For some reason, I wanted to do just that.
“This is a pack house,” Lucien explained, his voice curiously soft, and when he looked my way, there was something vulnerable in those usually intense eyes. “It’d be the place we’d stay in, even if things weren’t progressing relationship wise, but…”
He lifted my bag and set it on the bed, as if claiming it for me.
“We’d never let a personal assistant sleep in here.”
Lucien stared, willing me to understand, then explaining further when I didn’t say anything.
“This is a pack bedroom. An omega takes control of it, sleeping here when he or she isn’t experiencing a heat.” His body swung as he took one slow step, then another towards me. “The omega rules here, in the bedroom, in our lives, in our hearts.” When he came close, he reached out, placing a hand on my shoulder and then smoothing it down my arm, smiling when I shivered at the sensation that came with it. “She decides who comes in here and who doesn’t. To sleep. To hold her close. To breathe her sighs in as she sleeps.” A finger went to my chin, tipping my head back. “And to worship every damn inch of her body, when she’s ready for that. I have something for you.”
I blinked, as the last sentence took a little time to bleed through.
“What?”
“Nothing fancy.” His lips twisted as he seemed to realise that wasn’t a great way to start. “I had a feeling you wouldn’t accept an expensive gift, not yet.” He shook his head ruefully. “It’s a practical thing. I’m not…great at romantic gestures.”
I snorted at that, remembering his performance at the restaurant.
“Perhaps you should just show me?” I suggested. “I feel like I need to put you out of your misery.”
He nodded before taking off the carryon bag that was slung across his body and unzipping it, then he pulled out a crackling plastic bag and handed it over.
I frowned as I took a look at it. There on the side was the logo of one of the high-end stores that actually catered to plus sizes, but that wasn’t what made me frown. Buying clothes for someone? It seemed like a fraught thing anyway. Clothes were such a personal thing, and what if you didn’t like…
My mind stuttered as I pulled the set out. The first impression I got was of softness. Buttery soft cotton Lycra felt like heaven on my fingertips, slipping over them, letting me know how comfortable this would be, but then I unfolded each garment.
“I can’t wear this.”
That was a shitty response, one I regretted later. No ‘thank you, Lucien,’ nothing. I was looking at a pair of shorts that seemed to be in my size, made from pleats of the Lycra that would stretch and move with you as you did and be a damn dream for me to wear.
At home, away from every other person, where no one could see me wearing such high cut shorts.
“Why not?”
He’d moved now, as they often seemed to do, taking position behind me, his body looming over mine.
“They’re very short—”
“I know. There’s a reason for that.”
“The hoodie could work,” I said, holding out the top. It was soft and slouchy, but made from a stretchy, breathable cotton, not fleece.
“It could all work, Sage.” He drew me closer and reached out for the shorts, holding them against my body. “These were specially designed by plus size omegas, for plus size omegas. The fabrics are supposed to be soft and soothing against your skin.”
They would be. My fingers moved, rubbing the garment between them longingly.
“The top is designed to be loose and drape over your body so you can walk around the house without a bra.”
“I can’t—”
“Your body is going to grow more sensitive, Sage. It’ll get to the point where you can’t bear much touching you. These were rigorously tested to help an omega through her transition and stop her going mad from harsh fibres rubbing against her skin.”
As if to illustrate that point, his hands moved to rub over my shoulders, making me more aware of the crisp texture of my shirt.
“And the shorts are cut like this for a reason.” He pushed a hand up under the leg opening, making clear how easily he would be able to access…all of me. “You’ll need tending a lot as this keeps going. You’ll be able to keep working on the project, but you’ll need to do most of it here, from the house. We’ll focus on whatever it is you want us on, but at least half of the time, we’ll need to be looking after you.”
Suddenly, his large hand flexing from within the shorts took on a whole other meaning, one that sent a flush of heat through me.