Page 39 of Unlikely Omega

Because in yet another flash of lightning, I see him pull off his robe and oh ye spirits and messengers of the gods, he’s even more beautiful than I’d imagined. More muscular. His chest is pale sculpted marble, his arms works of art, his legs powerful in his soaked undergarments, and with the white cotton going practically transparent when wet, I almost get a chance to see more, almost…

The dark covers us again and I hear rustling as he lays down his robe beside mine. His hand closes around my wrist suddenly, making me yip, and pulls me down. Okay, truth is I’m not completely naked with him—I’m still wearing my wet undergarments, too, but as I lay on my side, my head resting on his strong shoulder, one of his arms around me, I feel every inch where our bodies press together. My nose is practically shoved against his bare skin and his chest is bare, because men don’t wear a full undergarment under their robes, like women do, obviously.

I shudder as almonds and leather and male musk hem me in, invade my senses and twist my insides into a tangled knot of need.

The cave melts away, the thunder and pelting rain outside fading. His hair tickles my forehead, softer than I’d expected, his slow breathing a counter beat to my pounding heart. His skin is cold but I have a fire raging inside of me, seeping into my skin as I press myself to him and slide one leg over his thigh.

“Ariadne,” he says, a question in his voice—or maybe it’s alarm, hard to tell.

So hard.

He is so hard, as I discover when I slide my hand down his muscular chest and stomach to the bulge between his legs.

“No,” he snaps, grabbing my hand and moving it up to his chest. “No, acolyte.”

I swallow hard, tears prickling the backs of my eyes. “Finn…”

“This must be part of your awakening,” he says and I wish I could see his face. “I won’t take advantage of you like this. It will pass.”

“It’s not passing!”

“Take deep breaths,” he says. “In and out. Think of something neutral but comforting, like your bed at the convent, or your family.”

“I don’t have a family,” I grind out but can’t complain much when he pulls me against him harder, his muscular arms anchoring me.

He feels so good against me. Perfect. And I want to touch him, explore his body, feel every hard ridge, uncover the hard length trapped in his undergarments, play with it.

Have it slide against me, maybe between my legs, where I ache so much, and—

“Deep breaths,” he says again, still infuriatingly calm and composed as I almost fall apart. His hand presses my hand to his chest. His heartbeat pounds against my palm and I’m gratified to find that it’s not as slow and measured anymore. “We can’t do this.”

Only I get into situations like this, right?

“Please, Finn,” I whisper, “I feel like I’m going to die, I can’t stop this. Please, help.”

“Fuck,” he breathes, his heartbeat jumping under my hand, “this is a bad idea, my vows—”

“Screw your vows,” I mutter, annoyed, “you’re the one who got us undressed—”

“We have to share heat! Everyone knows this.” He tries to move away from me but his arms are still around me. What is he doing?

“Let me…” I wiggle, trying to turn onto my back and elbow him in the ribs in the process.

“Fuck, ow fuck,” he hisses and sits up, hunching over, a hand pressed to his side. “Briareus’ balls, woman.”

“I didn’t elbow you all that hard,” I say, startled. That’s when the smell hits me, a familiar one, coppery and sickly sweet. “You’re bleeding?”

“It’s nothing,” he says.

“Finn! You didn’t say you were hurt. It’s from when they beat you up, isn’t it? How bad is it? Let me see.”

“Just a cut, nothing you can do about it,” he mutters. And then, “Only you do that.”

“What do you mean? Do what?”

“Call me that.”

“Call you what? Finn?”

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