The dawn slowly crept over the horizon in shades of pale, sickly grey. Inside the makeshift tent, the air was stagnant, smelling of salt, spent pheromones, and the lingering musk of the Alpha's knot.
Harris woke up first. His body felt heavy, his muscles screaming from the cramped position on the dirt floor.
He felt a weight pressing on his chest from underneath him and looked down to see Kaelo still fast asleep, his dark hair sprawled over the dirt.
The Omega's skin was flushed, and a thin, drying trail of semen was visible on his thigh—a stark, undeniable reminder of their flight to the stars.
The post-nut clarity hit Harris immediately, flattening him with guilt and regret.
He had been so over his head that he really did it. He not only came inside but also knotted him.
He was the head pilot for Cilian Vane. He was a divorced man who prided himself on his discipline. And yet, he had spent the night knotting a local boy he'd known for less than six hours.
