Page 25 of Carmichael's Omega

"We're not mates," I protest, knowing what's coming next even though Dylan has already told me.

"Matt," Dylan's voice is filled with false sympathy. It makes my wolf's lip curl up. "You'll be rejected, baby. You're a weak wolf and gay. Who would mate you?"

"I haven't even met my mate," I tell him quietly.

"Let me be with you," he moves closer, touching me. My wolf snarls, huddling into a ball, lip curled up to reveal the fangs he'll never use. It's a show of force from an omega wolf. Useless.

"Let me help you, Matt." He presses the bottle into my hands. "Drink up, relax. We won't do anything you don't want to do."

I bring the bottle up to my lips. Dylan's words burn. It's a deep-rooted fear, maybe in every wolf, that their mate will reject them. Even the hint of rejection can cause a wolf to spin out of control.

I have to face facts. Dylan's probably right. There's a real good chance my mate won't want me. I gulp some more of the dark beer down. It doesn't taste that bad. "Were you rejected?" I ask him.

He puts his hand on my back and steers me back down the hallway, away from the party. "Yeah," he says quietly.

"I'm sorry, Dylan," I murmur. I take another sip.

He kisses my hair. "It's fine." He starts to steer me towards a bed in the corner. I balk when I see it. "Just lay down with me, Matt. Please?" Dylan pushes again, and I go. The corners of the bedroom are dimming.

How did we get to a bedroom?

"Whose bed is this?" I mumble.

"It's mine, baby."

It does smell like Dylan. Interested suddenly, I look around. His room is relatively sparse and small. There's a stack of books in the corner. The emblem of the Alpha-Upsilons hangs over the bed. How didn't I know that this frat was Dylan's? I would have never come to this party otherwise.

"Let me take your shoes off, Matt." Dylan pushes me down on the bed. The room swims a little, and I shut my eyes. I feel him take off my shoes; then his hands go to the snap of my jeans. I sit up, protesting.

"Shh, I just want you comfortable. Spend the night with me? We'll just hold each other a little."

I lay back down, feeling a little nauseous. "Did you drug me?" I whisper, dreading his answer.

He chuckles that terrible, mean laugh in my ear. "You're just a lightweight, baby. Speaking of, let me take that." He takes the bottle from my weak grasp. I close my eyes. I hear him moving around, the rasp of clothing. My jeans are taken off.

"Not my boxers," I mutter.

"Of course not," he murmurs. He crawls into bed with me and spoons me. I can feel his bare skin against my back. It's terrible and wonderful all at once. I'm starving to be touched, even by this male.

Dylan just holds me for a long while. The sounds of the party downstairs fade a little. I'm beat from the stress and loneliness of the last couple of weeks.

His hand slips down into my boxers. I wake up and start to move away. Dylan grasps me tight, shushing my protest again. "Just a little stroking, Matt, until you fall asleep," he murmurs. He's hard, nestled against my butt cheeks. I can feel the heat of him through my boxers.

"You a virgin, Matt?"

"Yeah," I rasp out. I need to get out of here. What was I thinking coming into this room with Dylan, of all people? "Where's my phone?"

"In your jeans, baby. Relax." His hand strokes me. I'm hard. Looking down, I get caught in the fascination of another male's hand on me. "You like this, baby?"

"Yeah," I reply, reluctant. My hips start to move, to flex in time with his stroking.

"Faster? Harder?" he murmurs. He's moving his hips, too, rubbing himself up and down my crack.

"Stop," I protest. I try to pull away again.

Dylan growls, snarling in my ear. "Damnit, Matt!" I'm flipping on my belly a minute later. My shouts are muffled into the bedspread as Dylan wrestles my boxers down.

"Fuck, you're sexy," he grunts.

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