Page 55 of Scrum Heat

She lowers herself down, slow and steady, like she’s placing herself on something holy. And when she sinks down fully onto my thigh?

We both moan.

“Oh my god,” she whispers, her voice breaking on the end of it. “Finn. These thighs…”

I make a choked noise.

She grinds once—testing pressure—and I swear I black out for a second.

“They’re so good,” she breathes, hips rolling again, slower now. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I mean,” I manage, “I didn’t know they were a public service.”

She laughs—shaky and soft and completelywrecked—and then moves again, slick already soaking through her shorts and onto my skin. Her hands hold tight to my shoulders as she starts to rock, slow and deliberate, her eyes locked on mine.

I’m holding it together by a thread, trying my bestnotto rut into her like a teenager who just saw his first omega highlight reel, but it’s clear that that’s becoming very challenging. All I can think about is how soft she is; how her weight feels perfect and grounding, how I’m going to die here and it’s going to be worth it.

She presses down firmer this time, and her lips part on a gasp—no, amoan—sweet and stunned and needy, like the pressure hits something deep and desperate inside her. We’re so close that I can count the freckles that dust her cheek and the bridge of her nose, and I swear, if I wasn’t already braced against the headboard, I’d have gone straight through it.

I grab the base of the mattress to keep from flipping her over and begging.

“You’re sure this okay?” she asks, breath hitching.

Is she for real? This is the best day of mylife. This is thedefinitionof okay. This isalpha gospel.

“Of course,” I nod. “Anything you want. You just tell me.”

She lets out a broken little sound—halfthank-you, halfyou’re mine now—and then she starts tomove. Learning, finding angles and pressure points, turning my thigh into a fucking weapon of mass ruination.

Every slick grind, every breathless whimper iskillingme—

And I love it.

Her slick is hot and thick against my skin, soaking straight through her shorts. I’m burning, holding myself together with nothing but willpower and a deeply repressed whimper.

Good boy. Good helper.

Let the pretty omega hump your leg until the stars fall down.

My instincts scream for more; to grab her hips, to pin her under me, totake; but I don’t.

She’s choosing this—choosingme—and I will burn in place before I take that away from her.

But then—

“More,” she chokes out, her eyes wide. “Please, Finn—I needmore.”

My hands find her waist instinctively. “Anything you need, sweetheart,” I murmur. “You take what you want. I’m right here.”

She gasps and grinds down harder.

Theo said she might be a match, that her scent syncs too perfectly with ours for it to be coincidence.

And he might be right—because she smells likeyes. Like heat and fate and something too holy for my filthy brain to process while she’s riding me like I’m the last working surface in the building.

Our mouths crash together, and her fingers twist in my shirt and then my hair as if she’s trying totakefrom me—everything, allat once—and I give it. Every groan, every shudder, every instinct inside me screamingAlpha, now. Claim. Bite. Mark.

She keeps grinding; rubbing herself against the thick of my thigh like it’s salvation, like I’m somethinguseful. The scent of her slick is dizzying now—thick, rich, and syrup-sweet. It clings to the back of my throat, floods my lungs, makes my hips twitch helplessly beneath her.

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