Page 21 of Bred By the Barge

“What?” she asks, despite already knowing the answer. Her nostrils flare as she instinctually checks her pheromones.

“You’re carrying my offspring,” I say.

Her pupils shrink, but she works through several thoughts before a smile stretches across her face. Joy glows through our bond.

“Of course, I am. You were very thorough.”

The cheek of my female. I love her.

I take her mouth in a searing kiss and growl as molten lava jettisons down my shaft and into her womb, nourishing the child growing within and protecting the woman of my dreams. I’ll have her locked on my knot for the next few weeks to ensure she remains healthy.

Babies created by an alpha omega pairing will consume the mother if not provided with copious amounts of seed during the first trimester. My omega will demand I knot her nonstop for months.

I can’t wait. Even now, with her tight, wet heat wrapped around my cock, I look forward to sinking into her again and again.

But the radio sits askew on the desk, reminding me of other matters.

Our purrs create beautiful music as we bask in our perfect union. Masculine and feminine. Powerful and resilient. Possessive and demanding.

My knot deflates with an audible pop. I flip her onto her back and seal my mouth over her core. Her bandaged fingers claw at my shoulders and she snarls with impatience. I fill my mouth with our combined essences and plaster my palm over her sex before ferrying my prize to her lips. She moans in delight and demands more.

I give it. I give her everything.

When she smirks and wriggles down into the blankets, I brace myself for her displeasure and pull her into my lap. Her brows scrunch in confusion as I grab the clean clothes off the floor.

“No. Stop,” she snarls as I fit my shirt over her head. “What are you doing?”

She bats my hand away and glares up at me.

“Dressing you,” I reply.

“Why?”

“We’re leaving our den.”

“Why? Has it been ten days? Are we out of quarantine?”

“No.”

Panic fills her eyes. She stiffens.

“Is it my sister? Is she sick? Did something happen to her?”

I kiss her forehead and reassure her.

“No, tiny treasure. Your sister is fine.”

“Then why?”

“You’ll see. Let me dress you.”

“No.”

Her petulance knows no bounds. Before I can sigh, she whips the shirt off her head and slaps it against my chest.

“Not until you mark it with your scent.”

Pure alpha joy overfills my heart and floods our bond. I rub the fabric over my shoulders and abs, but she shakes her head and grips my shaft through the shirt. A wet spot grows as she strokes me, but the light-colored material hides my viscous seed.

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