Page 29 of Outback Heat
“You, knotting me.” I squeeze my thighs together.
“Did it help?”
“For a little, but then it comes back.”
Alpha and Omega pairs aren’t meant to be separated, especially new couples. This is the time of our relationship that we’re supposed to be banging on every surface imaginable until it kicks off my heat and his rut.
“From now on, whenever you come, I want you to send me a picture.”
“What? I can’t do that!”
“Is it so wrong for an Alpha to want to see a blissed out, post-orgasm glow on his Omega?”
“Won’t it make your situation worse?” I pause and lick my lips, squirming a little just thinking about his throbbing knot.
“Yup.”
“This seems like a recipe for disaster.”
“Spitfire, I’m an Alpha voluntarily choosing to be away from my Omega. I’m already a ball of testosterone and uncompromising horniness. I’d rather fan the flames than let them simmer,” he says and I laugh. It’s the most Murphy response possible. Every other person alive would be desperate to make this separation period easier on themselves, to lessen the symptoms. Not my Alpha. Nope, he wants to burn.
“And if I can’t handle the flames?” I ask, my breath hitching.
I can hear his smile down the line. It’s bright and earnest and cheeky. A deep growl rumbles down the line and the hairs on my arms stand to attention.
“Omega, you’re the only one who can.”
I shiver as his voice rumbles through my body. My eyes drift close, and I squeeze my thighs together. “Okay, but you have to send me pictures, too.”
“Of course. I’m gonna flood your phone with knot pics.”
“Deal,” I say, biting my lip. This is such a bad idea. I’m signing up for self-inflicted torture, but the thrill surging through my veins is intoxicating. Life will never be boring with Murphy as my Alpha.
We talk for hours and only hang up as a soft glow appears on the horizon.
Fourteen
Matilda
It’sbeenthreeweekssince I answered Ida’s ad in Omega Weekly and yet it feels much longer. In that short time I’ve found my scent match, been arrested, stared down a wild horse, been rejected by my Alpha, moved to a remote outback town, started a new job, and befriended an elderly meddlesome Omega. Yeah, I’ve been a busy girl.
Despite feeling like my life is chaotic, I can honestly say I can’t remember being happier. The only thing that would make this new life better is having my Alpha by my side.
God, my skin itches with need whenever I think of him. His text messages are always cheeky and laden with innuendo, but it’s the constant stream of images that have me wet at the most inappropriate times.
He’s definitely not shy. It started off with just goofy selfies of his flushed face post-orgasm and rapidly devolved to straight up pornography. Some are tamer than others. Yesterday, he sent me a single shot of his fist wrapped around his purple knot with pre-come beading at the tip. Today, it was a video in high definition of his cock spurting ropes of white come onto bathroom tiles.
Ida has taken to leaving the room in a rush whenever my phone chimes. She says I smell like a brothel whenever that “damn cowboy” messages me.
I can’t help it though. He makes my body come alive with a handful of words, a single image, or a graphic video. It’s even worse when we talk on the phone. His voice is like raw honey, and the deep tenor… Well, let’s just say I find myself dreaming of him more nights than not.
I have an automatic google alert set up on his name and it chimes at least once a week.
My heart beats a little faster and my palms sweat when I read the articles extolling Murphy’s achievements. He’s a champion bull rider, the wild child of rodeo, and an inductee into the PBR Hall of Fame. His name is synonymous with success in his chosen sport.
I’ve spent a lot of time on Wikipedia researching the rodeo scene, and am mildly star-struck by Murphy. He’s a champion. The best of the best.
A sneering inner voice occasionally chimes in: What can I offer someone of that calibre? Thankfully, I don’t have time to wallow in my self doubt.
