Page 41 of Patiently Yours
“I’m sorry you couldn’t come out with us tonight,” she says as we mount her doorstep.
“There’s no need for you to apologize for that, Stacia. My professor, maybe, but not you.”
She bites her bottom lip, but more in worry than in nerves.
“Was it,” she starts, stopping to find the words. I watch her as she fiddles with a piece of her hair and looks anywhere but my eyes. “Was it okay that I hung out with your pack mates?”
I tilt my head in confusion, wondering what made her ask such a thing.
“What do you mean?”
She tries to shrug casually. “I thought maybe you would be…angryabout it. Being the prime and all.” She must see the puzzlement on my face because she shakes it off. “Or not, I’m not really sure how pack dynamics go.”
Then I remembered how Derek treated her desire for a pack, how he treated her when she was onlytalkingto Ciro, and it all makes sense.
I reach a hand up and meet her eyes. “May I touch you?”
She nods meekly before I slide my hand around her neck and give her a fond squeeze. “Look at me, Stacia,” I say firmly, but with no command or bark in my tone. Her eyes meet mine once more. “I love that you three had some quality time together tonight. Sincerely. There’s plenty of time for all of us to get to know each other. I am looking forward to my time alone with you.” Her features relax, but I still look at every part of her face for any discomfort. I only see blissful relief. The freckles that stretch across her nose from each cheek lure me in. I want to count each and every one.
“Besides,” I continue, “the more pleasure you get from the pack, the happier I am. I can guarantee you that. Did my brothers give you enough pleasure tonight?”
Her nod is bashful, a beautiful pink spreading across those very freckles.
“Are we feeling shy, Omega?” I whisper. She gasps slightly before her gaze looks upon my lips.
“No, just nervous,” she says just above a whisper. “And excited, of course.”
The declaration hits me in the chest. I squeeze the nape of her neck again before speaking once more. “Can I scent mark you, Stacia? I won’t see you for a while, and my alpha would prefer if you had my scent as well as my brothers.”
Her pupils dilate with interest as her hand bunches in my shirt. “Please do.”
I put my cheek to hers and softly mingle our scents together. The allure never made much sense to me before, but now it’s all I can think about in her presence. Our scents become more than acquainted with each other.
My alpha would much prefer to be drenched in it, but he subsides at the small notion, letting me slide my lips down to her neck and giving her a peck for reassurance. Stacia lets out a soft sound, rubbing her own face against my cheek to scent mark me back.
It’s everything I could ever want.
“I’m going to back away now so you can go inside and get some rest. I promise one of us will reach out to you soon. Or you can reach out to us.Anytime, okay?”
I feel her nod against my skin. Against my better judgement, I pull back and press the same peck I gave her neck to her lips before backing away. Her appeased beam gives me butterflies.
“Goodnight, Atlas,” she says as her eyes follow my movement.
“Goodnight, Stacia.”
The drive home is bittersweet. The guys tell me about their night, purposefully leaving out any vulnerable details that I’ll come to experience with our omega myself. Their glee makes me smile, makes me think of the brighter future ahead. One withlove for all of us. It’s a glorious thought, and now it’s a genuine possibility if the longing I saw in Stacia’s eyes were anything to go off of.
And it has my alpha purring in my chest all the way home.
TWENTY
Writing is, as most readers know, a subjective art.
And my work is, subjectively, a piece of shit.
My laptop is open and shows my half written assignment: a short story about personifying an inanimate object. With the amount of times I’ve reread it, you’d think it was a better piece of literature, but the edits just keep making it worse. I’m at my wit’s end.
My omega stirs at the idea of seeing her scent matches, and it sparks an idea. Maybe I’m not enjoying my own story because it’s not what Ilove, which is and always will be romance.
