Chapter 24 Simon #2
“Marissa,” I admit, the name bitter in my mouth. “Polished. Ambitious. We were a match on paper. In reality, we weren’t a match at all. She wanted control. Image. I wanted—” I pause. “Something real.”
Her fingers curl into mine. We lie there, trading pieces of ourselves in whispers until exhaustion pulls at both of us.
She drifts off first, her head on my chest, Pancake’s purr faint against our legs. Eventually, I let myself follow, my last thought a selfish one: that I don’t want to wake up anywhere else.
Morning comes slowly. The light filters through her curtains, soft gold against the pale walls. When she shifts beside me, stretching with a quiet groan, I check her forehead automatically.
Cool.
Her fever’s gone. Relief sweeps through me.
“Morning,” she mumbles, voice low and sweet.
“Morning.” I can’t help the smile tugging at my lips.
Pancake hops off the bed, padding toward the kitchen like nothing ever happened.
“Guess he’s better, too,” she says, sitting up.
“Seems like it.”
I slide out of bed, pulling on my shirt. “Stay here. I’ll make breakfast.”
“You don’t have to—”
“Wren.” I arch a brow. “I’m making breakfast.”
Her lips twitch, but she settles back.
The kitchen’s incomplete but functional. I find eggs, bread, a bit of cheese, and in ten minutes, I have scrambled eggs on toast with tea.
When I carry it in, she’s perched against the headboard, hair mussed, eyes bright.
“Doctor, you spoil me,” she says, taking the plate. “And to be honest, I’m not that hungry.”
I sit on the edge of the bed, watching her eat. “Your body’s still warm,” I say after a moment. “You should lie low for a couple of days. No overexertion. But I think you need to eat something at least, keep your energy up.”
She nods around a bite. “Okay.”
“Promise me.”
“I promise.”
She only manages a couple of bites, but it’s better than nothing. She thanks me again, voice soft. I kiss her hairline. “Of course.”
After breakfast, we carry the dishes down. I notice how carefully she moves, still slower than normal, but better than she was last night.
Upstairs again, she heads for the shower, and I strip her sheets, tossing them into the washer. While the machine hums, I pull out my phone.
First call: Beau. I tell him about the cases of the flu. “Be vigilant. Come in for shots,” I add.
“Fine, fine,” he grumbles. “Don’t worry, Doc.”
Levi’s out of town visiting his sister, so he’s safe for now.
As I hang up, a thought sneaks in uninvited. This is my family now. Not just the men I’d take a bullet for, but her, too. Wren, with her stubborn pride and messy hair and the way she says my name like it matters.
The bathroom door creaks. Steam drifts out. And then she steps into the room.
Wrapped in nothing but a tiny towel.
My throat goes dry.
Her skin glows, droplets clinging to her collarbone. The towel barely covers her thighs, and the swell of her breasts presses against the thin fabric.
“Fuck,” I mutter before I can stop myself.
Her brows lift. “What?”
“You,” I rasp, dragging a hand through my hair. “You’re so fucking sexy I can’t think straight.”
Color blooms on her cheeks. She takes a slow step closer, and I feel my control unravel strand by strand.
“You really think so?” she asks softly.
“Wren,” I growl, “I can barely breathe looking at you. How are you feeling now?”
“Horny.”
Fuck me! All my blood rushes south. “I’m serious.”
Her lips part. “The shower helped. I mean, I’m still horny, but I think we can figure out a way around me not overexerting myself.”
“A demanding Omega. So fucking sexy.”
“You think so?” She closes the distance, eyes flicking to my mouth.
“Uh-huh.”
“Then kiss me.”
I do. Hard, hungry, like I’ve been holding back for weeks.
Her towel loosens under my grip, sliding off her shoulders, and I don’t even try to stop it. My palms skim her damp skin, every curve, every dip.
She gasps, arching into me, and the sound makes my cock throb.
“You take your pill?” I murmur against her mouth.
She nods, breathless.
“Good.”
I lift her, legs instinctively wrapping around me, and carry her to the bed, every step an exercise in restraint. She straddles me, slick and trembling, eyes blazing with a mixture of daring and need.
My hands settle on her hips, firm, possessive, guiding her, but letting her take control. She grinds against me, a rhythm all her own, desperate, wild, testing boundaries we’ve only ever skirted.
“Ride me… sweetheart,” I rasp, voice strained from want.
Her eyes flash, fierce and hungry, and she leans forward, pressing her chest to mine as she sinks. A gasp escapes her lips, high and raw, and I can feel the slick heat enveloping me.
Every movement is cautious, testing, teasing, each roll of her hips sending jolts straight through me.
I wrap my hands around her waist, gripping tight as she starts to move, slow at first, savoring. Her hair brushes my jaw, damp from the shower, the scent of soap and her natural warmth driving me wild.
She bites her lower lip, eyes locked on mine, and the way she leans into me, presses, rocks—it’s like she’s claiming me as much as I’ve claimed her.
Her nails dig into my shoulders with every grind, leaving trails of heat, and the soft, wet sounds she makes—the gasps, the sighs, the little moans that escape when she shifts—are intoxicating. I tilt my head back, groaning, my fingers splayed across her skin.
She quickens, bouncing against me, the friction unbearable, delicious. My hands slide up her sides, under her damp hair, over the smooth plane of her back, clenching her closer.
“God, Wren…” I growl, my teeth scraping her shoulder, feeling the shiver that runs down her spine at the sound of my voice.
She leans down, lips brushing my collarbone, nipping softly, and I arch into her. Her every movement drives me crazier, my cock straining, my pulse hammering in my ears.
She’s entirely in control, yet every instinct of mine screams to dominate, to pull her closer, to claim her fully.
“Harder,” I breathe against her neck, and she obeys, bouncing with more urgency, grinding her hips, digging deeper.
Every thrust, every slick slide, every little gasp—she’s completely consuming me. Her eyes catch mine, burning with fire, and I lose myself in the way she moves, the way she tastes, the way she bends for me.
I lean forward, capturing her mouth with mine, teeth and tongue, and hunger colliding. She moans against me, a sound that twists something raw and possessive inside me.
My hands roam lower, cupping her ass, lifting her slightly as she rides me, feeling the slick press of our bodies together.
Her pace accelerates, breath coming in short, ragged gasps, her hair falling around us like a curtain of heat. I match her, thrusting up, tilting, following her rhythm, feeling every nerve on fire.
Her nails rake my back as she rides me harder, each cry slicing through the room, echoing in my chest.
I grip her hips, leaning up to whisper, “You’re mine… all of you,” and she shivers, biting her lip, gasping my name.
I lose control completely, the tension snapping, and I feel her clutching me tighter, every movement pulling us both toward the edge.
Her cry becomes desperate, sweet, and tearing, and I follow, everything shattering at once—my body, my mind, my need—until we collapse together in a tangle of limbs and heat, hearts racing, breaths mingling, sweat slicking our skin.
I hold her close, fingers tracing the small of her back, forehead pressed to hers. She’s trembling against me, cheeks flushed, eyes bright and wild, and I can’t stop the low chuckle that rumbles through me.
“You feel like fire,” I murmur.
“And you… you feel like home,” she whispers back, voice soft now, ragged, and I press another lingering kiss to her lips, letting the quiet aftermath stretch between us, delicious, full, endless.