Page 51 of Run Little Omega

"Clever," he says, "but futile."

He shudders violently, as if fighting against himself. "It burns inside me every second, a fucking inferno demanding I find you, claim you, fill you with my seed until you're rounded with my offspring."

The graphic description wrenches a moan from my throat, my body responding with eagerness while my mind still fights. I hate this—hate my weakness, hate how much I want exactly what he's describing.

"I won't make it easy for you," I warn, baring my teeth.

His smile is devastating, a predator's delight in worthy prey. "Good." One hand slides down my body, ripping my shift open with casual strength. "Fighting will make your surrender all the sweeter."

Cool air hits my overheated skin, and I should feel exposed, vulnerable. Instead, relief floods me as the confining fabric falls away. His eyes devour me, pupils dark as the night sky.

"Perfect," he breathes, voice dropping to something reverent and starved at once.

The glamour shatters completely at his touch—Willow's delicate features dissolving like flux in a forge. My copper hair tumbles free around my shoulders, its true color revealed in the crimson moonlight. My skin, flushed with heat rather than Willow's pearly pallor. My strength, no longer disguised by illusion—the blacksmith's body I've earned through years of labor on display.

"There she is," Cadeyrn murmurs, satisfaction dark in his voice. "My little omega. Finally."

His mouth crashes down on mine, more attack than kiss. His tongue forces past my lips, claiming, conquering. I bite down hard enough to draw blood, copper flooding my mouth as I mark him back. If I'm to be claimed, I'll leave my own marks too, just as metal scars the smith's hands.

He growls into the kiss, the sound vibrating through my bones. His hands roam my body with bruising intensity, claiming every inch. When his fingers find my breasts, I gasp against his mouth, arching shamelessly into his touch.

"Look how eager and willing you are," he taunts, rolling my nipple between his fingers with precision that borders on cruelty. "This body you've denied for so long—it knows what it needs."

"Fuck you," I spit, even as my hips buck against him, seeking friction, seeking relief.

"Soon," he promises with terrifying certainty.

His hand travels lower, over the curve of my hip, then between my thighs where I'm embarrassingly ready. When his fingers slide through my dampness, I cry out, the sensation almost painful after days of heat with no relief.

"So wet for me," he murmurs against my throat, two fingers circling my entrance without penetrating. "Tell me how much you need this. Beg me to claim you."

"Never," I grit out, even as my hips roll against his hand, seeking deeper contact.

His teeth scrape the junction of my neck and shoulder—not breaking skin yet, just promising what's to come. "Your pride means nothing now. Your body tells the truth your words deny."

When his fingers finally push inside me, I nearly scream. The emptiness that's been tormenting me for days finally, finally filled—though not enough, nowhere near enough. He works me with ruthless efficiency, adding a third finger that stretches and burns in the best way.

"That's it," he encourages as I rock against his hand, chasing pleasure I've denied myself for years. "Show me how badly you need me to fill you."

"I hate you," I pant, the words lacking conviction as pressure builds low in my spine.

His thumb finds the sensitive bundle of nerves at my center, circling with perfect pressure. "Hate me all you want. Your cunt still weeps for my cock."

The crude language from such a refined being breaks something inside me. The release crashes through me without warning, inner walls clenching around his fingers as wave after wave spills through me like metal giving way to perfect heat.

But it's not enough. The heat recedes only momentarily before returning stronger than before. This is just the beginning. I need more. Need him.

Cadeyrn watches my face as I come down, his expression a mix of hunger and triumph. "See?" he murmurs. "Your body knows its alpha."

Before I can form a retort, he's moving, tearing away the loincloth to reveal himself fully. My eyes widen at the sight. He's massive, the rut state causing an enlargement that seems impossible. Veins stand out along the shaft, the head flushed an angry purple-red.

"Now you understand what's coming," he says, noting my expression. "This is what fighting your nature has earned you—the most painful claiming possible."

I make one last, desperate attempt at resistance, driving my knee up toward his groin with all my blacksmith's strength. He catches my thigh with contemptuous ease, using the momentum to flip me suddenly, pressing me face-first against the blackthorn tree. The bark scrapes my breasts, my stomach, my thighs. More sap flows at the contact, burning where it touches my skin before sinking beneath the surface, leaving no trace.

"Present," he commands, a hand between my shoulder blades forcing me to arch my back, hips tilted to expose me completely.

I twist suddenly, fighting against his hold. "No," I snarl, adrenaline surging through exhaustion and need. "I won't just submit to you!"

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