Page 46 of Shared Omega

Evening has come down early, the darkness brought on by heavy, rain-swollen clouds that cover the Zone like a gray counterpane. The breeze pushed ahead of the storm is refreshing after the long day of traveling in the blazing sun, and it cools my skin. The rain comes on slowly, first a slight drizzle, then plump, splashing drops, and finally an outright downpour.

Clutching my knees against my chest, I sit by the fire and watch it come down from the shelter of the overpass above.

It was once a massive freeway, Dog explains, back before the Cataclysm. Since then, however, the massive structure has collapsed, leaving only an overhang of crumbling concrete and rusted rebar.

An involuntary groan escapes my lips as a wave of pain ripples through my body.

“Are you cold?” Dog asks. “Why don’t you move closer to the fire.”

He is squatting by the fire that he has built from dead wood he gathered before the rain started.

The truth is, I’m not cold at all. My body is feverishly hot—an intense, pulsating heat emanating from deep within my core.

It’s my estrus coming back.

Dog took care of it quite thoroughly last night, but that was only a temporary fix. Over the course of the day, it has returned gradually, and now it has reached an almost unbearable intensity. Besides the heat, I’m experiencing sudden cramps and spasms. And that’s not to mention my nipples, which have grown painfully erect—as hard as pebbles beneath my thin tank top.

I’m literally getting so horny that it hurts.

Still, despite the desperate heat of my skin, I move closer to the fire like Dog told me. There’s something comforting about its flickering orange light, which is casting wavering shadows against the underside of the collapsed overpass above. And there’s something comforting about knowing that Dog made it himself. It’s a symbol of his ability to take care of me.

All my life, I’ve struggled to be independent. I’ve never been one to rely on other people, especially not men.

Maybe that comes from being abandoned by my parents.

But ever since my transformation, that’s been changing.

There’s a war going on between my mind and my body.

And my body is winning.

“It feels good,” I sigh, as the warmth of the fire caresses my already hot skin, drawing out beads of sweat across my flesh.

“Good.”

Dog’s voice has taken on that strange, enticing purr once again. The one that he used last night when he pleasured me to death’s door.

I find myself staring at the stern, swarthy Alpha, studying his features in the quivering light. The wings of his nostrils flare wide. He is drinking in my scent. I suddenly become aware that I am sitting with my legs spread wide, practically taunting him with my pheromones.

And those pheromones are certainly having an effect on Dog. The black elastic of his shorts is stretching and bulging with his growing erection. I can see the contours of it through the fabric—the shape of his heavy balls and long, girthy shaft. I can even make out the details of his glans and the little V-shape that I know is so sensitive.

The memory of having that dominant, Alpha cock inside my mouth last night—the smell of Dog’s musk, the tang of his hard flesh and the salt of his hot semen—all of those remembered sensations send even greater desire pulsing between my thighs, swelling my tender lips down below and moistening my cotton panties to a shameful degree.

Cursing my intractable body, I clap my legs together so fast that my knees clack painfully.

“You’re sweating,” Dog says, looking at the moisture pebbling my skin. “Shit, you’re not cold, you’re burning up.”

He rises, completely unashamed of the massive erection bulging at his crotch, and walks away from the fire. I watch him as he goes, unable to take my eyes off his incredible bubble butt flexing with each stride.

Dog steps out into the sheets of rain falling beyond the shelter of the overpass. He cups his hands and raises them, catching the falling water. It is coming down so hard now that it only takes a couple of seconds for the bowl of his hands to fill.

He returns, his wet body shining in the fire light, rivulets of rain tracing down the contours of his carved physique. He kneels before me, stretching out the dripping bowl of his cupped hands filled with rain water.

“Drink this.”

His voice has that tone of command that should piss me off, but instead makes me feel all kinds of other things.

“Go on,” he says when I hesitate. “The rain here is clean. Not like the poison that falls from the sky in the city hive.”