Page 83 of Altius
“I know, baby. But I’m here now. I’m here to stay.”
Twenty
Morgan
When Wyatt’s knot deflated for the final time, he was sound asleep—and I had never been more sober.
The temporary pheromone high had long worn off, making me overly aware of his hair brushing my skin and the heat of his breath against my cheek. At least we were on our sides, facing each other, allowing me to untangle myself without waking him.
Shifting toward the edge of the bed, I reached for my phone on the end table. It was almost six in the morning on Saturday.
Twelve hours post-injection, and my heat still hadn’t fully kicked in.
But Cal had been correct, as per usual. Their pheromones helped me get and stay aroused.
I’d been worried about having sex with Wyatt for reasons that seemed ridiculous in retrospect. He was my scent match. Once we both relaxed, nuzzling his skin was almost enough for a contact high, which spurred my omega on, demanding we wring every possible drop of satisfaction from him.
To my surprise, Wyatt was more than willing to follow my lead without asking a single question or showing even a moment’s hesitation. All he wanted was to make me feel good, to make me come, even holding back on knotting me until I asked for it.
And ask I had.
If only I knew what I’d been about to receive.
Scrolling through my usual influx of text messages from Jacobi, I considered lodging a complaint about his information network.
His intel said Wyatt’s cock was thick, like a male omega’s. No one ever mentioned it wassothick I’d feel like I was taking a knot the entire time.
And as for his actual knot…
Even during a heat, it’d left me sore. The best kind of ache, but still, the girth of his dick was not to be taken lightly.
Deep and hard, on the other hand…
Stupid fucking hormones.
I needed to eat something and take a shower before pouncing another man.
Joaquin and Alijah were supposed to be next, but given the time, they’d probably gone home for the night. Which meant Cal was going to get his turn sooner than expected.
I took a few moments to stretch, then leaned down to snag my discarded robe...and helped myself to Wyatt’s basketball shorts.
Then I raided the mini fridge for banana slices, some cheese and crackers, and two bottles of water. Huddled on one of the cloud-soft accent chairs, wrapped in a blanket, with Wyatt’s shorts draped across my lap like a makeshift tablecloth, I admired his sculpted form while I ate.
Once I was refueled and visually sated, I tucked Wyatt in and slipped through the pocket door into the darkened bathroom.
After turning on the recessed light above the shower, I hung Wyatt’s shorts on a robe hook. Reclining on the built-in bench, back resting against the cool tile, I admired my newestacquisition while slowly but thoroughly running a soapy pouf along every inch of my body.
I emerged refreshed—but frustrated.
My skin was flushed pink from my resurgent heat rather than the water temperature or my thorough scrub-down. The first stirrings of cramps clawed at my abdomen. Time to hunt down Cal.
Putting my robe back on, I padded across the tile…
Only to unexpectedly walk through a stray beam of light.
The bedroom door was cracked open. And my bedside lamp was on.
But before my omega could take offense at the intrusion, the rustle of sheets reached my ears, followed by whispers of praise—and a whine of denial.
