fuck, little mouse, don’t tease me,” I snarl as I yank the blanket open.

She tosses the shorts at my head. The fresh scent of her slick enraptures me. I purr and rub the fabric against my face.

By the time I pull myself together and tug the shorts up around my waist, she sits with the blanket wrapped tightly around her and my shirt dangling from her fingertips. I take it from her, thread my arms into the sleeves, and pop my head through before grabbing a clean quilt off the shelf and adding another layer to her temporary, mobile nest.

“I don’t want to leave,” she whispers.

I peck the tip of her nose and cradle her against my chest.

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