Overnight••√•• a foreign omega”

chapitre : 9

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The relationship between Smith and Day had transformed. It was no longer just that sweet discovery, that courtesy tinged with Smith's wonder. It had become something more tangible, more carnal, a magnetic force that drew them to each other with ever-increasing intensity.

Understanding their Alpha and Omega natures had not created distance; on the contrary, it had put a name to the instinctive symphony playing between them. Smith was learning to recognize how his body reacted in Day's presence: a heat that ignited deep in his belly and spread like wildfire, a hyper-awareness of the other's body, a heightened sensitivity to his scent, which had become the very aroma of comfort and desire.

Day, for his part, was learning restraint. His Alpha instinct whispered to him to protect, to claim, to care for. But his love for Smith dictated patience and respect. He could sense Smith's micro-emotions, that slight tremor in his scent when he was anxious, that softer, almost milky note when he felt perfectly safe. He was learning to respond to these non-verbal signals with the delicacy of a surgeon.

A simple kiss was indeed no longer enough. What had begun with timid brushes, soft and exploratory kisses, had evolved into a more ardent, more voracious intimacy. Their moments alone, on the living room sofa or in the car after an evening out, had become burning explorations.

Smith often found himself pressed against the car door, Day's hands framing his face, their mouths clashing in a kiss that was so much more than a kiss. It was a conversation, an affirmation, a shared hunger. Their tongues intertwined, breaths grew ragged, and hands, once well-behaved, began to roam over bolder territories. Smith's fingers dug into Day's broad shoulders, clutching the fabric of his coat like a lifeline, while Day's palms traced burning paths along his back, lingering at the base of his spine, provoking uncontrollable shivers.

They allowed themselves "heavy petting sessions," as Smith thought of it with a mix of shame and excitement. Deep, noisy, messy kisses that left their lips swollen and their reason vanished. Hands that wandered under sweaters, seeking the warmth of skin. Hips that sought each other, pressed together, in an archaic and instinctive dance that stole their breath.

In the living room, one afternoon when the house was empty, Smith found himself lying on the sofa, Day above him, the weight of his body a delicious prison. Their kisses had become so deep, so possessive, that the air around them seemed charged with static electricity. Day's hand had slipped under his t-shirt, and the contact of his calloused palm against the sensitive skin of Smith's stomach tore a muffled moan from his throat. It was a sound he didn't recognize in himself, husky, full of a need that overwhelmed him.

"Day..." he gasped, breaking the kiss, his forehead against his fiancé's.

"I know," Day murmured, his voice rough, laden with a tension that vibrated through his entire body. "Me too, Smith. Me too."

They looked at each other, pupils dilated, breath short. The desire was there, palpable, heavy like a storm about to break. Day's primal instinct, the Alpha's call, urged him to go further, to mark, to consummate this union that their entire beings craved. And Smith's body, the Omega, responded to this call with an ardent and willing submission, a total offering of himself.

But in Day's eyes, Smith didn't see only desire. He saw love. A love so deep that it preferred frustration to regret, patience to haste.

"We... we should wait," Smith whispered, not out of duty, but from a desire for perfection. "I want it to be perfect. After the wedding. In our own home."

A low growl escaped Day, a purely Alpha sound, born from the struggle between his instinct and his devotion. He buried his face in Smith's neck, inhaling his scent, which had deepened with spicy, musky notes—the scent of an Omega's desire for his Alpha.

"You're right," he murmured against his skin, making Smith shiver. "It's a promise we made to each other. I want to honor you, not just possess you."

Those words, "honor you," melted Smith more surely than any kiss. They separated, slowly, with difficulty, their bodies protesting but their hearts in agreement. Getting up was an ordeal. Their mutual restraint was not a sterile frustration; it was an act of love in itself. It was the meticulous construction of something sacred.

This palpable tension became the soundtrack to their interactions. A gaze that lingered a little too long, a hand that brushed a waist in passing, a knowing smile that spoke volumes about shared thoughts. Their friends and family sensed this new energy, this magnetic intimacy that made them even more inseparable.

One evening, while talking with Nam and Julien, Day simply placed his hand on the nape of Smith's neck, a gesture both possessive and protective. The warmth of his touch sent a surge of well-being through Smith's entire body, making him instinctively snuggle closer. Julien smiled, perfectly understanding the silent language passing between them.

Waiting was not a punishment. It was the most beautiful anticipation. Every stolen kiss, every fiery embrace, every night spent wrestling with desire was another stone added to the foundation of their future together. They knew that when they finally crossed that threshold, it would not be an act of consumption, but a consecration. The fusion of two beings who had chosen each other, not merely out of desire, but out of respect, patience, and a love that had learned to feed on the promise of tomorrow.