Page 141 of Run Little Omega

He scents the change immediately, nostrils flaring as his head lifts. "You're getting wetter for me," he observes, satisfaction darkening his voice. "Your body remembers what it needs."

"Then give it to me," I demand, spreading my thighs in blatant invitation. "Unless you're all talk now that we're in your precious court."

His laugh is dark and knowing. "Still trying to provoke me into roughness?" His fingers trace the inside of my thigh, moving higher with deliberate slowness. "What if I want to take my time with you? What if I want to savor every inch of what's mine?"

The possessive claim sends another rush of warmth through my core. "Maybe next time," I suggest, reaching between us to wrap my hand around his cock, now fully hard and flushed with rut. "Right now, I need you inside me."

His control shatters completely at my touch, frost exploding across his skin as rut surges through his system like wildfire. His scent intensifies—winter pine and metal and raw alpha musk—flooding my senses until I'm drunk on it. My heat responds instantly, cranking higher until I'm nearly delirious with need, my body slick with desire, my core aching with emptiness that borders on pain.

"Alpha," I whimper, the instinctive term slipping past all defenses as biological imperative overwhelms everything else. "Please—I need?—"

His growl vibrates through his chest, the sound hitting me somewhere primal and ancient. He grabs my wrist, pinning it above my head as he looms over me, eyes completely consumed by rut-black pupils.

"I smell how wet you are," he rumbles, his free hand tearing away what remains of my clothing with savage impatience. "How fucking desperate for my cock."

The crude words send another flood of heat between my thighs, my body responding to his dominance with eager surrender that would mortify me if I weren't so far gone in heat-haze. I arch toward him, shameless and needy, every inch of my skin alive and begging for his touch.

He slides his hand between my thighs, fingers parting slick flesh with experienced precision. When they dip inside, testing my readiness, I can't hold back a moan at the delicious intrusion.

"So hot," he murmurs, watching my face as his fingers work deeper. "So wet and ready for me."

I expect him to mount me then, to satisfy the rut that clearly burns through his veins with increasing intensity. Instead, he shifts lower, settling between my spread thighs with clear intent.

"What are you—" I begin, then gasp as his mouth makes contact with my core. "Oh!"

His tongue works with devastating precision, circling the sensitive bundle of nerves before dipping lower to taste me more deeply. Each stroke sends electric pulses of pleasure radiating outward, making my thighs tremble on either side of his head.

"You taste of wild magic," he growls against my flesh, the vibration adding another layer of sensation. "Of winter storm and summer lightning."

I'm beyond words now, able only to tangle my fingers in his midnight hair and hold on as he devours me with single-minded focus. Through half-lidded eyes, I watch frost spread from his hands across my inner thighs, the cold contrasting exquisitely with the heat of his mouth.

When he slides two fingers inside me while his tongue continues its relentless attention, the combination pushes me rapidly toward climax. My inner walls clench around his fingers, my back arching as pleasure coils tighter.

"That's it," he encourages, glancing up to watch my face as I approach the edge. "Let go for me. Let me feel you come apart."

It's his primal growl rather than his movements that sends me over—the raw need in his voice matching the desperation clawing through my own veins. My release crashes through me with brutal intensity, inner muscles contracting around his fingers as my vision whites out completely.

But the release only intensifies the heat rather than sating it. As I come down, gasping and oversensitized, I'm somehow hungrier, emptier, more desperate than before.

"Please," I sob, beyond pride or shame, beyond anything but the all-consuming need to be filled, claimed, knotted. "Cadeyrn, I can't—it hurts?—"

He understands without further explanation, rising above me and positioning himself between my spread thighs. His cock looks impressively large, flushed dark with rut, veins standing out prominently along the shaft, the head already glistening with pre-come.

"Look at me," he commands, the tenderness in his voice at odds with the feral hunger in his eyes. "I want to see your face when I claim you."

I force my gaze to meet his, even as another wave of heat makes me writhe beneath him. "I'm looking," I manage, voice raw with need. "I see you. All of you."

Something vulnerable flashes across his expression, quickly consumed by rut as my scent spikes with another surge of heat. He bares his teeth in a predatory snarl, and without warning, drives into me with enough force to drive the breath from my lungs.

The stretch burns exquisitely, my body adjusting to his rut-swollen size despite my abundant readiness. I cry out, pleasure bleeding together into something transcendent as he fills me completely, his cock reaching places inside me that send stars exploding behind my eyelids.

"Mine," he growls, teeth finding my claiming mark and biting down hard enough to break skin.

The exquisite pain of the bite combined with the perfect fullness of his cock stretching me triggers another immediate release, more intense than the first. I scream his name, inner walls clenching violently around his shaft as frost explodes across my skin in wild, uncontrolled patterns.

The joining feels perfect—my body welcoming him despite his impressive size, inner walls adjusting to accommodate his rut-swollen length. For a moment, we remain perfectly still, joined in the most intimate way possible, magic pulsing between us in visible cillae that illuminate our skin from within.

"Perfect," he murmurs, his forehead dropping to rest against mine. "Like you were made for me."

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