[BL]Reborn as the Empire's Most Desired Omega
Chapter 135: I still have a chance.

Chapter 135: Chapter 135: I still have a chance.

The air was thick, heavy with the scent of musk and something sweeter, something that made his head spin. His rut had come on like a storm, sudden and unrelenting, and now it consumed him entirely. Every breath he took was laced with the omega’s scent—honeyed, intoxicating, his. The room felt too small, the walls pressing in as his instincts roared to life. He could feel the heat pooling low in his gut, his body thrumming with a need that was almost painful.

The omega lay beneath him, ash-blonde hair fanned out against the pillow like a halo. His green eyes were hazy, pupils blown wide with desire, and his lips parted as if waiting for a command. The alpha’s hands trembled as they traced the omega’s jawline, his touch rough but reverent. He couldn’t think, couldn’t focus on anything but the way the omega’s body arched toward him, seeking more.

"Mine," the alpha growled, his voice low and guttural. The word wasn’t a question; it was a declaration, a claim that echoed through the room. The omega shivered, a soft whimper escaping his lips as he nodded, his submission clear in every line of his body.

The omega shivered, a soft whimper escaping his lips as he nodded, his submission clear in every line of his body. NovelFire

Christian exhaled sharply, almost a groan. He leaned down, nose brushing along the omega’s neck, drinking in the scent like it could anchor him. But it didn’t. It only made things worse.

His body was on fire—every nerve on edge, every instinct clawing toward the same, maddening truth:

He’s here. He came back. He’s mine.

His lips found the gland, that sensitive spot just behind the omega’s ear. The skin was warm, damp, and inviting. His mouth opened, hot breath against flushed skin, but he paused, barely. A tremor ran through his arm.

"Lucas," he whispered. It cracked as it left his throat. A prayer, a plea, a warning.

The omega beneath him whimpered again. One hand slid up Christian’s chest, nails raking lightly over sweat-slick skin. "Yours," he breathed. "I’m yours."

That broke what little control Christian had left.

He bit, not hard enough to mark, not yet, but enough to make the omega gasp and writhe beneath him. Their hips met in a slow, grinding rhythm, clothes still clinging to sweat-drenched skin, fabric twisted and half-peeled away. The friction sent heat skittering through Christian’s spine and made his vision blur.

His rut was relentless now, dragging him under.

But somewhere in the fog, a thread of thought pulsed weakly:

’Lucas would’ve said my name first.’

’He wouldn’t be this quiet. He wouldn’t submit so easily.’

But that didn’t stop him.

It couldn’t.

Because the scent was too familiar, the sounds too perfect, and the body too willing. Christian kissed the omega again—desperate, crushing, hungry—and the omega kissed him back like he was starving.

"Say it again," Christian rasped, voice frayed.

The omega blinked up at him, lips kiss-bruised, breath uneven. "I’m yours."

And that was enough.

He pushed deeper into the warmth, burying the doubt, the grief, and the faint panic. His hands moved over flushed skin, rough now, anchoring the omega in place. He whispered promises he wouldn’t remember and prayers he didn’t believe, chasing the echo of something he’d already lost.

The room smelled like heat and rut and sweet surrender.

And it would all fall apart by morning.

—

Christian woke slowly, the way people do when their body is sore in ways that aren’t from sleep.

His mouth was dry. His skin stuck uncomfortably to the sheets. The air was still thick with the scent of sex and something sweeter, omega pheromones, soft and sharp at once, like clover and heat and the memory of something that never should’ve happened.

The rut was over.

He knew it before he opened his eyes. The ache had dulled. The fog had cleared. And in its place was the quiet hum of thought, slower than usual, but steady enough to hurt.

He turned his head.

The omega was still there.

Curled up, half-asleep or pretending. Blonde hair tousled and damp, neck peppered with faint bruises. Not marked. Just used. There was a smudge of something, sweat or saliva or last night’s breath, along his jaw. The kind of intimacy that made Christian’s stomach twist for reasons he didn’t want to explore.

He sat up without speaking. His hands trembled faintly, the way they did sometimes after sparring, after drinking too much, or after doing something he shouldn’t have done and now couldn’t undo.

He didn’t look at the omega again. NovelFire

Didn’t ask if he was alright. Or comfortable. Or if he even wanted to be here in the first place.

’He was paid,’ Christian reminded himself. ’He knew what it was.’

That should’ve been the end of it. A transaction. A body. A way to get through the rut without making it worse.

But it didn’t help.

Because it hadn’t been him.

And Christian didn’t want a warm body. He wanted Lucas.

Always had.

He sat on the edge of the bed, hands flexing once against his knees. The sheets behind him were a mess, still smelled like heat, like musk, like skin. But all he could think about was how wrong it had been. How the hair wasn’t quite the right length. How the omega had been too quiet. Too obedient.

Lucas wouldn’t have laid there like a gift.

Lucas would’ve fought him with words sharp enough to bleed, pushed him back even as he let himself be pulled in.

That was the difference.

This man had given in. Lucas never had and that was the interesting part about him.

Christian stood, ignoring the pull in his back and the slow, unpleasant throb of overstimulation. He moved like a man who thought the guilt should’ve come by now, but it hadn’t. Not really.

Because he didn’t feel bad.

Not for the man he paid. Not for the lies he told himself.

Only for the fact that none of it made a difference.

Lucas was still in Saha.

Still married to Trevor.

Still not his.

And that, that, was the part that clawed at his ribs and settled into his throat like a weight he couldn’t swallow.

Jason had sent the last report yesterday. Nothing unusual. Lucas was adjusting. Keeping to himself. Holding court with soft words and colder glances. Untouched.

Unmarked.

Christian’s jaw tightened. That part mattered. More than he’d admit out loud. Lucas hadn’t bonded. Not officially. Not fully. Not yet.

There was still time.

Still a chance.