Page 103 of Knot Her Mountain Men

She laughed as I tipped her backward onto the sheepskin, hitting the remote shutter to capture the joy on her face. After all the cold air, sinking into her hot cunt was like dipping into a bath.

Morgan squeaked. “Holy shit, you’re cold.”

“You’ll warm me up, firecracker.”

Remembering to take photos became wholly secondary to focusing on every perfect sound she made as I drove into her. I covered her as best I could, offering the warmth of my body.

At one point Kit got a pair of socks onto her, and though the bite of cold against my skin wasn’t particularly comfortable, it wasn’t enough to make me stop. Doubly so when she muffled her whimpers by biting whatever she could reach.

Thank fuck she wasn’t in heat so I didn’t have to stop myself from biting her back. Morgan cried out when I clamped my teeth down over the scent gland on her throat, slick rushing over my skin, her pussy gripping tightly. I growled low, trying to keep a handle on myself.

I pulled back enough that I could enjoy the sway of her breasts with each thrust and see every expression that passed over her face. I spared a quick glance for the others, each of them looking like they were ready to start fucking a snowbank to get some relief.

“You’re going to turn our omega into a popsicle,” Kit admonished.

Morgan shuddered, pussy squeezing me again. “Worth it.”

She was settling in so well. Every so often, a swell of giddy delight would tumble down the bond from her, sweeping me away with it.

After she had warmed up and gotten railed by the entire pack in succession, we cozied up in the study for the evening and most of the next day. She was working on sorting out a business that would bring in decent money and still use all the skills she had learned in her tourism program. I listened as she spitballed ideas, and then we would discuss how feasible each thing was.

Most of her ideas would be easy to implement, like the fantasy photo shoots that just needed a portfolio to entice people, and art prints and calendars, for both her work and Ryder’s.

The hunting and photography trips and the survival classes tailored toward omegas shouldn’t be too difficult either since we already did those for the general population, but we’d have to consider additional safety measures so the omegas felt safe. Morgan being comfortable with us didn’t mean other omegas would be. It would take some wrangling and logistics, but definitely something we could expand into if people were interested.

“Do you want to blog with me?” I signed.

She perked up, excitement flickering in the bond. “I think that could be really fun.”

“I don’t do videos, but I could be in them if you handled voices.”

Elation bubbled up in her. “Oh my god, okay, what if we did a series on survival basics but we could show the differences between how alphas and omegas do things? The size disparity alone can make a lot of techniques more difficult for omegas, and I really want it to be accessible. Honestly, I think it would be a good idea too if you wanted to do videos where you narrate them in ASL. Accessibility comes in a lot of forms. I would bet a lot of your following has no idea you have a disability. I didn’t until I met you. Think of how much more open the world might feel if people with similar situations saw you out in the woods, kicking ass.”

“That’s a good point,” I conceded.

She beamed at me. “That’s half the reason I do content. I need omegas to see it and know it’s possible for them.”

I listened to her suggestions, turning them over in my head. I had never considered that aspect before, but she was probably right. At the very least I could do a few posts on accessibility solutions I used out on trips.

“I’ll think about the best way to do it,” I signed slowly, still musing.

“You do great work, Bear. I think people would appreciate your unique perspective if you wanted to share it with them.”

She added a few items to the running list of how to make the lodge more omega-friendly. “Would it be shitty of me to suggest that the bunk room become an omega exclusive space if we move ahead with this?”

I shook my head. “We can build something new for our regular clients. The Rez kids would probably like their own space anyway.”

Her fingers flew over the keyboard, listing out dozens of ideas to make the bunk room cozy. The bunks themselves would probably be fine to stay, but adding curtains would let the bottom ones be enclosed, and we would definitely have to stock up on bedding. Good thing Maverick had given her a metaphorical blank check to accommodate her plans.

“What time are the others home?”

I checked the clock and signed, “Three hours.”

They’d gone into town to pick up the repaired snowmobiles and a pair of bookshelves from Morgan’s storage unit, as well as to do a top-up grocery run for our guests who would be arriving later this week. Morgan had been so conflicted on going with them to help or working on her projects, so I’d made the decision for both of us to stay home, assured by the relief I felt from her in the bond that it had been the right one.

“Okay, good. I can get a lot done in that time before I have to prep dinner.”

“No one will starve if dinner is late,” I signed with a grin. “I’ll do it if you’re busy.”

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