Page 21 of Such a Sweet Omega

Beale

I woke up to the smells of eggs, vanilla, brown sugar, and cinnamon. My body was luxuriously sore in all the right places, and I felt each one as I stretched in Jabez’s bed.

Jabez. My alpha. My mate. My fated one.

I reached up and touched the mark on my shoulder, the bite that meant we belonged to each other. Not for a time but forever. The bite was still tender but no longer an open wound. Instead, it felt like a scar I’d had forever.

“Good morning,” the object of my thoughts spoke. I rose up to sit in the bed and saw him standing in the doorway, only wearing a pair of low-slung lounge pants. He had a spatula in his hand and a smile on his face.

“Good morning,” I replied with a yawn.

“I didn’t wear you out, did I?” He put the spatula on the dresser and came over to get onto the bed with me.

“Yes. But in the best way. I slept so deeply. It’s been a while since I had that kind of rest.”

He kissed my lips but I pulled back quickly. Morning breath was the opposite of sexy. “What’s the matter, omega? Are you shy all of a sudden?”

I shook my head. “No, but I need to brush my teeth.”

Jabez shook his head and laughed. “Good thing I bought a toothbrush for you a few days ago.”

I got out of bed but looked back at him. “A few days ago?”

He nodded. “I’ve wanted you in my bed for a while now. Thought I’d prep. A man can dream, right?”

“I’m glad I wasn’t the only one. Do you want to join me for a shower, or are you still cooking? French toast?”

“I finished cooking for you, mate. I was hoping to wake you up myself, but I’ll settle for a nice long, hot shower.”

Those words alone had me harder than steel.

“Sounds good to me.”

We had a long shower that was both dirty and clean. Afterward, we put on shorts and went down to the kitchen.

“Please tell me there’s coffee.”

“There is coffee, but I’m afraid it’s substandard compared to what you serve at the shop.”

I snorted. “Do you want to know a secret?”

He came over and pulled me close. “I want to know all your secrets.”

“I don’t really like the coffee from my job except when it’s doused in all kinds of syrups and creamers. On its own, it’s overly roasted and just tastes bitter.” Immediately I hung my head in shame. My name tag said barista, but I hated what I served people.

It was just a job to me—something to pay the bills.

“I’m glad I’m not the only one. I hate that stuff, too. And let’s face it, the cold ones are just caffeinated milkshakes.”

I threw my head back, laughing. “That’s so true.”

Jabez wouldn’t let me get my own coffee. Instead, he insisted that I stand next to him while he learned how to make it the way I liked it. Two sugars, lots of cream, for the record. We ate stacks of French toast with bacon and blueberry syrup.

“How big is your backyard?” I asked as I finished up my second cup of coffee.

“It’s a good size, why?”

“I thought we might shift. Our wolves are wanting to see each other.”

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