Page 52 of Run Little Omega

His growl vibrates through the clearing as I struggle beneath him, using every ounce of my blacksmith's strength to buck and twist. My elbow connects with his ribs—it's like hitting an anvil, but I feel a satisfying grunt of surprise from him.

"Stop fighting what you need," he growls, pinning my wrists above my head with one massive hand.

"Fuck you," I spit, still thrashing. "I decide what I need, not you, not my biology, not?—"

His teeth sink into the curve of my shoulder—not the claiming spot, just a warning bite that sends competing signals of pain and pleasure shooting through me. I cry out, my body freezing instinctively beneath a predator's jaws.

"Your mind fights," he murmurs against my skin, tongue soothing the bite mark, "but your body knows better."

His free hand slides between my thighs, fingers coated instantly with evidence of my desire. The proof of my body's betrayal is humiliating and undeniable.

"That's just heat," I protest weakly, even as my hips betray me by tilting up into his touch.

"No," he says with terrible certainty. "That's you. Heat amplifies what's already there. You want this—want me—as much as I want you."

He gathers my wrists in one hand again, pressing me face-down against the blackthorn tree. His other hand grips my hip, positioning me with ruthless precision.

I struggle one last time, pride demanding the fight even as my body screams for surrender. "I won't be just another claimed omega," I gasp out.

His teeth find my ear, biting just hard enough to send a spark of pleasure shooting down my spine. "You could never be 'just' anything," he says, voice rough with need and something that might be respect. "Now stop fighting what we both need."

His next bite is harder, at the junction where neck meets shoulder—not the claiming bite yet, but savage enough to draw blood. The sharp pain rips through me like a hot chisel striking cold metal. Against every stubborn instinct I possess, my body responds, my back arching of its own accord, presenting my hips at the perfect angle for claiming.

"Fight me," he orders, his voice guttural and raw. "Don't surrender so easily, little one."

I respond with fury, bucking violently against his grip. My elbow catches his jaw with a satisfying crack that would have shattered human bone. He laughs, the sound more animal than fae, and pins me harder against the tree, bark digging cruelly into my breasts, splinters drawing blood that mingles with the tree's red sap.

"Better," he growls, appreciating my resistance. "I want to feel you break."

I twist suddenly, my blacksmith's strength momentarily surprising him. I land a solid punch to his solar plexus that would have dropped a normal man. Cadeyrn merely snarls, eyes flashing with primal delight as he slams me back against the tree hard enough to knock the breath from my lungs. The impact sends pulsing stars across my vision.

"I'm not yours," I spit, blood from my split lip spraying across his perfect face.

He licks my blood from his skin, eyes never leaving mine. "Not yet."

His hand shoots between my thighs, fingers roughly penetrating me without preamble. The invasion is brutal and perfect, his thumb finding my sensitive bud with unerring precision. He reads my body's responses like a master smith reads metal at just the right temperature, applying pressure in a rhythm that has me gasping despite my rage.

"Your cunt says otherwise," he taunts, crooking his fingers to strike a spot deep inside that makes my vision blur. "Soaked for me. Made for me."

I bite back a moan, refusing to give him the satisfaction, but my body betrays me again, hips grinding against his hand. The emptiness inside demands to be filled, my heat-maddened body uncaring about my pride.

"I'll kill you for this," I promise through gritted teeth, even as my inner walls clench hungrily around his fingers.

His smile is terrifying in its beauty. "You can try. After."

I feel him position himself behind me, his clothing fully torn away now. The blunt head of his arousal presses against my entrance—impossibly large, impossibly hard, radiating heat like steel from the forge.

Fear and arousal collide within me, neither yielding to the other. Despite how ready I am, he feels too large, too much. I renew my struggles, panic lending me strength.

"Hold still," he commands, voice laced with power that resonates through my very bones.

"Fuck you," I snarl, throwing my head back in an attempt to crack his skull.

He catches my hair, wrenching my head to the side with brutal efficiency. His other arm locks around my waist, positioning me exactly as he wants, immovable as an anvil.

"Submit," he growls, and drives his cock inside me with punishing force.

The invasion is exquisite agony—pain and pleasure so intertwined I can't separate them. I scream, the sound torn from my throat as he splits me open. He's deeper than should be possible, stretching tissues never meant to accommodate something so massive. The burn is excruciating and perfect, my body simultaneously rebelling against and surrendering to the intrusion.

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