Page 110 of Heat Clinic

“Oh, it’s so fancy,” Lindsay says, craning her head back to take it all in.

“Come on. Let’s talk to the front desk.” We head in, and a new woman I don’t know looks up from her computer. “Hello. I’m here to see Tom. Is he free, or is he stuck in the darkroom?”

She frowns. “I’m sorry, but we’re not open to the public yet.”

Alicia throws the black curtain that cordons off the actual gallery from the entryway aside. “Mrs. Orello. It’s lovely to finally meet you in person. Tom’s in the back. He’ll be happy to see you. I’ve been trying to force him to take a break all day.”

The receptionist stares at her computer with stiff shoulders as we pass her and follow Tom’s personal assistant into the back. Lindsay stops and stares, craning her head back and gawking as we walk through the collection that’s technically not on display yet. When people hear that Tom’s a photographer, they imagine small framed pictures hanging in their hallway, not five foot tall prints that take up an entire wall. These are show stoppers, art, not family vacation photos.

“Oh. My. God. Is that you?” Lindsay asks, pointing.

It’s the one from our mating, a closeup of me crouching over Marcus like a feral thing, his neck a bloody, bitten mess and my lips smeared with it. My hooked fingers dig into his chest like claws and my hair tumbles over my back and shoulders. There’s no nudity, just the curve of my breast with most of it hidden by my arm, but it’s an intimate shot nonetheless.

I smile as I look at it and remember the moment that everything changed. “It is. They all are, actually.”

“Holy shit.” Lindsay abandons me to walk around and look at them. “That is intense.”

I follow Alicia into the back and leave Lindsay to her meandering. “Can you put two tickets aside for Lindsay and her boyfriend? She’s a good friend of mine.”

“Of course. Tom! Your mate is here, and she’s brought you lunch. Will you stop fussing and let me do my job now?”

Tom turns from where he’s looking at five different prints propped against a bunch of stacked prints and paintings against the wall. I edge around crates filled with straw and ceramic statues or glass sculptures. Those are for later showings from other artists.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, setting his lunch down on his cluttered desk.

Tom uncrosses his arms and then crosses them again. “I can’t decide which one will be the first one they see when they enter. Do I ease them into it, or hit them hard? Shock them?”

I look at the five options and I see what he means. Four of the prints are of sensual closeups that tease without showing much. They’re images of us, but broken into couples. The last is all four of us captured together in the act, my back arching from my perch on top of Tom, his raised knee covering the point of penetration as he takes me in the ass. Marcus is between my thighs, his cock seated deep in my pussy but with him blocking the view. Sam stands behind me, his large hand splayed over my throat as he drags my head back to take him too. Only my breasts and thighs are actually showing, but there’s no doubt about what act is being filmed.

I hook my arm around Tom in a sideways hug and lean my head against his chest. “Hang this one.”

He hesitates, and that’s how I know this is the one he really wants to put up as the front-and-center piece. If he preferred one of the others, he’d be arguing right now. “Are you sure? I don’t have to display it if it’s too much.” He pulls me against him in a hug, his arms coming around my middle to band me against his chest—as if there’s anywhere I’d rather be.

It’s sweet of him to worry. But I’m not ashamed of being an omega anymore. That voice in the back of my head that sounds like my mother gets fainter every day. I’m not embarrassed that I found my pack and that I love all three of my mates. “I’m sure.”

Tom drops a kiss into my hair. “This one, Alicia.”

“I’ll tag it and have them hang it tonight. Now, I have a million things to do before tomorrow. If you don’t need me anymore?” She waits for Tom’s dismissal, then walks to the front, her heels clicking on the concrete floor until they fade.

“You brought me lunch?” he asks, his voice dropping low. His hand skims over my belly, then curves down my thighs. He drags the hem of my tight skirt up to mid-thigh and strokes the bare skin there. “That’s so sweet, luv. But what if I’m hungry for something else?”

I smile and rub my ass against his front, spreading my thighs to give him better access. “What do you mean?” I ask, playing coy.

“Hmm.” He rubs the sheer black thigh-highs I’m wearing, groaning when he inches the skirt higher and realizes they’re not pantyhose. He traces the lace-topped edge of them, his thumb brushing against my wet slit. “Luv, you’re not wearing any panties.”

“I’m not?” I hold back my giggle and bite my lip as he slips a finger through my folds and finds out exactly how wet I am. “I must have forgotten to put them on.”

He’s hard, his cock poking into my ass while he strokes my clit. I sigh, tilting my pelvis for him. He tuts. “You’ve gotten so forgetful.”

“It’s not my fault I’ve been a little—mmm—distracted lately.”

His finger dips inside, sinking in past the second knuckle. It makes a wet sucking sound when he pulls it free and pumps it in again. “What’s causing it? Is it this?” He glides over my clit again, rubbing it in circles.

“Mmhmm. That’s definitely it.” I grind against him, my pussy squeezing nothing as he brings me halfway to orgasm, then shoves two fingers into me in a blunt intrusion that makes me gasp.

It takes seconds for him to undo his fly and bend me over the desk, my palms slapping on its surface as he pulls my tight skirt up and bares me for him. “Will this correct it?” he asks as his cock nudges at my entrance. He sinks inside me to the hilt, and I sigh once I’m filled.

“That will definitely—hnng—definitely…” I lose the thread, speech devolving into moans as he fucks me over the desk. I’m not sure who loves doing it in semi-public spaces more, Sam or Tom. The threat of being walked in on, of being watched as he ruts me over his desk, pushes me over that edge quicker than I’d like.

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