Page 92 of Knot Your Rebel

Rebel.

My Omega.

Is.

In.

Heat.

She needs me to figure this out. “Hey, Rebel. Where’s your nest? Can you take me to it, please?”

She says something, but it comes out as a moan. “What was that?” She says it again, but it’s cut off by a groan and grimace of pain. “It’s okay. I’ll find it.” I just don’t want to let her down.

Hell, I feel like a virgin about to have sex for the first time. It’s embarrassing. Picking her back up off the couch, I shove her nose against my throat and hold it there. She inhales and starts to purr.

My heart is pounding out a ferocious metronome. I can’t think straight. She starts to nibble on my neck and slick drips down her thighs. This is full blown heat. My groan is strangled as I try to breathe through the heady scent of her musk.

My cock hardens in an instant behind my jeans, tenting the fucking zipper. This is straight torture.

We get to the room she’s calling a nest, and my mouth drops open like a block of concrete dropping a dead body into the ocean. How much money did the man put into this damn room for her?

Fairy lights line the walls and ceilings. The dropped, king-size bed sits in the middle of the floor, surrounded on all sides by paneling. The top of the mattress is covered in a light canopy the same color as the ruby blankets and pillows scattered at the end of the bed. Ruby, like her birthstone. Ya know, I never took Tate for a softie or a romantic, but looking at this room, I know he has it in him.

Cabinets line the walls, I’m assuming to hold the extravagance of blankets I see before me. There isn’t a bathroom in the nest room, but it is conveniently located across the hall from it. It’s not a bad set up at all. Not exactly how I had the nest I’d eventually make Rebel laid out in my head, but it works.

Rebel squirms to get down, and I let her go. Tiny hands grab at the hem of my shirt and start pulling upward. She’s much smaller than I am, so with her arms fully extended, she still can’t reach my head to take it off. So I bend to help her out.

Once I’ve been de-shirted, she lifts it to her nose, closes her eyes, and nuzzles into it. It’s like catnip to my omega. The fact that she knows it’s me and not Tate and still wants me makes me so fucking happy. My cock drips at the ready, waiting to be tagged in to play.

My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I look at my omega. “One sec. Could be Tate.” She whines but doesn’t protest further, taking a seat on the bed.

Grabbing my cell, I see a text from Tate confirming what I knew would be the case already. Coach won’t let him out of this game.

Me: I’ve got this, Tate. She’s in good hands with me.

Tate: Doesn’t mean I like it.

Me: It’s me or suffering. You choose?

Tate: Obviously going to fucking choose you, ya dickhead. Just don’t like that I don’t have another choice.

Me: She is going to be fine. Focus on the game. Can’t lose this one or we’ll lose bragging rights.

Tate: Keep me updated.

Me: If she gives me time to breathe at all, I’ll make sure you’re aware.

Tate: I hate you.

Me: No, you don’t.

He doesn’t respond again after that. I take a sigh, getting ready and mentally prepared to get my omega through this heat by myself.

thirty nine - rebel

. . .

I’m so fucking hot. It’s been a few hours since Tate left with the team, and I can’t stop pacing. I’ve checked the AC more times than I’d like to think about. Why am I so hot right now? I decided a shower was the fastest way to cool down, but not even that is touching the rising inferno currently spreading under my skin.

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