Page 151 of Run Little Omega

I'm close to release when Cadeyrn pulls away, leaving me gasping and frustrated on the precipice. His eyes, darkened with rut, meet mine with predatory focus. His lips glisten with my arousal, and he licks them deliberately, savoring my taste.

"I want to claim you properly," he says, voice roughened by desire. His cock stands proud and rigid, the size of him almost frightening in his transformed state. "Turn around."

The command in his voice bypasses any thought of resistance. I rise from the throne on unsteady legs, turning to face away from him. Before I can question the logistics with my pregnant belly, he guides me to straddle the throne facing outward, toward the empty court.

"Perfect," he growls, positioning himself behind me. "The queen on her throne, looking out over her domain."

The symbolism isn't lost on me—me facing the court, him supporting from behind. Not an alpha displaying his claimed omega, but a partner elevating his equal. Not the traditional arrangement where the omega exists only as reflection of alpha glory, but something revolutionary.

With careful attention to the babes I carry, he guides me down onto him, entering me from behind in a position that accommodates my swollen form. The sensation of his cock filling me sends another wave of magic cascading through my system, cillae flaring bright enough to illuminate the entire throne room.

"Fuck," I gasp as he begins to move, each thrust sending dual currents of pleasure and magic through me. "The throne—it's changing."

Beneath us, the ancient seat of Winter Court power transforms with each movement. The ice—pristine and untouched for centuries—fractures with color beneath our joined bodies. Verdant green veins spread where I grip the armrests. Molten gold flares wherever my sweat falls. Rich amber spirals bleed upward from depths that never knew warmth before.

The whole scene feels impossibly symbolic and incredibly profane simultaneously—the omega and the Winter Prince dissolving the rigid court protocol right out of its sacred seat of power.

"Look," I manage between gasps, watching magic reshape the symbol of everything I once hated. "The throne—it's breaking—transforming?—"

Cadeyrn's rhythm falters momentarily as he follows my gaze. His chest resonates against my back, the sound more beast than man. "Yes," he hisses, fingers pressing deeper into my flesh. "Take it. Change it. Destroy what was."

"Harder," I demand, pushing back against him, wanting to feel every inch of him. "Make me feel you, Cadeyrn."

He growls in response, his cock driving deeper, reaching places inside me that eclipse coherent thought. My skin burns everywhere—not the sick-burn of fever but the purifying heat of a forge fire, burning away impurities. The cillae covering me pulse so intensely I have to squint against my own radiance, my shadow dancing wild across walls that no longer stand still beneath our shared magic.

"You feel so fucking good," he growls against my ear, one hand sliding around to rub circles against my clit. "So tight around my cock. So perfect."

My teeth ache for something I can't articulate, a need I don't fully comprehend but feel in my marrow. My pointed ears attune to sounds I've never heard before—the whisper of magic through ancient ice, the groan of a palace awakening from centuries of rigid slumber.

"I'm going to fill you up," he promises, his thrusts becoming more urgent. "Going to pump you so full of my cum that every fucking court noble will smell me on you for days."

"I can't—" My voice breaks into something between sob and growl. Pressure builds inside me—not just where he fills me, but everywhere. Under my skin. Behind my eyes. Between my newly sharpened teeth.

Cadeyrn leans forward, chest slick against my back, lips brushing my ear. "Let go," he commands, and the words aren't just sound but alpha-power wrapped in ancient magic. "Come on my cock. Show them what we can become."

His teeth find my shoulder, exactly where he first claimed me in the forest. This time, the bite shatters something fundamental inside me. Pain and pleasure intertwine into a sensation I can't separate or name. His knot swells, binding us together while his teeth break my skin, and everything inside me erupts outward.

I come undone with a cry that begins human but ends as something else entirely, something with harmonics that shouldn't emerge from a human throat. Magic tears from me in waves, each pulse synchronized with the throb of his cock inside me. Winter frost surges across the floor, but transformed—beautiful and wrong—laced with colors no Winter Court magic has carried in millennia.

Vibrant green spirals up pillars like hungry vines. Summer gold melts through floor tiles that never thawed in centuries. Rich amber bleeds through windows, staining pristine light with sunset warmth. With each clench of my pussy around Cadeyrn's knot, with each pulse of him emptying inside me, the transformation spreads further, faster.

"That's it," he groans against my neck, his cock pulsing hot cum deep inside me. "Take every fucking drop."

The throne room—that perfect ice museum—shatters into something alive. The walls breathe. The ceiling cracks open to reveal the crimson moon, the same blood-red witness that watched him claim me the first time. Air that once felt sterile with cold now swirls with scents—spring soil, summer heat, autumn decay, winter ice—all blending where only one belonged before.

I collapse forward, undone with pleasure, barely aware of anything but Cadeyrn still pulsing inside me and the answering ripples of magic reshaping everything around us. My sweat falls onto the throne beneath me, each droplet blooming into new colors where it lands.

"Look," Cadeyrn murmurs against my neck, his voice wrecked. "Look what we've wrought."

The throne beneath us continues changing even as my vision clears. No longer the stark symbol of Winter Court isolation, but something wilder, truer. Ice veined with living color that shifts like slow lightning beneath the surface. The entire chamber transformed beyond recognition—walls swirling with aurora colors, ceiling partly dissolved into open sky, air thick with magic that tastes of all seasons at once.

"We broke it," I whisper, feeling his heart hammer against my back. "We broke everything."

"No." His arms tighten around me where his knot still binds us together. "We restored what was already broken. Reminded it what it should have been all along."

Somehow that seems even more profound than intentional destruction—not the tearing down of the old order, but the regeneration of something ancient that predates the courts' artificial divisions. A healing rather than a shattering.

His palm slides up to cup my breast, and I hiss at how responsive my skin remains—every nerve ending raw and reborn, as if the Wild Magic has unmade and remade me all at once. The ache in my new fangs pulses in time with my heartbeat, with the sensation of him still locked inside me. Some instinct suggests I should bite him back, complete a circuit we've initiated, but the timing doesn't feel right—I barely understand what I've become in this new form.

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