Page 48 of The Feral Alpha

“Small but big. I want to be wooed by your feelings.”

George laughed, the sound low and throaty. “All right.”

They turned off the highway and took a side road, then a dirt road. Then, George parked. “The GPS says it should be around here somewhere. But it’s cold out. Wait here while I scope out the place.”

It was close to sunrise; the sky had brightened to a purple-grey-pink. All around, the landscape was awash in a watery sort of light.

Everything was so still. No birds. No insects. Just the vast sky above them, low hills in the distance, and a quiet sort of beauty that couldn’t be found in civilization.

Olson opened his door and kicked his legs in the air. George was right; it was cold. But it was a bracing sort of cold that put a smile on his face.

After a while, footsteps crunched. George rounded the back of the Jeep and stopped in front of Olson’s open door, leaning in to press a slow kiss to his lips. “I found the rock. It looks good. But there’s teddybear cacti around. Be careful.”

Olson shoved his feet into his shoes and shivered at the cold air on his skin. George pulled a blanket from their nest, wrapping it around him.

Hand in hand, they walked slowly to George’s rock, Olson with his eyes glued to the ground. He was not about to step on a spiny cactus from Hell.

When they reached the rock, Olson saw why George was so excited about it. The rock was low to the ground, smooth like a stage and wide enough to be one. Several deep cracks ran across it, their edges weathered smooth.

“It looks like a dance floor,” Olson said.

“We could dance on it later.” George grinned.

On the rock, Olson stepped out of his shoes. George hid the shoes under a different rock. Then he pulled his camera off his shoulder, and took a few photos of Olson’s smiling face.

“You must have, what, a thousand pictures of my face by this point?”

“You’re always so beautiful,” George murmured.

“I’m also cold.”

George came closer, rubbing his large hands down Olson’s sides—all Olson had on was the blanket. “Sunrise is soon. It’ll warm you up.”

He stood with Olson, keeping him warm until the sun peeked over the hills. Golden sunlight touched Olson’s forehead first, then slowly crept down his body, throwing long shadows all over the ground.

Olson slid the blanket off; it went over George’s shoulder.

“Gorgeous,” George growled.

He stepped back; the shutter clicked. It kept clicking as George moved around, finding different angles. Olson arranged his limbs into the most graceful poses he could, marveling at the play of light and shadow over his body.

“Beautiful,” George murmured.

He laid Olson down on the smooth rock and stood over him, taking more pictures. He made Olson sit up; Olson parted his legs, arching his spine and pointing his toes.

He didn’t miss the hard line in George’s pants. But George held off, licking his lips as he captured yet more photos.

Olson couldn’t help himself, though. Posing for his alpha made him want more.

He turned over onto all fours and raised his hips. George hissed.

“Fuck, Olson.”

“Take my picture,” Olson whispered.

George took his picture. Several of them. Then he set his camera gently on the wadded-up blanket, and pinned Olson.

They made slow, sweet love under the brightening sky, whispered promises on their lips.

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