Page 16 of Sweet Heat

“Nah. I’m good.” There’s a little break in our game schedule next weekend, and while I have no plans, my dick will only ever be inside one woman.

“Miller the Monk. Maybe we should change your name, Killer,” Crimson jokes, raising his hand to signal to the waitress for a refill. I bite my tongue, unwilling to rise to the bait. His eyes widen, locking on something behind me.

“Shit…”

Turning around, Owen’s making his way back over to us. His eyes are blazing, but his face is drawn in an unhappy grimace. Worry twists again in my gut, making bile race up my throat. All the heavy food suddenly giving me extreme indigestion.

“Everyone okay?” I ask, barely able to squeak out the words around the lump lodged in my throat.

“Yeah, fine.” He slumps into the booth, throws his head back against the seat, and massages the bridge of his nose. Clearly, something isn’t right, but it doesn’t seem urgent, so I wait him out.

“Seems fine,” Crimson interjects, nudging him under the table with his foot.

“Don’t kick me, dick.”

“Then spill. You’re freaking us out. Was it Coach? Jazzy?” Crimson kicks him again for good measure, and the two get into an under-the-table footsie battle.

“Children. Cut it out,” Damien barks, and while they each need to get in one last hit, they finally do. “Now, talk.”

“It’s not major. I just can’t go with you for the heat. My parents need me to babysit Posie because they’re going away on a vacation,” he says, picking at his fries. The frustration rolling off him in waves is palpable. “I’m sure the three of you will have plenty of fun fucking the pretty omega without me.”

“No, dude! What? Can’t someone else do it? You’ve been looking forward to this for weeks. And we all know Posie doesn’t want a damn babysitter. Your parents need to stop with the bullshit.” Crimson visibly deflates before me, and I want to smack them both upside the head. Posie’s more important than having their knots milked by whoever their most recent fling is. They are right about one thing, though—there is someone else who can do it.

Slowly, a plan forms in my mind, and excitement spreads through my veins.

“I’ll do it.”

Chapter Nine

“Is all this slick for me?”

Thick fingers part my folds, spreading me wide until I’m panting with anticipation. A low whine keens from my throat, filled with desperation. My body is on fire. I need him more than my next breath.

“Please. Please, Miller.” I fist the sheets and twisting them so hard that they pull away from the mattress.

At the sound of his name, Miller’s eyes snap to me, his pupils so dilated that there’s barely any blue left. A feral smile plays on his lips, and his thumb finds my clit with ease, circling the slippery nub until my legs quake.

“Tell me this pussy is mine, Posie. Tell me and I’ll make you come over and over until you beg me to stop. And then I’ll make you do it again.”

“It’s yours. It’s always been yours. No one else,” I babble, spreading my thighs wider as he lowers himself between them. The first lap of his tongue against my sensitive core leaves me breathless. The second has me seeing stars. And the third…

“Oh. God. I’m coming…” I cry out, panting and thrashing, completely overloaded with sensation. Slick gushes between my legs, and Miller dives forward with a deep growl that has my instincts ready to give him anything. Everything.

His mouth closes over my whole pussy, sucking and nipping until I’m a writhing mess. Pleasure rushes through every nerve ending, and then he reaches up to pluck my nipples. I can hardly breathe, every rough twist sparking electricity straight to my clit. It’s too much. It’s not enough.

My cries echo around the room, joining his growls as he wrings every drop of pleasure from my body.

“Come again,” he demands, sucking my throbbing clit between his lips. His teeth score the top, pushing up the hood until he can lash the nerves with his soft tongue. A tightness builds low in my belly. It’s amazing. A deep ache that only Miller can slake. My hips roll against his mouth, and he brings his hand back down to press against my opening, gently working a digit inside my soaked channel. The added bit of pressure is all I need. My eyes roll back, my toes curl, and the pressure releases, causing slick to squirt from my pussy as every muscle in my body clenches. The orgasm fires through me, blasting me with more pleasure than I’ve ever experienced. I scream, falling into ecstasy.

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

The screeching of my alarm makes me bolt upright, panting and completely out of breath. Heat still lingers under my skin, making my pajamas too tight. Too hot. Holy shit. My hands shake as I lift the blanket, which is soaked with slick, and I look around—unsure what to do.

It’s not the first time thoughts of Miller have turned me on, but this is different. A twisting sensation spasms in my uterus, and I scream silently. The pain only releases when more slick drips from my core.

Fisting a pillow, I bring it to my middle and curl around it with a whimper, waiting for the pain to pass. The soft material grounds me, and after what feels like an impossibly long time, the warmth under my skin recedes, leaving me sticky, sweaty, and drained.

“Holy shit, please don’t be my heat,” I mutter to myself, slowly slipping out of bed on shaky legs. At nearly twenty-one, I should have started having heats two or three times a year already. I’ve seen multiple doctors about it, and they’ve all come to the same conclusion—there’s nothing wrong. The running theory is that my anosmia works similarly to a suppressant, keeping out olfactory stimuli that might work to trigger many of my omega impulses and reactions to Alpha pheromones.

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