Page 54 of Run Little Omega

His knot keeps us locked together, impossibly large inside me. It shows no signs of diminishing—we'll remain joined like this for at least an hour, I realize, his seed continuing to fill me in rhythmic waves. My body shudders with aftershocks, muscles clenching involuntarily around the intrusion, drawing strangled groans from Cadeyrn with each pulse.

"What...the fuck...was that?" I finally manage, my voice utterly destroyed, throat raw from screaming.

His arms tighten around me, his cheek pressing against the top of my head in a gesture so tender it seems impossible from the same being who just claimed me with such violence.

"I don't know," he admits, confusion evident beneath the lingering haze of rut. "I've never felt anything like it. Never heard of anything like it."

I shift slightly, gasping as the movement tugs his knot against oversensitized tissues. He hisses in shared response, hands immediately steadying my hips.

"Don't," he warns, voice gentler than I've ever heard it. "You'll only hurt yourself. We're locked together until the knot subsides."

"How long?" I ask, though I already know the answer from Flora's clinical explanations.

"An hour. Maybe more." His hand comes up to trace the claiming bite on my neck. The touch sends a jolt of pleasure through me, my inner walls clenching reflexively around his knot. We both groan at the sensation.

"The magic..." I begin, struggling to form coherent thoughts through the haze of aftermath.

"Wild Magic," he says, the words carrying wonder and unease in equal measure. "Something from before the courts. Before the Hunt was corrupted."

Another wave of pleasure washes through me as his knot pulses, releasing another flood of warmth inside me. I bite my lip to stifle a moan, but he feels it through our newfound connection, a growl rumbling through his chest in response.

"You need more," he states, understanding my body's continued hunger. His hand slides between our joined bodies to circle my bud.

"I can't," I protest weakly, certain I'll shatter if pushed to another climax.

"You can," he counters, fingers moving with devastating skill. "And you will."

He applies the perfect pressure, the perfect rhythm, reading my responses through our mental link. His other hand comes up to cup my breast, thumb and forefinger rolling the sensitive peak with precise cruelty. Behind me, his hips make tiny, grinding movements that shift his knot against my most sensitive spots.

I try to fight it, determined to maintain some shred of control, but it's hopeless. The pleasure builds again, impossibly intense after everything I've already experienced. When it breaks over me, it's less an orgasm than a complete dissolution of self. I scatter like sparks from a hammer blow, existing for one eternal moment as pure sensation.

My inner walls contract violently around his knot, triggering another release from him. I feel the hot pulses of his seed, feel his pleasure echoing through our connection, amplifying my own in an endless feedback loop. We're caught in a cycle of shared ecstasy that seems to have no beginning and no end.

When I return to myself, I find him watching me with an expression I can't quite interpret—hunger still, but tempered with something almost like awe.

"You needed an alpha," he says, his thumb tracing the bite mark on my neck with surprising tenderness. "Your heat would have killed you otherwise."

The statement should infuriate me, but exhaustion and the lingering euphoria of multiple climaxes blunt the edge of my usual defiance. Besides, there's something disarmingly honest in his tone—not smug dominance but simple truth.

"And you needed me," I counter, feeling his length twitch inside me at the words.

Something almost like a smile crosses his face. "It seems we're both claimed, little omega."

The forest whispers around us, silver leaves rustling messages too ancient for human understanding. The crimson moon watches from above as we remain joined, locked together by biology and something far more complex. His seed works deep inside me, and another pulse of his knot reminds me that we're far from finished.

My body burns from the inside out, from the bite at my neck that throbs with each heartbeat to the knot that stretches me beyond what should be possible. Every nerve ending is raw, hypersensitive, like metal heated past its limits and reshaped into something new. When I try to move, his arms tighten possessively, a growl vibrating through his chest against my back.

"Be still," he orders, though his voice has lost some of its earlier savagery. "The bond is still forming."

"Bond?" The word comes out broken, my throat wrecked from screaming.

I feel his nod against my hair. "The claiming bond. It's... different than it should be. Stronger."

Through our mental connection, I catch flashes of his thoughts—confusion mingled with possessive satisfaction, concern shadowed by primal triumph. He's as shaken as I am by whatever has happened between us, this magical union that goes far beyond the physical claiming.

His hands roam my body almost reverently now, tracing the patterns of bruises and bite marks he's left on my skin. Each touch sends sparks through my nerve endings. I should hate this, hate him, hate myself for responding to him—but the hatred won't come, burned away by something deeper and more complex.

"I can feel you," he murmurs against my temple, lips surprisingly gentle. "Your thoughts. Your emotions."

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