Page 84 of Run Little Omega

Color floods her cheeks. "That's not... alphas don't..."

"This alpha does." I smile against her inner thigh. "This alpha wants to."

Her breath catches as I press a kiss to the sensitive skin where leg meets hip. The scent of her arousal hits me like a physical blow, my rut surging in response until my gums ache with the need to bite, to claim again. I fight the urge, determined to show her there's more to my desire than primal possession.

"Court alphas would consider this beneath them," I explain, trailing my lips closer to her center, watching goosebumps rise in the wake of my breath. "They believe pleasure should flow one way—omega to alpha." I glance up at her, letting her see the predatory hunger in my eyes. "Another reason court alphas are fools."

Heat radiates from her core, the sweet-spicy scent of omega arousal intensified by the frost magic now infusing her essence. My mouth waters, rut demanding I taste what's mine.

"Cadeyrn," she whispers, uncertainty in her voice. "You don't have to?—"

"You still don't understand, do you?" I interrupt, pressing my thumb against her entrance, watching her eyes widen as I circle the sensitive flesh. "This isn't duty. This is hunger." I lower my head until my lips brush her inner thigh, letting her feel the controlled edge of my teeth. "I want to taste every part of what belongs to me."

Her pulse quickens beneath my lips, the intoxicating scent of her arousal making my rut throb painfully. The primal part of me screams to mount, to claim, to knot—to bind her to me in the most ancient way. I suppress it, determined to show her this different kind of possession.

"The claiming mark isn't the only way to make you mine," I murmur against her heated flesh. "Let me show you."

Before she can respond, I taste her—deliberately, thoroughly—savoring her essence. The flavor explodes across my tongue—honey and spice and something uniquely Briar, now undercut with the winter-crisp taste of frost magic. A growl rumbles through my chest, unbidden. Seven centuries of existence, and nothing has ever tasted this essential.

Her hands fly to my hair, fingers tangling in the strands as she responds to my attentions. I pin her hips with one forearm, my other hand splaying across her lower belly where I can feel her muscles trembling.

"Stay still, little omega," I command against her flesh, feeling her shudder at the vibration of my words. "Let your alpha take care of you."

The possessive term slips out without thought, yet feels perfectly right. In this moment, that's exactly what we are—alpha and omega, predator and prey, locked in the most ancient dance. Yet transformed into something new, something the courts would never understand.

"Please," she gasps, trying to arch against my restraining arm. "Cadeyrn, I need?—"

"I know exactly what you need." I circle her most sensitive spot with the tip of my tongue, feeling her thighs tense on either side of my head. "Better than you do."

I taste her again, slower this time, savoring the way her body responds to each deliberate stroke. My free hand slides up to trace the cillae spiraling across her rib cage, feeling them pulse with her accelerating heartbeat. When my fingers brush the underside of her breast, she moans—a broken, needy sound that drives my rut to near-painful intensity.

"You taste like magic," I tell her between deliberate strokes of my tongue. "Like winter sunrise and summer thunder." My words are becoming less coherent as my rut fogs rational thought. "Like mine."

I slide a finger carefully inside her, curving upward as I taste her again, and she cries out—a sharp, broken sound that sends a surge of satisfaction through me. Her inner walls clench around my finger, slick and responsive.

"Yes," I growl against her. "Show me how my omega responds to her alpha's touch."

I add a second finger, stretching her gently while my tongue works in steady circles. The cillae across her skin begin to glow brighter, pulsing in time with her racing heart. I feel the magic building between us, a tangible pressure in the air.

"Do you feel it?" I ask, raising my head just enough to see her face contorted in pleasure. "The magic responding to us?"

She nods frantically, beyond words as her hips strain against my restraining arm. I release her then, allowing her to move against my mouth as I redouble my efforts, my fingers curving to find the spot inside that makes her breath hitch.

"Cadeyrn," she gasps, my name becoming a litany on her lips. "Cadeyrn, Cadeyrn, Cadeyrn."

Each repetition fuels my rut, my arousal painful now as my body demands completion. I ignore it, focused entirely on her pleasure. I want to see her shatter, to know I brought her to that edge with nothing but my mouth and hands. To prove that my possession of her goes beyond the primal act of knotting.

"Give yourself to me," I command against her flesh, then suck gently on the sensitive bundle of nerves while pressing my fingers deeper inside.

Her entire body goes rigid, her scent spiking with the unmistakable edge of omega release. The cillae across her skin flare brilliantly, and I feel answering patterns ignite across my own flesh as the magic surges between us. For a moment, our minds connect through the claiming bond—her pleasure becomes mine, and mine hers, in an endless feedback loop that threatens to drag me into my own release despite the lack of physical contact.

"That's it," I murmur against her, gentling my touch but not stopping as she trembles beneath me. "Let me feel all of it."

When she finally shatters completely, her back arching off the furs, frost explodes from her skin in a cascade of blue-white light that illuminates our shelter. A hoarwhorl of magic spreads across the ground beneath us, crystallizing the air itself as the magic pulses between us, strengthening with each wave of her release. The cold burns against my heated skin, the pain-pleasure of it nearly driving me over the edge.

"Alpha," she whimpers, the instinctive term slipping past her usually guarded lips as her body convulses around my fingers. The word hits me like a physical blow, my rut surging with possessive triumph.

She's still shaking with aftershocks when I withdraw my fingers, fighting the urge to taste them as I move up her body. My control is hanging by a thread, my rut demanding I claim, I knot, I breed. The scent of her completion is everywhere, driving me half-mad with desire. I press my forehead against hers, breathing deeply to center myself.

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