Page 87 of Breeding Clinic

He whistles. “Oh, honey, that’s nice. Is that your wedding dress?”

My heart trips in my chest. Because what else can it be? I stroke the gown’s fabric and lay it out on a chair so it doesn’t get wrinkled. “I think so.” What are they planning? And how did they manage to keep it a secret?

He pulls various things from his drawers, comparing colors until he decides what he wants. “Let’s do a side-swept look. Show off those collarbones and that neck. Now go wash your face and do your skincare, then change into something easy to slip out of so your shirt doesn’t mess up your hair.”

Following his instructions, I wash my face and run a brush through my hair, then change into a robe. He chats with me the entire time he’s working. He starts with my hair, curling and spraying it and pinning it up to cool. Once it’s all curled, he moves onto makeup while my hair sets.

“I’m thinking soft glam,” he says. “Pinks and champagne. Unless you want something more dramatic?”

“That sounds good.” I watch him study five different shadesof nude pink lipsticks before settling on a color. He pokes and prods me, turning my face this way and that as he applies foundation and concealer. Then he sets it all with a shit ton of powder, and lets it do something called baking. He moves onto my eyes while my face sets.

Holding still when he does my mascara and eyeliner is difficult. He pulls out a package of new false eyelashes and trims them to size, then applies a coat of glue and waits for it to get tacky.

“Pout for me, pretty,” he says when he gets to my lips. He even does my nails. Shaping them and painting them a pretty ballet slipper pink until they’re glossy. I play the role of his doll until he’s done. He uses a fan-like brush to wipe the extra powder off my face, then sprays me down with a setting spray. “Now your hair.”

I lay a hand over my old mating bite. “Cover this side, please.”

He does it without asking any questions.

I tell him about my pack while he works. He pins my hair up, the pins digging into my scalp before slotting into place. He weaves the curls he made and braids it all to the side in a complicated half-up, half-down style that pulls to the side. He gently pulls the dangling curls apart to add volume, then sprays it all down with hair spray until it barely moves.

“There. Gorgeous.” He holds a mirror up so I can see.

He’s done an amazing job. I look like my old self. Like the hopeful, happy girl I was when Josh took me to his first awards banquet. When I dressed up in a designer dress they loaned me to match his gifted suit and dozens of photographers wanted photos of us on the event’s red carpet. I don’t miss those days. The shine wore off that penny a long time ago when event appearance became compulsory no matter how I felt about attending. But I still like feeling beautiful.

“It’s perfect. Thank you,” I tell him.

He packs up his stuff and gives Waffles one more scritch on his chin, then goes. I glance at the clock and see that it’s six. Plenty of time to finish getting ready. I put music on while I shave my legs and put lotion on. I skip the scent nullifying stuff and go for the one with the faint vanilla scent that blends in perfectly with my own pheromones.

The lingerie is silky smooth, and I recognize the brand. It’s from a specialty shop in London. I have to wonder how long they’ve been planning this without me knowing or getting suspicious. The underwear covers almost nothing of my ass. The back is all crisscrossing straps with a wisp of fabric that turns into the wide gusset.

The strapless bra fits me perfectly, and the silicone grips—and my belly—keep it from sliding down due to my pregnancy heavy breasts. I put my jewelry on and study my reflection. I’m sexy as hell. They’re going to lose their minds when they see me like this.

I smile, thinking of ways to make Liam feral. I want him to growl for me again.

At six-forty, I wiggle into my dress and figure out how to get the zipper up without help. The dress skims my curves, enhancing what pregnancy’s already accentuated. My ass and thighs are fuller than they used to be. My belly thick and rounded. My breasts heavy and, thanks to the expensive bra, pressed together deliciously. The off-the-shoulder neckline and side-swept hair means my entire, unblemished neck and scent gland are on display. My long earring tickles against my shoulder when I turn my head.

I don’t need lube to insert the toy they bought me. I hike the hem of my dress up, pull my panties aside, and push it in. It nestles into place inside my already slick pussy. The butterfly’s curved wings and the tight panties hold it in place. I practicesitting and walking with it in. It’s strange, but not painful. A knock at my door interrupts me.

Waffles runs to it, meowing, and stretches his body up to paw at the door. I shoo him aside by scattering treats on the ground and open it. The sight of all three of them standing there on my porch in tailored suits takes my breath away.

They’re equally speechless. Their eyes roam over me, lingering on my breasts and my baby bump. Liam holds out a hand and turns to the side. Behind him, I see a short limo instead of his truck.

“Are you ready?” he asks.

He’s not asking about dinner. But for what comes after. When he bites his claim into my neck and brands me as his. Their omega.

I pull the door shut and lock it and put my hand in his. “I am.” I’ve never wanted anything more than this moment. A pack that loves me. A family on the way. My girlhood dreams come true. In his black tux and pinned corsage, he looks every inch the groom. They all do.

They lead me to the limo, and a driver gets out and comes around to open the doors. Liam hands me inside and lets me get settled on the seat, and then they follow me in. The driver slides into the front seat and pulls away from the curb.

“Where are we going?” I ask them.

“First things first.” Liam reaches into his jacket pocket.

The sex toy buzzes to life and I jolt in surprise.

Liam’s smile is slow and full of sinful promises. “Good girl.”

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