Chapter Eleven
Hale
As I leave the bathroom, Aksel whistles at me like a shameless horndog. I roll my eyes at his playfulness as my inner omega preens at his attention. “My husband looks good.”
It's clearly meant as a joke, but the look in his eyes has my stomach clenching in anticipation. Thank the goddess for heat suppressants; I would be a puddle of need without them. Face down, ass up. Begging for his alpha knot.
I glance down at my body, and I have to admit that yeah, I do look pretty good. A serious workout regimen and a fairly strict diet gave me the muscle I wished for as a scrawny teenager. Add the tattoos covering my pec, shoulder, and back, and I’d give myself a very harsh eight out of ten.
“Aren’t you a lucky kraken,” I shoot back with a wink.
His eyes darkened immediately, a deep blush blooming across his cheeks.
I blush, his rapt attention unnerving in a sensual way I’ve never really experienced before.
I duck my head and dig through my bag, grabbing a plain white t-shirt and gray sweatpants from my duffel.
I change quickly, locker room style. Sweats pulled on under the towel in one smooth motion.
I’m tugging the shirt over my head when someone knocks at the door.
A man in a red polo with the hotel logo and black slacks wheels in a metal cart stacked high with covered dishes. The smell of savory meat makes my mouth water. Aksel tips him generously and shuts the door behind him.
As I lift one lid after another, it dawns on me that Aksel must’ve ordered one of everything on the menu. I glance up at him, eyebrow raised in askance. He shrugs, looking bashful for once.
“I wasn’t sure what you would want.”
I can’t stop the smile tugging at my lips as I choose a steak smothered in onions and a side of asparagus. After a quick look around the small room, I decide fuck it and settle against the headboard. We can be adults about this.
Aksel grabs a couple of bottles of vodka and orange juice from the mini-fridge, mixes us drinks, then chooses a seafood dish for himself and joins me on top of the fluffy white bed.
We eat in comfortable silence. It feels… domestic.
My inner omega preens at that.
When we’re mostly done, Aksel pulls out his phone and scrolls to Nadine’s message. He shifts closer, his thigh pressing against mine as he shows me the list of questions she sent. I immediately regret skipping underwear. My hole is clenching at the close proximity of the attractive alpha.
He clears his throat.
“When did we first meet? When did we fall in love? What are our favorite things about each other?” He frowns. “Seems pretty generic.”
I give him a dry look. “The answers are going to be a hot mess. When did we meet? Fourth grade. Miss Stensil’s class.
You stole my seat by the window and refused to give it back.
When did we fall in love? Never, so that’ll have to be fictional.
Favorite things? Muscles, tattoos, winning personalities?
Riveting stuff. The people are going to love us. ”
I thunk my head back against the headboard and whine as only an omega can.
“Done yet?” he asks, his voice rough.
“We don’t even know what we’re doing,” I pout, sticking out my bottom lip for emphasis. “I hate that we’re
doing interviews about our relationship before we figure shit out. Shouldn’t we be working on the annulment?
His bow creases, gaze sharpening. “I don’t want an annulment.”
I blink. “I don’t get it.” “Get what?”
“The joke.”
“I’m not joking.”
I pause, staring at him with wide eyes. “Why the fuck not?” My voice comes out high and squeaky. I’m not sure if I’m terrified or excited at the prospect of staying married to him.
“My first marriage isn’t supposed to end in divorce,” he says, like it should be obvious.
“If it doesn’t end in divorce, how do you expect to get a second marriage?” I’m no longer able to follow his ridiculous line of thought.
He grins, adorable dimples flashing temptingly. “Widower sounds much better than divorcé. I need time to plan your tragic death.”
“You’re an idiot,” I mutter. “We should tell them we’re getting the annulment. This is Vegas; they have a wedding chapel on every corner. I’m sure they have just as many attorneys giving out annulments like candy.”
“I’m serious. I don’t want to be separated from you, Fylgja.”
My patience abruptly snaps. “What if I don’t want to be married to you?”
“Then I would let the annulment happen, but you don’t want to be apart any more than I do. I know you feel the same way I do. You’re just too damn stubborn to listen to your heart instead of that hard head of yours.”
I stand, dropping my plate onto the cart. “I was drunk. You were drunk.”
“A drunk man’s actions are a sober man’s thoughts.” “Yeah. Okay, Yoda,” I scoff.
He rises slowly, like he has all the time in the world. I watch his hands as he sets his plate down. He’s deliberate and careful in his movements as if he’s choosing his next move. My pulse ticks up traitorously.
He looks at me like he wants to devour me, and my mouth goes dry.
I take a step back before I even realize I’m doing it. Then another. The window presses cool and unyielding into my spine, grounding me just enough to remind me that I should stop this. Call him off. Say something sharp. Defensive. Anything.
Instead, I breathe him in.
He doesn’t touch me. Not yet. But he stands there, close enough that I can feel the heat rolling off his body, close enough that every inhale tastes like him. Alpha. Familiar. Inviting.
My omega stirs in anticipation, stretching toward him like it’s been given, waiting for permission I’ve never given.
“Move,” I say, but it comes out thin and unconvincing.
His gaze drops to my mouth and lingers there. The silence stretches thick and heavy; the only sound is the rush of our breaths as we stare into each other’s eyes. I can feel the weight of his gaze in my gut, coiling tighter and tighter.
“I’m not crowding you,” he murmurs huskily.
It’s infuriating because he’s right. There’s still space between us. Barely, but enough that my body feels the absence of his touch like a missing limb.
I swallow hard.
Then his pheromones hit me properly. Dark and heady, curling low in my belly. The last of my resistance fractures, and I lean forward before my brain can catch up, nose brushing his neck. His breath stutters as I scent his gland.
He’s frozen. Probably scared that I’ll snap out of whatever spell I’m under if he moves. For one suspended second, I think of backing up.
Then he exhales, a soft, broken sound, and the restraint in his posture snaps. He closes the distance fully, bracing his hands on either side of me on the window. Pinning me without actually touching me. Giving me the illusion of a choice.
My inner omega melts, utterly undone by the care he’s showing.
“We wouldn’t have ended up at that chapel if something in you didn’t want it as much as I do,” he says quietly.
I shake my head, but I don’t pull away. I can’t. My hands hover at his sides, unsure whether to push or cling.
“That didn’t mean anything. None of this means anything,” I whisper.
His eyes soften. I’m unable to read the look he’s giving me right now. Not sad exactly. Maybe more tired. “I know you don’t believe that.”
The space between our mouths shrinks by degrees. Inch by agonizing inch. I can feel his breath on my lips now, warm and steady, while mine comes out shaky and uneven. Every nerve in my body lights up, screaming with the need to close that gap.
My mind wants me to snap out of this spell he has me under, but I don’t.
When his lips finally meet mine, it’s not rushed.
Not hungry like I thought it would be when I finally gave in, because let's be honest, I was always going to give in. It’s slow and measured.
Testing the boundary we’re finally crossing while sober.
I make a small, humiliating sound as my body gives in all at once, knees threatening to buckle as heat floods through me.
Only then does he pull back.
“Tell me to stop,” he says fiercely. I can’t.
He must see something in my eyes that gives him the okay because he groans softly and presses closer. I’m already hard, slick leaking between my cheeks despite the large number of suppressants I’d taken earlier.
“We wouldn’t have done this if something in that stubborn head of yours didn’t think we belonged together,” he murmurs. “I’ve always felt a pull toward you. You’ve always fought it. I want you to follow your instincts, not your traumatized mind.”
“Instincts?” My eyes are closed, and I’m pulling on his shirt as I try to snuggle in closer to his warm body. His cinnamon scent surrounds me, lulling me. Drugging me.
His large hands grip my hips, his thumbs dip underneath my cotton shirt, skimming my bare skin. It’s enough to make me dizzy with arousal.
“Yes. Your instincts. Your heart and soul recognize what your brain is refusing to understand. You know, Fylgja,” he breathes, lips brushing the shell of my ear.
“No,” I whine weakly. Neither of us believes me.
Thank the goddess for small deeds.
“We were made for each other, Hale.”
His hands move to cup my face, his pinkies running along the sensitive skin under my jaw. My hips thrust forward of their own volition, earning me a low growl that sends shivers along my spine.
“Is my omega feeling needy?” his voice is rough as his inner alpha fights to maintain control.
I nod, almost feral in my need. I clutch at his shoulders, attempting to climb his large body in the desperate search for more. I wrap a leg around his hips, rubbing against him like a cat in heat.
One hand moves to grab my thigh, holding me steady while the other burrows beneath the waistband of my sweatpants, fingers pressing precisely where I want them. “Do you need me to fill this pretty little hole?”
I shamelessly push back against his long fingers, begging without words for him to put them inside of me. Slick smooths the way for him to slide inside, thrusting two fingers deep. I moan, stars bursting behind my eyes as I ride the intoxicating wave of pleasure that is wreaking havoc on my system.
He mouths at my neck, sucking at my gland while his fingers work me open, finding that spot inside of me with practiced ease. I’m completely undone, rutting against him helplessly.
Then he pulls away.
A gasp leaves my lips as he withdraws his magical fingers from my hole and brings them to his lips, licking them clean with a wicked grin. He strolls back to the bed
casually and sits exactly where he was before. He looks unruffled despite the obvious bulge straining his pants.
“We should probably finish those questions,” he says calmly, patting the bed beside him.
I stare at him, dumbfounded and breathless. My mind was completely wrecked, and my hole fluttering at the need to be filled.
He picks up his phone, focusing on the screen as I gather my wits.
After a long moment, I sit. Heart racing. Body still humming. Head full of fear.
I don’t want this. This marriage. This connection.
…Right?