Oxford Heat: A soft and steamy non-shifter omegaverse romance

by Hannah Haze

"You done this before?" he barks, his eyes still locked on her groin.

  "No. Not like this." She's slept with other men. But it hadn't been like this. They hadn't smelt like this. They hadn't made her feel like this; weak at the knees and needy.

  "But you want to?" he asks, one eyebrow creeping up his brow.

  "Yes," she says, surprised by her certainty, her determination.

  A spike of pain sears through her gut, and she clutches for the wall, slick sliding into the crotch of her knickers, filling the air with her tangy scent.

  "Alpha!" she moans and he is on her, his hands gripping her arse, lifting her off her feet, his wet mouth on her neck; his tongue and his teeth grazing at her gland.

  Nobody's touched her there before — her mating gland. Nobody's violated her like that. It's not somewhere you touch without permission. Trust Noah to break the rules. Trust her not to care. He doesn't pierce skin — it's not a claiming bite, one which would bind them together for life. He skirts around the edges of the boundaries, like he always does.

  "Where's the bedroom?" he growls into her neck but they don't make it that far, because instead he presses her against the wall, ripping at her jeans and her underwear, and forcing them down her thighs, tugging himself free and plunging inside. He is big and the stretch has her sucking in breath through her teeth as he pushes further and further, gorging her.

  As soon as he bottoms out, he pounds , not pausing for breath, keen, it seems, to pump her full of his seed as soon as possible. She wraps her legs around him, digging her nails into his shoulder, hissing in his ear like a snake, hating that he feels this good, cursing that it is him, wishing her body didn't love every moment, her back crashing into the wall with every violent thrust, his hands like vice, his body giving her everything it has.

  She is so wet, so ready, so primed, that she dips easily over the edge, her frame shaking as her cunt quivers, and her orgasm crashes through her; the waves of pleasure sweeping away all thought.

  He leans back to watch, his own release hitting, warm liquid flooding inside her as his tight jaw relaxes and his eyes soften.

  "Omega," he whispers, grinding into her with every fresh shot and resting his damp forehead on her shoulder as he pants to catch breath.

  Then he walks them through to her bedroom, lying them both carefully on the bed, unmade from the morning; dirty washing and mugs scattered about the place and the curtains still drawn.

  That's when it hits.

  Fuck! What has she done?

  This is why there'd been so many lectures during Omega sex education lessons, drilling home the need to plan a heat ahead, for Omegas to make their decisions while they still have their senses. Once in the throes of a heat, Omega's emotions and sexual desires take over, and Omega and Alpha sex isn't an average hook-up. An Omega can't grab their stuff and make a run for it if things don't work out, because the guy turns out to be an idiot or the sex crap.

  No, he's in rut now, hard and coming again and again, which, if an Omega happens to be fucking their mate-for-life is pretty romantic, but if it is the man they loath, if the man is Noah fucking Wood, it is excruciating and embarrassing. And judging by his hardness, he’ll be here fucking her for some time.

  He stretches out, one arm flopping possessively over her waist; his eyes, back to their caramel brown now his pupils have shrunk, peering at her.

  At least there are two advantages of being trapped here. Noah has always smelled mouth-watering, up close he smells even better, up close and in the middle of a rut he smells so good she doesn't possess the words to describe it. And he looks as good as he smells. Beautiful. His pale skin contrasting to his thick black hair, his lips full and red. A masculine Snow White.

  But what does all that matter? His scent and his good looks are tainted. A dangerous taint that could infect her too. As delicious as he looks and smells, lying here with him makes her sick to the stomach.

  The first time she laid eyes on him was in the lecture hall. The lecturer had asked for opinions and she'd given hers readily, happy to be somewhere where people cared about her thoughts and ideas. Then the lecturer had pointed to some boy at the back of the hall. She'd swivelled around in her seat to spot him. Tall and dark, so clearly an Alpha, sprawled out on his chair like he didn't give a shit. It was hard to miss him, huge and dominant, his scent seeming to fill even the huge cavernous space of the lecture hall.

  After a pause, he'd tossed out some snarky comment and the other guys around him had sniggered, sneering down at her like she was a piece of meat, and the professor had frowned and quickly moved on. But she'd stayed glaring at him until his smiling gaze left his friends and swept across the hall, finally finding hers. His smile had melted into something else and it was in that moment she knew she hated him.

  Luckily, he stopped going to lectures ages ago, and when she bumps into him outside class, he avoids her completely, refusing to meet her eye, his scent strong with something she wonders is disgust.

  Because she's not like him — privileged and wealthy. And it seems to bother Noah Wood a lot.

  How could she let this happen? And now she’ll be forced to endure a trip to the sexual health clinic.

  Happy Christmas, Cora!

  At least she's on birth control, not that that is entirely foolproof when an Omega and Alpha are sharing a heat. She'll need to take a pregnancy test as well as one for STDs.

  His face is still. He doesn't seem troubled by trivial things such as thoughts. She doubts Noah ever worries. What would someone with the odds stacked so overwhelming in their favour have to worry them?

  He drags his tongue along his lip and she wonders if he is bored now the sex is over.

  "Why are you still here at uni? Why haven't you gone home for Christmas?" he asks.

  "I could ask you the same thing."

  He sighs and then blows at the strands of hair that have fallen into his face. "My parents have buggered off on some tour around America. I didn't want to go."

  "Why not?"

  "I've been on enough of those types of trips already. They're fucking dull — being dragged from one place to another with nothing to do."

  "Hmmm." She isn't convinced; dragged around America, rubbing shoulders with influential people, seeing amazing places, sounds the opposite of dull. "You haven't got brothers, sisters, friends to go see?"

  "I have a brother. He’s in the States too. He lives there." A shadow passes over his features.

  "There’s only two of you?" Most Alphas and Omegas she knows come from big families. Being an only child like herself is a rarity.

  "Yes, just the two of us." He shifts on the bed. "I'm going to my grandparents. But my grandad is a miserable old git who will spend the entire time lecturing me. I'm not going until I have to." He rubs his thumb over the ridge of her hip bone. Back and forth, gently. "How about you?"

  "This is my home so…." She shrugs, and he cocks his head. "I'm too old for foster parents now."

  His thumb halts and his eyes search her face. It feels invasive and she averts her own eyes, watching instead the rhythmic expansion of his rib cage.

  "And your friends didn't invite you home for Christmas?"

  "Well, Rose’s flown back to Chicago, and there's no way I could afford the airfare."

  He nods. "And the others?"

  "Zach's Muslim. He doesn’t celebrate Christmas." She shrugs again. "And anyway, I'm not bothered. Christmas is—" She pulls a face.

  He laughs. "Yeah, it is."

  She doesn't think he believes that. How could you when you have a family to spend it with?

  "But why were you at the library alone like that, Omega?" he asks, searching her face a second time as if she is an unusually tricky puzzle he is debating how to solve. "It was fucking dangerous."

  Wow, what a surprise, victim blaming.

  "Why? Because I might bump into some deranged Alpha?" she jerks her chin at him, "like you."

  "Are you complaining? You didn't seem to care about me being
here five minutes ago when I was making you come."

  "Ha!" She snorts.

  "You liked it," he growls, gripping her waist.

  She swallows. There's no point denying it. He would spot the lie in her eyes.

  "Why did you follow an Omega on her own, then?"

  "You wanted me to, I could read it in your scent."

  She drops her gaze from his, her cheeks warming with the truth of it. "You chased me!"

  "You let me in."

  She scowls at him. "And now I need to get tested. Thanks for that."

  His shoulders tense. "Fuck, aren't you on birth control?"

  "Shouldn't you have asked me that earlier?" She shakes her head. "Of course I am."

  "And I don’t have any STDs," he snaps.

  "Yeah, sorry if I don't take your word for it."

  "Hmmm, in that case, perhaps I better get tested too then."

  "I don’t have anything."

  He smirks at her, one eyebrow raised as if he's won a point from her in some game. "And how—"

  "I haven't been with anyone since I broke up with my boyfriend six months ago and I got tested straight after."

  His eyes widen. "But you must have—"

  "Had a heat since then? Yes, but I had them alone."

  "Why the fuck would you do that? A heat on your own would be—"

  "Miserable. But better than being with some arsehole Alpha."

  His lips curl. "And how's that plan working out for you?"

  She frowns, a deep crease forming between her eyebrows, her eyes narrowing. She doesn't like to lose an argument, not with someone like him. His cock is still buried inside her so she contracts her pelvic floor, squeezing him tightly, thinking she'll cause him some pain but finding the opposite.

  "Ahhh," he groans, tipping his chin and closing his eyes. "Fuck, you feel so good."

  Yes, she likes that too. Enjoys having him at her mercy. She squeezes him a second time, his hardness rubbing along her walls, knocking over a point that makes her gasp. She does it repeatedly, her eyes drifting shut as the head of his cock knocks into the spot and blots out all else.

  "You want more?" he says and her eyes spring open at his voice. "You want more of me?"

  "You know I do," she stutters.

  He rolls her onto her back, clamping her hands above her head and trailing his gaze over her face, forcing her to wait. Then he climbs above her, thrusting himself downwards, and her eyelids flutter shut again as she dissolves into the sensation.

  When she opens her eyes to peer up at him, there's another grin spreading across his face. She grinds her teeth and clenches, quick fire pulses designed to stir him up, and he grips her and rolls his hips, slowly, tantalising. She’s going to make him suffer, to take him right to the edge of his orgasm and then leave him there suspended. But she doesn’t have the control, her body succumbs to his, his pace winding up, his drives powerful, his hands sliding underneath her to grasp at her backside and bury himself ever deeper. The smug look on his face morphs to concentration, his brow furrowing and his hair dampening with his sweat.

  If the first time was a quick, hard fuck — this is something different altogether. This time he seems to want to make it last, to draw it out, to watch as he stirs her up, the tension in her cunt and in her pelvis building gradually and gradually, strengthening and strengthening until her whole body is tight as an elastic band, and the pressure rings in her ears. Her teeth grip together, her fingers struggle for purchase in the sheets, and her vision swims with tears.

  And then she releases. Like water bursting through a dam, her body falls lax, her spine arches and pure bliss pours outwards from her core to the tips of her fingers and the ends of her toes.

  He doesn't let up. He wants to make her come again, his thumb finding its way to work at her clit, triggering another orgasm and then another, until finally he comes too, filling her belly with spunk, then collapsing heavily onto her chest, sweaty and boneless. He lies there panting for several minutes and the crush of him is both immense and welcome and her nerves seem to sing with the afterglow of her climax, her reality both heightened and dreamlike.

  He inhales deeply, once, twice, catching his breath and then he stirs, sweeping her damp hair from her neck, kissing her there and wrapping his arms securely around her as if he's determined not to let her go.

  "You're an angry little Omega," he chuckles as she drifts into sleep, the tiredness of her body overtaking her mind.

  ◆◆◆

  Much later in the night she wakes to find her mouth parched dry and her stomach cramping. He is still there, lying sprawled out on his stomach, his limbs spread wide like he owns the bed. Of course, he won't leave now until her heat is over. Why would he?

  His scent hangs in the room too, thick and heavy, stamping his mark on her and her nest. She huffs and clambers to her feet, her legs shaky and her body boiling hot. Stripping off her vest, she hobbles to the kitchen, come streaming down her thighs. The sink is stacked full of dirty dishes, without Rose to nag her she hasn't bothered to wash up, and there is a growing line of empty wine bottles. Standing on her tiptoes, she reaches up for a glass and runs the water until it is ice cold, then gulps down several mouthfuls, aware of him moving in the bedroom and stalking down the hallway. This time, there’s no request for permission. He twines his arms around her belly and nuzzles into her neck.

  "I would have got that for you."

  "I'm perfectly capable of getting myself a glass of water."

  "Yeah, but I don't want you leaving that bed." His hard cock nudges against the cheeks of her backside. "Hmmm you taste amazing," he says, his tongue finding her gland.

  She leans her head forward, away from his mouth. "Don't do that."

  "You liked it earlier," he whispers, chasing her neck, clamping his mouth on her gland, sucking so hard her knees buckle. "You like it now too, don't you?"

  "Yes," she stutters, dropping her glass in the sink and gripping the countertop.

  "Back to bed, Omega." He slaps her arse and moves aside, waiting for her to pass by.

  She staggers, and he scoops her up as if she weighs nothing at all, carrying her back down the hallway.

  The pain in her stomach flares and she scrunches up her eyes. "Make it stop," she whispers.

  He stares down at her, halting at the edge of the bed and flinging her across the mattress, her legs trailing over the edge. "I'm going to take care of you, Omega, until this is over. Anything you need, I'm going to give you. And right now you need me."

  She wants to make some snarky reply, but it will only delay him, and what she wants more, like he said, is him inside her, her slick already leaking into the sheet. He looks magnificent towering over her. There is no other word that gives him justice. His body is all tightly packed muscle, the ridges pulling taut against his skin, a strength radiating from him, a power that makes her feel tiny and weak in comparison. He could crush her if he chose to. Instead, he offers up his body, using his strength to pleasure her. She wonders if this is what it is like to be worshipped.

  Clasping her hips, and angling her arse upwards so he can line himself up, he plunges in, hitting the spot that has her pain exploding into pleasure.

  The frame of the bed shakes violently with every thrust, his fingers creeping around to discover her clit as he sends her into a frenzy of frustration. She needs her release desperately, chasing her orgasm with clenched teeth and tensed shoulders, fisting at the sheets, but not wanting him to play her so easily, wishing her body would understand this man is bad news.

  But it's futile. His body seems designed to fit hers, to hit all the right places, to perceive just what she needs and how. The ecstasy smashing through her blows away her thoughts and her reservations.

  "Harder," she moans, surprising herself by how much she longs to be pulverised, surrendering to him, no longer holding back, opening her legs as wide as she can and allowing him to fuck her completely.

  When he’s finished, they don't speak, and
he rolls them onto their sides, his hand trailing up and down the curves of her hip, the scoop of her waist and the swell of her breast. His touch is faint, and the sensation lulls her back into sleep.

  ◆◆◆

  Later she wakes, and the sky is light with the dull December day, the patter of rain audible at the window, and, to her surprise, a collection of snacks are piled on the nightstand along with a jug of water. The pain and the need rumble in her gut and she moans. Noah stirs, seeming to sense she’s awake and needing him. He says nothing, just drags her back against his body, gliding his hardness along the cheeks of her arse until he finds her entrance and slides inside.

  What is this? The seventh, eighth time? She’d lost count as the night had morphed into day and then back to night, the memory of it a mix of heat and fever, fucking and coming, pleasure and pain. The bed is a mess of soiled sheets, pulled from the mattress, hanging off the frame, and the room stinks of what they’ve done.

  He’s had her over and over, and yet even now as he drives his way into her, she’s still taken aback by the sensation. How big he feels, how far he stretches her open, making room for himself, reaching deeper within her than anyone ever has. It whips her breath away every time, and though she hates him, hates him with every passing moment they are together, she knows she would happily, gratefully, do this with him again and again. Just for this alone.

  Like her, he’s clearly exhausted, and he fucks her sleepily this time, as he laps at her neck, his hands cupping her breasts, squeezing them and rolling her hardened nipples between his fingers. She closes her eyes and drifts away, the orgasm rocking through her dreamily until she hardly knows if she is awake or not.

  Hours must have passed when she wakes with a start the final time. Her heat is withering but the need still aches in her belly and it makes her irritable so she can't help snapping at him when she finds him sitting alongside her, flicking through one of her notebooks.

  "Hey!" she says, lunging at the book. He snatches it out of her reach. "That's mine, and it's private." She can't quite remember what she has in that notebook, probably a few doodles, the odd sketch, and maybe an observation or a poem. But it is private, somewhere she captures her ideas, and she doesn't want him rifling through them.