Please Divorce Me, Alpha! {BL}

I woke up warm. That was the first problem. The second problem was that I was comfortable.

The third problem, which was by far the most horrifying of the three, was that I was comfortable because I was currently wrapped around my husband like a particularly clingy house cat.

For several seconds, I remained blissfully unaware of this fact, drifting somewhere between sleep and consciousness while the soft warmth beneath my cheek rose and fell with slow, steady breaths. There was something solid beneath me, something warm at my back, and a clean scent surrounding me that made my sleepy brain decide everything was perfectly fine...the kind of cold, expensive, faintly addictive scent that somehow managed to feel like safety even when every waking part of me knew better.

My body had apparently decided that nestling closer was an excellent idea, one arm draped possessively, legs tangled without a single protest from the traitor I called my nervous system.

Then consciousness arrived. It did not knock. It kicked the whole fucking door down.

My eyes snapped open. I stared at the pale fabric beneath my cheek. That was not my pillow. My brain performed a rapid inventory of the situation, and with every discovery, my soul climbed further out of my body in search of somewhere quieter to live.

The sheets were too fine, the mattress too yielding, and the heat pressed along my entire front was most definitely not the product of any ordinary blanket.

My face was pressed against Lorenzo’s neck. One of my arms was wrapped around his waist. My legs were tangled with his. His arm was around me, heavy and warm, with his hand resting against the middle of my back beneath the loose shirt I had changed into the night before.

And, because apparently humiliation had decided it wasn’t finished with me yet, I was holding him back. Actually holding him. Like I had spent the entire night plotting ways to escape the man only to wake up hugging him voluntarily!

The scent gland at the side of his throat was right there under my nose, and some traitorous part of me had been breathing him in like oxygen, the cold-clean notes now laced with the faint warmth of sleep and something deeper that made my stomach flip in pure panic.

I slowly closed my eyes again. Perhaps if I pretended I was still asleep, the universe would understand its mistake and reverse time. I counted to three. Nothing happened.

I counted to ten. Still nothing. The arm around me remained steady, the rise and fall of his chest continued at that same unhurried pace, and the only thing that changed was the growing certainty that I was never going to live this down.

"Okay," I thought to myself, barely moving my lips. "Nobody panic."

Unfortunately, I was the nobody.

I carefully tried to move my arm. Lorenzo’s arm tightened around my waist. I froze. The pressure was gentle but unmistakable, a quiet claim that sent a fresh wave of heat crawling up the back of my neck. His breathing remained slow and even.

Fine. He was asleep. That was good. That meant I could escape. Or at least that was the plan my dignity was clinging to with both hands.

I began the delicate process of extracting myself from his arms with the caution of a burglar attempting to steal a diamond from a sleeping dragon.

I moved one inch at a time, slowly lifting my head from his shoulder while trying not to disturb the mattress. The faint scrape of my cheek against his skin felt far too intimate in the quiet morning light filtering through the heavy curtains. I made it approximately three inches before the entire operation collapsed.

Lorenzo’s voice came from directly above me.

"Good morning, love."

I nearly left my body. My head jerked upward so quickly that my forehead almost collided with his chin. His eyes were open. Those emerald eyes were looking down at me with an expression of such calm amusement that I immediately hated him.

The smirk was soft, almost lazy, and the way his gaze lingered on the flush I could already feel climbing my cheeks made the whole situation feel ten times worse. He looked unfairly composed for a man who had just woken up with an Omega plastered against him like a second skin.

"Why are you awake?"

It was the first thing that came out of my mouth. Not good morning. Not excuse me. Not please release me before I die of embarrassment. Why are you awake? The question hung in the air between us while his hand remained warm against my back, fingers resting lightly enough that I could feel every faint shift of his pulse.

Lorenzo’s mouth twitched.

"Because you were attempting to escape again."

"I was not."

"You were."

I stared at him. He stared back. The emerald of his eyes caught the soft morning light and turned it into something almost soft, which was deeply unfair.

"I was stretching."

"At five in the morning?"

"I am an enthusiastic stretcher."

That actually made him smile. I immediately regretted everything. He looked far too pleased with himself, especially considering that I had spent the previous evening informing him that I would rather sleep in a bathtub full of broken glass than share a bed with him.

The smile was slow and deliberate, the kind that suggested he was cataloguing every flustered detail for later use. Apparently, my sleeping body had filed a formal complaint against my waking personality and decided to unionize with Lorenzo instead.

I became aware of another horrifying detail. His hand was still beneath my shirt. Not doing anything, just resting there on my skin. Warm against my back.

The bare touch, no gloves, just skin on skin..msent a jolt of awareness straight through me that had nothing to do with temperature and everything to do with how close we still were.

I swallowed and pointedly looked at it.

"Your hand."

Lorenzo glanced down. Then back at me. The corner of his mouth curved a fraction higher.

"Yes, what about it?"

"Move it, Dracula."

He did, although far too slowly for my dignity. His fingers trailed a deliberate path as they withdrew, the light drag of his fingertips along my spine feeling less like retreat and more like a promise he had no intention of keeping quiet about.

The moment his arm left my waist, I scrambled backward until I was sitting against the headboard, clutching the blanket around myself as though it were body armor.

The sudden loss of that solid heat left a cold patch along my front that I refused to acknowledge as anything other than relief.

I realized that he had not been wearing his gloves as he touched me, that was strange. He’d never touched anyone without those black things...what changed?! The thought circled while he remained lying comfortably on his back, looking completely unbothered. I looked like I had just survived a natural disaster.

My hair was probably a disaster, my shirt was rumpled from where his hand had been, and the residual warmth of his skin still lingered against my own like a brand I could not scrub off.

He tilted his head slightly.

"You came onto me during the night, not my fault."

I gasped, how dare he accuse me of such!

"I did not!"

"You did."

"I absolutely did not."

"You were the one laying on top of me, Alex. Sure you understand that I didn’t come closer to you while you were asleep."

I opened my mouth, then closed it again. Unfortunately, he had logic on his side, which was becoming an increasingly irritating habit of his.

The calm way he delivered each correction only made the flush on my face burn hotter.

"I move when I sleep."

"I noticed."

"I could have been having a nightmare! You know, being married to you and all!"

"You were sleeping rather peacefully in my opinion."

"Perhaps the nightmare was very peaceful."

His eyebrow lifted. I folded my arms. The motion made the blanket slip slightly, and his gaze flicked downward for half a second before returning to my face with that same unhurried amusement.

"Don’t look at me like that."

I grabbed a pillow. He looked at it. I looked at him. Then I slowly lowered it. I was not going to start another war before breakfast. That would be undignified.

Besides, the pillow was expensive. The way he watched the entire aborted threat with quiet satisfaction made me want to throw the entire bedding set at his head, but I settled for glaring instead.

Eventually, Lorenzo got out of bed, and I immediately felt the temperature of the room change. His absence should have been a relief.

Instead, I found myself noticing the empty warmth beside me. I hated that. I hated it so much that I immediately blamed the mattress. The mattress was obviously responsible.

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