Page 70 of Switch Heater

“Best. Ride. Ever.” She states once her legs aren’t threatening to buckle anymore.

I crowd her against the brick of the building, running my lips down her throat when she exposes it to me. “Next time you’re near my bike, I’m bending you over it and fucking you from behind while you hold on for an even better ride.” I whisper against her skin.

Her throat vibrates against my lips as she groans. “Next time, I might just turn around and sit on your hard cock and ride you while we drive down the road.” She replies confidently, her palm covering the erection I’ve been sporting since she moved her ass against me and squeezing gently.

Fuck, I like the sound of that. It’s definitely going on my list of ways I want to fuck her. Or it would if I had such a list. Nipping her throat once, I push back and grab my keys from my pocket as I head for the back door.

It’s a Saturday, which means usually the place would be rowdy with the other artists in their cubbies with clients and music blasting through the speakers. Because I knew I wanted to have Ripley to myself tonight, I closed my shop early on one of our busy days. Tika, our piercer and manager, locked the place up before we left Ripley’s parent’s place. It’s not late, close to nine, maybe, so it feels weird to walk in to a dead shop.

“Where are we?” Ripley asks behind me as I flip on the hallway light near the storage room and back office.

“My shop.”

She gasps when the area is illuminated, and the artwork covering the walls is prominently displayed. I walk us toward my workstation and lead her into the empty room. It smells sterile, letting me know Tika cleaned up in here recently. Good.

Throwing my keys on the counter where most of my stuff is stored, I sit in my rolling chair and pat my lap. Ripley scurries over and plops herself on my legs, looking around my workspace and taking everything in.

The walls are covered in intricate paintings River did for me when I first bought the place. A giant kraken, its limbs wrapped around a large boat, crushing it with its tentacles and dragging it under, is depicted on one wall. A storm rages on in the image captured there, the waves tumultuous and frothing as they ram against the creature and boat. Each wall ties in with the kraken in some way, but the kraken is in the center of it all. It’s my favorite painting in this place.

“Did you paint these?” She points to the walls.

I shake my head before resting my chin on her shoulder. “No. River did. Hasn’t he shown you his work yet?”

She frowns, a crease forming between her brows. “I knew he painted, but he hasn’t shown me anything he’s done yet. I wish he would. These are gorgeous and so detailed.”

I rub her arms. “I’m sure he will. He probably just hasn’t thought about it.”

“Yeah, I guess.” She doesn’t sound convinced, but she lets it go.

“So, why are we here? You gonna give me my first tattoo?” She waggles her brows and I laugh.

“Not tonight. But I will when you’re ready and you ask. It’d be my pleasure, Kitten,” I purr out, putting emphasis on the word ‘pleasure.’

Her thumb touches my bottom lip and my tongue darts out to lick it before biting the pad lightly. Her eyes glitter as she stares at my lips before looking me in my eyes, barely banked lust looking back at me. Insatiable omega.

Her hair still hangs wildly down her back and around her face, her cheeks still flushed from earlier. She looks like a wild omega priestess from the stories I used to read as a kid. They were beautiful, feral beings that guarded their packs with a ruthlessness, tearing apart anyone that would dare come near their alphas or nests. If they had kids, nobody could escape from their sights if they felt a threat. I always enjoyed the drawings of those omegas.

The world today would have you believe the alphas hold the pack together. That we are the most important ones in the hierarchy. That’s not the case, though. It’s the omegas that hold us up, uniting us. An omega’s love is not something to take lightly. The love of an omega can make or break an alpha. There are a few bad seeds out there just like with everyone, alphas included, but the majority of packs are genuinely in it for the love. It’s why the Omega Center is so important. To make sure omegas go to good packs, and they get the time to really get to know the men and women that court them.

Omegas bring clarity to their alphas. Help hold off most of the intense aggression we all have inside of us. Way back when, alphas that didn’t find their omegas went feral, turning into monsters that destroyed everything in their path. That was way before advanced medicine came in to play, however. Simply put, they are the heart of their packs. Now our pack has two hearts that beat for us.

“If you’re not tattooing me, then what did you have in mind?” She looks at me curiously, a smile resting on those pouty lips of hers.

I grin wide, almost giddy with my plan. I’ve thought about this a lot. Handing my trust over to someone with modifications to my body has never been an easy feat, and I’m incredibly picky about my tattoos, usually. I’m going to let her do something that I’ve let very few do before. Tonight, I decided I wanted to let Ripley tattoo something on me. Not only will it mean something to me, but it’ll be something on my skin from her I’ll always have. Doesn’t matter if it’s the smallest, silliest thing in the world and it looks like a child drew it. I want it.

“How about you tattoo something on me?”

Her eyes widen, her lips parting on a gasp. An excited glimmer shines in her hazel depths as I stare deep into them, waiting for her answer.

“What will I draw? And where? You’re already covered nearly everywhere, it seems,” she exclaims.

I chuckle. “I still have open space. You can pick a spot in a minute. And you just draw whatever you want. I’ll be happy with whatever it is. I just want something from you to carry with me forever.”

She gets a glassy look in her eyes and tears fill them. Her arms wrap around my neck, and she straddles my legs, making herself comfortable as she nuzzles into my neck. I wrap my own arms around her back and hug her to me. It feels so godsdamned good to have her against me. I sigh out, burying my nose in her throat and breathing her in.

“I’m a terrible artist, you know.” Her words are muffled, but I still hear them.

“Doesn’t matter. I’ll love it no matter what,” I tell her assuredly.

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