After Dinner
Alex
Dinner’s done, and the house smells like dish soap, spice and Skyla’s lovely musk drifting faintly through the air vents.
She’s in the bath, chatting with Dakota.
I can hear the splash of water every now and then and laughter.
Every time I think they must be done, I hear Dakota’s voice rise and the sound of a washcloth plunging back into water.
I pace the living room, fingers running along the back of the couch, back and forth.
Back and forth. The TV’s on low, some mindless sitcom nobody’s really watching, it’s noise to fill the space.
Tadeo and Knox are in the kitchen doing dishes.
I should be helping, but Knox told me to sit this one out.
“You did enough today,” he said, his tone clearly telling me to man-up and finally connect with our omega.
I can see the two alphas every time I pace back toward the kitchen—Knox washes, Tadeo dries and stacks, both moving in that unspoken rhythm they have. They look so solid and calm. The kind of alphas who never pace holes in the carpet out of nerves.
I keep thinking about how Skyla looked at dinner.
Even though she smiled and laughed, it felt…
forced. Every one of us felt it, the way she kept trying to act fine.
Knox’s jaw was tight all night. Tadeo tried to keep the mood light.
Dakota overcompensated, as usual. And me?
I kept watching her, hoping I’d catch the moment she started to really breathe again.
The clock ticks. I rub the back of my neck, glance toward the hallway as a fresh wave of nerves slices through me.
What if she’s depressed because I haven’t rutted her?
What if she feels like I’ve already rejected her?
Have I waited too long?
The sound of water circling a drain snaps me out of it. My pulse kicks up immediately, stupid and fast.
I don’t even think before I’m moving, pacing halfway down the hall, then stopping myself at the end like some kind of caged animal. The light from the bathroom spills under the door, flickering across the worn floor.
I tell myself to stay put. Don’t knock. Don’t loom. Don’t scare her.
Fuck, I’m being ridiculous.
I’ve already eaten her sweet pussy and swallowed her soft moans. It shouldn’t be this hard to take that last step.
But the seconds stretch. Every little sound—the movement of feet on tile and the soft scrape of the tub stopper—makes my chest tighter. I shove my hands into my pockets to keep from pounding on the door like an idiot.
She doesn’t need me acting all crazy.
She needs quiet. Space. Safety.
And yet—every cell in me is straining toward that door.
I hear my packmates moving—bare feet, the whisper of fabric against damp skin. Then the faint click of the bathroom light switching off.
The bathroom door opens, steam curling out in soft waves that catch the light from the hall. I straighten instinctively, pulse still hammering, trying not to look like I’ve been standing here like some creep.
Dakota steps out first, towel slung over his bare chest in only a pair of shorts. Skyla follows a beat later, and the air around me settles.
The omega is wearing one of her new nightgowns—long and soft, made from that fancy omega-approved material that catches the light when she moves.
It’s pale blue, almost silvery, the kind of color that looks like moonlight on her skin.
Her cheeks are flushed pink from the bath, hair damp and clinging to her collarbone.
For a heartbeat, all that restless noise in my head… stops. My chest loosens for the first time all day.
I swear omegas are fucking magical.
Dakota notices me first, eyebrows lifting as that familiar wicked grin spreads across his face. “What are you doing, man?”
“Waiting for Skyla,” I say simply, still staring at her beautiful face.
Finally, her eyes meet mine, and her face lights up. She’s still guarded, still carrying that worry behind her smile—but she does look happy to see me.
“Waiting for me?” she asks all bashful. Fuck, she’s so pretty.
“Yeah. I thought it might be nice to watch the sunset together,” I tell her. “There’s a great view in the backyard.”
Her brows lift slightly, surprised, but her lips curve. “I actually haven’t been in the backyard yet,” she says.
I glance at Dakota as he moves toward me, towel still looped around his neck. “You mean to tell me you didn’t think to show her the best part of the house during your grand tour?”
Dakota gives me a slow grin, brushing past close enough to bump my shoulder. “Hey, I was saving something for you to impress her with,” he says, tone smooth as honey.
I snort, shaking my head. “Yeah, I’m sure that was your plan.”
“Damn right,” he says over his shoulder, heading for the hallway. “Just remember, the neighbors live close. Don’t be too loud.”
“Too loud?” Skyla tilts her head, not understanding.
“Come on,” I say, jerking my head toward the living room. “We don’t want to miss it.”
Skyla’s hand slips into mine without hesitation, fingers soft and warm. I lead her through the living room, the evening light spilling gold across the floorboards, our shadows stretching long and close.
I snatch the old quilt off the recliner, then I slide open the back door.
The world outside is bathed in that last wash of sunlight—orange melting into pink, the edges of the sky catching fire.
The backyard’s small, fenced in, but beautiful in that lived-in kind of way.
A thick row of sunflowers crowds the back fence, faces turned toward the fading light.
Two old oak trees anchor the middle, strong and sprawling, with a hammock strung between them like something out of a postcard.
Tiny wildflowers scatter along the edge of the porch, growing through cracks and curling between the steps. Nobody planted them. They just grow.
Skyla steps out barefoot onto the porch, still holding my hand. The light hits her exactly right—soft blue fabric glowing, eyes wide, lips parted in quiet awe.
I watch her breathe it in, her scent mixing with the warm summer air—sweet peony and something that’s solely her.
Yeah. This was worth the wait.
She leans forward a little, eyes catching on something beyond the fence. “You have trees back there,” she says, pointing toward the dark shapes at the edge of the property.
“Yeah,” I say, glancing that way too. “There’s a field past the fence. No houses, no roads, open space.”
Her brows lift. “So…no neighbors?”
“Not out back,” I tell her, smiling. “That’s the perk of the cul-de-sac. You get the illusion of privacy without being completely cut off.”
She hums softly, still looking out at the trees like she’s trying to imagine what it feels like to walk into that wide, quiet field. The sky behind them is streaked with orange and pink, the kind of sunset that makes you forget the rest of the world exists.
The hammock sways when I sit, ropes creaking gently as it adjusts to my weight. I pat the spot in front of me. “Careful. It tips easy.”
Skyla hesitates for only a second before climbing in, her hand still in mine.
The fabric shifts beneath us, rocking until she finds her balance—then she settles back against my chest like she belongs there.
The nightgown whispers against my jeans, cool and soft, her warmth sinking into me through the thin fabric.
“Snuggle in, omega.” I drape the blanket over her. She melts against my chest, letting out a soft hum.
The last rays of sunset catch the edge of her hair, turning it to liquid gold. The light softens everything—the trees, the air, her face tilted up toward mine.
Skyla shifts in the hammock, resting her chin lightly on my chest. “Thank you,” she whispers.
“For what?” My voice comes out rougher than I mean it to.
“For showing me this.” Her eyes lift, catching the fading light. “It’s beautiful.”
I swallow hard. She’s beautiful. And sitting here with her like this—with the smell of warm earth and peonies, the hum of the cicadas, and the gentle sway beneath us—I feel something settle in me I didn’t realize was missing.
“I’m glad you like it,” I manage, my hand coming up to tuck a long strand of hair behind her ear.
She smiles, small and real. The kind that punches right through my ribs.
And something in me…clicks in place. I slide my arm around her waist and pull her a little closer, until her body fits perfectly against mine. She doesn’t resist—if anything, she leans in.
The world goes quiet, except for the soft sound of the hammock ropes and the faint rhythm of her breath against my throat.
I tilt her chin up and kiss her.
It starts soft—gentle—but the moment her lips part under mine, my control slips. My hand comes up, cradling the back of her neck as I deepen the kiss. Every nerve in my body lights up, the kind of heat that burns without hurting.
Skyla makes a small sound against my mouth, something caught between surprise and need, and I feel it like a spark down my spine. I don’t even think—I follow my instinct, pressing closer, devouring the small, gasping breaths she gives me between kisses.
My cock springs to life, rock hard in my pants as her fingers clutch my shirt, pulling me down like she’s drowning and I’m the air she needs. The hammock rocks beneath us, the whole world narrowed down to her taste and her warmth and the way her body fits perfectly against mine.
For a second, I swear I can feel her heartbeat against my ribs. Steady, strong, and completely in sync with mine.
Skyla breaks the kiss first, breathing hard, her forehead resting against mine. For a second, neither of us moves. Then she lets out this small, needy sound—half sigh, half whimper—and shifts in my lap.
The hammock tilts, ropes groaning, and before I can think, she’s straddling me, her knees sinking into the fabric on either side of my hips. The sudden motion sends us rocking to one side, and I grab the edge instinctively, planting my foot against the nearest tree to steady us.
“Sorry,” Skyla mumbles, face burning red.