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

The air was thick, heavy with the scent of musk and sothing sweeter, sothing that made his head spin. His rut had co on like a storm, sudden and unrelenting, and now it consud him entirely. Every breath he took was laced with the oga’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 oga 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 oga’s jawline, his touch rough but reverent. He couldn’t think, couldn’t focus on anything but the way the oga’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 oga shivered, a soft whimper escaping his lips as he nodded, his submission clear in every line of his body.

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

Christian exhaled sharply, almost a groan. He leaned down, nose brushing along the oga’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 sa, maddening truth:

He’s here. He ca back. He’s mine.

His lips found the gland, that sensitive spot just behind the oga’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 oga 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 oga gasp and writhe beneath him. Their hips t 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 sowhere in the fog, a thread of thought pulsed weakly:

’Lucas would’ve said my na 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 oga again—desperate, crushing, hungry—and the oga kissed him back like he was starving.

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

The oga 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 oga in place. He whispered promises he wouldn’t rember and prayers he didn’t believe, chasing the echo of sothing he’d already lost.

The room slled 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 sothing sweeter, oga pheromones, soft and sharp at once, like clover and heat and the mory of sothing 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 oga 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 sothing, 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 sotis after sparring, after drinking too much, or after doing sothing he shouldn’t have done and now couldn’t undo.

He didn’t look at the oga again.

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 ss, still slled 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 oga 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 co 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 ti.

Still a chance.