Page 98 of Let It Snow
Did that even happen? It doesn’t feel real, and the threat from Ferro seems like pure abstraction now.
I’m floating on pink, bubbly waves of orgasm, diving and surfacing, stuffed like a Thanksgiving turkey, so full of cum that every time I stand up, it literally gushes out of me, dripping with each wobbly step I take toward the bathroom.
Snow isinsatiable—an alpha in rut is a power to be reckoned with, a fucking sex machine. He can stay hard around the clock, even while sleeping.
There is, however, one brief moment when something shifts.
While he’s fucking me with his knot fully expanded, he lets out a low sound, the Permission-To-Mark AO call. His lips slide over my neck, warm and wet against my skin, his teeth skimming there lightly, and for a heartbeat I freeze, caught between instinct and hesitation. I want to answer him with a matching sound, but something inside me stalls, maybe fear, and I stay silent.
The moment passes quickly. Snow doesn’t bring it up again or repeat the call, and eventually, I just let it fade from my mind.
At night, I fall asleep with him inside me and wake up still feeling him, rock-hard and buried deep.
Everything blurs into one long stream of pleasure, satisfaction, and release.
I don’t think at all about what will happen once the heat ends, or how I’ll have to face the question of what my future with Snow should look like.
Will I forgive him?
Sometimes I lie there with my eyes closed, pretending to nap. In those moments, I can feel Snow leaning over me, his gaze fixed on my face. His energy, golden like a veil, drifts down and wraps around me, his fingertips brushing my skin tenderly, smoothing my hair.
Every so often I hear him whispering to mein his mind,
"I so want you to be mine, Summer… You’re everything."
But I stay quiet, still, pretending to sleep, even though my heart is breaking inside with the urge to answer him…
???
I think it’s the end of the third or maybe the fourth day when I start feeling the waves grow weaker, the last one rolling in by evening.
I spend it sitting on his hips, riding him at a slow, rhythmic pace.
We lock eyes the whole time, but we don’t speak. This way, it's more intense and intimate. His hands rest on my thighs, occasionally brushing against my bouncing cock. Not a single word is exchanged. I just rise and fall, my entrance clinging to his shaft, drinking in every drop of pleasure. I lift myself effortlessly with my power, so there’s no strain on my thigh muscles, just a gentle float upward, then a slow descent, taking him so deep that my stomach bulges slightly.
The last orgasm feels like a dying swan’s song, final, fading, sending a trembling wave through me before melting into nothingness. I collapse onto the bed beside Snow and close my eyes.
But I don’t drift off right away.
I watch him slowly sink into a deep, peaceful sleep. His rut must be ending too, his body finally getting a break, his dick can rest too. Good job, Snow’s dick! You’ve done a master-level job. Congrats, mister.
I pull a blanket over my lover, then roll onto my back and stare at the ceiling, where tiny LEDs sparkle like scattered stars.
That’s when I remember what’s coming in a few hours: the so-calledheat recovery, the worst phase of heat.
It’s known for pushing many omegas into something close to depression, a deep emotional crash. There are even recorded cases of omegas who, already struggling, took their own lives during this stage. There’s a term for it: post-heat suicide. A tragic social phenomenon.
I just hope it won’t hit me that hard. That somehow, I’ll get through it.
I can feel a bit of strength returning to my legs, so I sit up, swing them off the bed, and finally manage to stand. Time for a bathroom trip.
Before, Snow used to carry me there, even help me pee a few times. Once, I asked him to hold my dick for me—ha,ha, ridiculous—but to be honest, it didn’t bother me. Anyway, things are supposed to be going back to normal now.
As I let out a stream of urine, sighing deeply, my eyes land on something sitting on the shelf under the mirror.
A box of suppressants. Snow’s suppressants.
The packaging has that familiar Malden Pharmaceuticals logo.
