Page 26 of The Omega Project

Emily

“Ugh. Ugh.Ugh.” I roll over to grab my ringing phone, fumbling with the buttons as I try to pry my eyes open. “Hello?”

“Are you still sleeping?” Derek croaks in my ear, sounding concerned. “Is everything okay?”

“Hold on. I need to pee.” It’s an overshare, but as I haul myself upright, I’m too busy staggering through the obstacle course of Jacob’s toys to think up a better cover story. Plus, I ache all over, and now that I’m no longer glued to the sticky couch, my skin feels hot and itchy. When I reach the bathroom, I wave out the lingering shower steam and peer at myself in the mirror. “Ugh. I look like I slept under a bush. On a highway. Next to roadkill.”

Derek’s laugh has a crackling edge that makes me wince. “I hope I didn’t give you this cold, Em. It’s really kicking my butt.”

“Our first couple’s gift,” I hum, digging my toothbrush out of the clutter on the sink.

“I hope I can do better than that.” He pauses to cough into a tissue, the grinding in his chest painful to hear. It’s clearly a chicken noodle soup with dumplings kind of cold and I say, “I’m coming over tonight, even if I have to wear a HAZMAT suit.”

He waits while I brush, rinse, and spit, but that itchy feeling under my skin is just getting worse. “Derek, I really need a shower. Can I call you on the way to work?”

“So, you’re going back? It was a good day, then?”

Is that how I’d describe it? Exciting, stressful, confusing, surprising… I’d love to be able to tell him all about it in a few easy words, but it’s definitely a conversation I need to have face-to-face. “A lot happened. But I had a coffee break with Clark, and he told me all about his amazing pack. He sounds really happy.”

“That’s great.” There’s a clear note of relief in his voice, and I smile as I prop the phone on the counter and strip off my PJs. It’s nice having him check in with me, even if our physical relationship is under quarantine right now. “I wasn’t sure what you were walking into, to be honest, so I’m glad it was just an ordinary workday.”

I pause, wincing as I peel away my sleep shorts. I didn’t want to wake the rest of the house by showering when I got in, and I realise I’m still sticky from last night.

When I flung myself in an alpha’s lap and dry-humped him until I nearly came…

“Um, Derek, I really need to go.”

“Sure, Em. Stay in touch, okay? And take some vitamins, just in case.”

I mumble something reassuring before ending the call, then roll my sleep shorts into a tight ball and take a hesitant sniff. I rear back, staring at the crumpled fabric. Shit.They smell like I spritzed myself with eau de orgy…I’m not sure if they’re redeemable, but I shove them into the bottom of the hamper, making a mental note to fish them out and wash them before my mum decides it’s laundry day.

I ease into the shower, thankful for once that the water pressure is almost non-existent as it patters on my sensitive skin. Grabbing the body wash off the shelf, I huff in frustration to find it’s empty. We have a system that when we’re running low on something, we write it on the kitchen chalkboard, only sometimes the funds aren’t there before the chalk wears off. Such is the life of living paycheck to paycheck.

With a sigh, I pry the last sliver of soap off the dish and try to work it into a lather. First thing I’m going to splurge on when I get paid is a set of fancy bath products, like the ones at Derek’s. Although, by then, I’ll probably have moved in with him, so maybe I’ll just put them in a gift basket for Dee and Mum.

I shiver as I run the meagre soap over my chest, my nipples pebbling under my palms. I’ve always been curvy, but as I cup my breasts, they feel heavier, the skin somehow both softer and tighter. As I brush my nipples with my thumbs, a bolt of awareness shoots down my spine, and I bite back a moan at the way it settles between my legs.

What the hell?

Is this withdrawal symptoms from missing Derek, or did Creed put me under a spell?

Memories of last night fill my mind, and I shift on my feet, my head tipping back under the spray.

Thick thighs, eyes as black as onyx, and hands that stroke over my hips like they’re cupping something precious…

A moan slips from my lips as I circle both breasts, lightly pinching my nipples. They’re so sensitive, I hiss at the contact, but I don’t pull away. Instead, I tease them until they’re throbbing, then slip a hand down my belly and between my legs. I’m tingling all over, but as I slide a finger inside my folds, it’s like I’ve touched an electric wire. My thighs clench, a rush of images playing through my mind. Derek is there, on his knees for me like he was in the library, but strong arms hold me upright, while a soft mouth plunders mine. I can smell honey and musk, cinnamon and sandalwood. When I close my eyes, the soft lips suck on my aching nipples, while a warm tongue pushes into my wet heat. I imagine it’s Creed right behind me, his hands gripping my hips. I can feel his hard cock against my lower back, and when I rock against him, I’m so warm and open he nearly slides in…

My thumb barely touches my clit before lightning zaps up my spine and I’m gasping through a wild climax.

I cling to the shower curtain, my thighs shaking with the aftershocks.

What the hell is wrong with me?

Since dating Derek, I’ve had a lot of fun times in the shower, but never alone, and always at his place. Not that my boyfriend was the only one on my mind this time. I get the attraction of Creed – of his whole pack, if I’m being honest – but getting off to fantasies about them is insane. Not only are they work colleagues, but there’s Soren to consider. How would he feel if he knew I was lusting after his mate? Their relationship is complicated enough without me trying to horn my way in. Do I seriously need to remind my libido that I’m there to help himheal, not to drive him further up his depressing, glass walls?

Flushing with shame, I snatch my sister’s paramedic-issue descenter off the shelf and pour out a generous handful. Wincing at the sterile scent, I quickly rub it all over, using the last of the tepid water to rinse myself off. When I give a cautious sniff, all I can smell is a chalky bleach odour and the faintest hint of mint toothpaste.

Satisfied, I climb out, but as I pat myself dry, I hear the radio click on in my sister’s room. The paper-thin walls do little to soundproof the apartment, and I almost slip on the wet tile as the breakfast announcer starts the 9 a.m. news bulletin.

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