Page 144 of Run Wild Omega

Tess blinks up at me, her lips bruised and parted. “Better.”

Wyatt grabs a clean dishtowel, wiping her thighs and the floor, while I pour her a third glass of water. She takes it with trembling hands, drinking deeply as Dylan wraps both arms around her waist, anchoring her against his chest.

We’re a pack now. Not a legal strategy. Not an exercise in logic.

I look at Wyatt, then at Dylan, and finally at Tess, who rests her head against Dylan’s neck while drinking her water. I pick up my fork, turn back to my breakfast, and realize there isn’t a single variable I would alter.

Tess

They feed me and then take me back to bed.

I don’t remember walking. I don’t remember the hallway or the door or the nest waiting on the mattress. I remember Dylan’s hands on my waist, lifting me off his lap. I remember Wyatt’s mouth on my forehead, warm and grounding. I remember Miles pulling back the sheets.

Then I’m on the bed, the air thick again, and the heat has me.

Five hours since the first surge and my core is slick, hot, and aching.

“Roll over,” Miles says. It’s a low, raspy order.

I turn onto my right side, my cast resting on the mattress behind me, my good leg bending at the knee. The sheets are cool against my fevered skin for exactly two seconds before the heat floods back, pulsing between my thighs in a relentless demand.

Dylan stretches out behind me, his broad chest pressing flush against my spine. His hand skates over my hip, fingers digging into the soft flesh of my waist as he pulls me back against him. His cock is rigid against the small of my back, hot and thick, and he rolls his hips, dragging it through the slick that’s coating my rear.

“Look at you,” Miles murmurs from my front, his palm sliding down the inside of my thigh. “You’re dripping. You’ve been dripping for hours.”

His fingers reach my center, and he doesn’t tease. He pushes two fingers deep inside, curling them upward, and my back bows off the mattress. Dylan’s arm locks around my ribs from behind, pinning me in place while Miles works his hand.

“She’s soaking my fingers,” Miles says, pulling them out to show Dylan. Slick strings between his knuckles, glistening in the dim light. He pushes them back in, harder this time, and I sob against the pillow.

Dylan’s mouth finds the curve where my neck meets my shoulder. He bites down, hard enough to leave a deep purple mark, his tongue laving over the sting. His hand slides from my waist to my breast, cupping it fully, his fingers pinching my nipple and twisting until the sensation shoots straight into my pelvis.

“One day soon,” Dylan growls into my ear, his breath hot and ragged, “we’re taking every single opening you have at the exact same time. Every hole filled. Every inch claimed. You’re going to sit on my lap and take Miles in your mouth while Wyatt fills you from behind, and you’re going to thank us for it.”

The image makes my stomach flip, my inner walls clenching so hard around Miles’s fingers that a fresh wave of slick gushes over his wrist.

Miles growls, a loud animal noise, and withdraws his fingers. He shifts down the mattress, his head level with my hips, and I feel his breath on my inner thigh.

He doesn’t ease into it. He grabs my top leg, hitching it over his shoulder, and buries his face between my thighs.

His tongue drags from my opening to my clit in one long, devastating stroke. He does it again, harder, pressing his whole mouth against me, his lips sealing around my swollen flesh. He licks into me, his tongue pushing inside, fucking me with it, and the sound it makes is obscene. Wet, sloppy, hungry. His chin is drenched. His cheeks are slick. He doesn’t care.

I sob into the pillow, my fingers tangling into his hair, pulling him closer. Dylan’s arm tightens around my ribs from behind, his other hand palming my breast, his thumb rolling my nipple in a maddening rhythm that feeds straight into the inferno Miles is building between my legs.

Miles pulls back just enough to speak. “You’re dripping all over my face, Tess.” He slaps his palm flat against my center, the sound loud and wet in the quiet room. Slick splatters across his fingers. “Every drop of this belongs to us. Every single drop.”

Then his mouth is back. His tongue finds my clit and he sucks it between his teeth, flicking the tip in a rapid pattern while two fingers drive back inside me. He hooks them upward, hitting that swollen spot inside me, and my vision goes white.

Dylan reaches around my sides, both hands on my breasts now, pinching both nipples between his forefingers and thumbs, twisting until the sting radiates down into my pelvis. I writhe, my hips bucking against Miles’s face, but Dylan’s grip on my chest holds me pinned.

“Don’t move,” Dylan commands, his tone dark and feral. “Let Miles eat you out while you cry for us. Good girl. So good for your pack.”

Miles’s fingers work inside me with punishing force, three fingers now, stretching me wide while his tongue maintains its frantic pace over my clit. The wet, splashing sounds of his hand against my body fill the bedroom, mixing with the scent of arousal and my own heat.

My climax ricochets through me.

My inner walls clamp down on Miles’s fingers in a tight and violent rhythm. A high, broken scream tears out of my throat as my hips shudder uncontrollably against his mouth. He doesn’t stop. He keeps his fingers buried, pumping through the orgasm, milking every contraction while his thumb grinds into my hypersensitive clit.

“No, no, please,” I sob, my head thrashing against the pillow, tears streaming freely down my neck. “Miles, stop, it hurts, it’s too much.”