Page 46 of Craving Their Omega

Tristan is back in bed, sitting up so the covers pool around his waist. In the dark I can’t make out much about the space, but I’m not really focused on that anyway. His bed is large and looks inviting, and maybe having company will help keep the nightmares at bay.

“I, um… I might have overstated how all right I was,” I tell him, feeling my cheeks heat with embarrassment all over again. “So I was wondering I could just sleep on your floor for the rest of the night because I really don’t want to be alone right now. I’ll be quiet, and you won’t even know I’m here, I promise.”

He looks at me for a second and then nods again, gesturing to the floor.

“Thank you,” I say, sighing with relief.

I make a little nest with the pillows and blankets I brought from my room, and even though it’s nowhere near as comfortable as the bed I left behind, just knowing that someone else is in the room is already helping.

I curl up with the comforter and try to slow my breathing, closing my eyes.

From the bed above, I hear creaking and the mattress moving, so I can tell that Tristan isn’t comfortable. Every few minutes he shifts, tossing and turning in the bed, clearly no closer to sleeping.

I cringe a little because I know it’s because of me. He’s obviously uncomfortable with the situation and with me being so close. I should have gone to bother Xavier instead. Or I should have just given up on sleeping altogether so I didn’t bother anyone. That would have been the smart thing to do.

Now I’m keeping Tristan up because I had a nightmare, and that’s so inconsiderate.

“This isn’t going to work,” Tristan finally says, after about half an hour of him failing to get comfortable.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I can just…”

I trail off and shuffle out from the nest, starting to gather everything back up again. Maybe I’ll bake some biscuits if I’m not sleeping. Something we can have for breakfast. If I knew what Tristan liked, I’d make something for him as an apology for being such a pain in his ass.

“Wait,” he says, and it comes out sharp. He pauses. Takes a breath. “I didn’t mean leave.”

“Oh. I thought…”

He pulls down one side of the covers on his bed. “Just come here.”

I blink in confusion for several seconds, staring at the inviting bed like I’ve never seen one before. He can’t mean…

“You don’t have to do that,” I hurry to tell him. “I don’t need to be in your bed. I know you like your space, and I just barged in here on you. I’m being so rude, and I’m not your problem.”

My words stumble over each other in their haste to get out of my mouth, and I can hear how thick my southern accent is right now.

“Youaremy problem,” Tristan says firmly. “As long as you’re wearing my ring, you will be. And there is no way in hell I’m letting my wife sleep on the floor when there’s a perfectly good bed available.”

It’s probably the most words I’ve heard him say at one time, and they’re all encouraging. It takes me by surprise, and even though I’m still hesitant to invade his space more than I already have, he seems determined and that’s a comfort.

“Okay,” I murmur. “If you’re sure.”

He just gives me a look that says he’s not going to repeat himself, and I take that as my sign to stop looking this gift horse in the mouth. I climb into the bed with him, and I’m immediately wrapped up in his scent. It clings to the blankets and the pillows, and it’s all warm and comfortable—and most of all, it feels utterly safe.

Tristan’s quiet presence is so soothing, and when I roll onto my side and close my eyes, I’m not immediately thrown back into the terror of my nightmare. Instead I focus on Tristan’s soft breathing and the heat of his body I can feel behind me.

I match my breathing to his, letting everything in me relax, and gradually I drift off to sleep, my fears finally fading.

Chapter 17

Penelope

In the darkness, I am being held.

My back is pressed tight to the firm planes of a warm, solid chest, and while I can’t really move, I know I don’t want to. Hands roam over my body, strong fingers splayed over my stomach, ghosting over my chest. Lips, soft and gently find my neck and press kisses that start light and get more insistent as time passes. They dip down to my shoulders, following their natural curve.

I sigh softly with pleasure, letting the rush of warm, good feelings move through me.

There’s a voice here too, but it’s gruff and rich, not cold and cutting like before. “Beautiful,” it says. “Fucking beautiful. Are you wet for me? Do you want it?”

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