Page 145 of Run Wild Omega

“You can take more,” Miles mutters, his usual logic completely stripped away, overridden by the heat. He bites the tender skin of my inner thigh, hard enough to leave a red, angry bruise. “You’ll take it. You take every bit of it.”

More tears spill. I can’t stop them. The overstimulation is blinding, and every nerve ending in my body is on fire. My thighs are shaking. My stomach is clenching. The slick is constant, pooling beneath me, soaking the sheets, and Miles keeps his mouth on me, licking and sucking and biting until I’m wrung out and weeping and pleading in a language that isn’t words.

Wyatt appears at the edge of the mattress. He’s been watching. Standing at the foot of the bed, naked, his hand wrapped around his cock, stroking himself while his pack mates took me apart. His eyes are black, his canines fully extended, his chest heaving.

“My turn,” he says.

He climbs onto the bed behind Dylan, his hand finding my hip. He taps Dylan’s shoulder, and Dylan shifts back, sitting up so my spine rests against his chest. His arms stay locked around my ribs, his cock pressing hot against my hip.

Miles stays where he is, his body pressed to my front. His cock is flushed and rigid, and he notches the head against my entrance. I can feel how close he is, how wrecked, just from the tremor in his hands.

“She’s ready,” Miles says, his jaw tight. “She’s more than ready.”

Wyatt settles behind me, his body pressing over Dylan’s arm, his hand sliding over my hip. His fingers dip into the slick coating my rear, circling, pressing, and my breath catches.

“Both,” I whisper, the word tumbling out before I can stop it. “Both at the same time.”

The room goes still.

“You sure?” Wyatt’s mouth is against my ear. “Tess, look at me.”

I turn my head. His eyes are black, his face taut with restraint. I can see the effort it’s costing him, the medic in him fighting the Alpha in him, and I reach up to cup his jaw.

“I’m sure. I want all of you. I want to feel you at the same time.”

Wyatt looks at Miles. Miles looks at Dylan. Something passes between them, a wordless agreement, and then Miles is hitching my top leg higher over his hip, opening me, and Wyatt is pressing against my rear entrance with the head of his cock.

Dylan shifts beneath us, his chest supporting my back, his arms wrapped around my ribs. He holds me immobile, his mouth against my ear.

“Breathe, sweetheart,” he murmurs. “Let us in. You look so beautiful right now. So wrecked. So ready.”

Miles pushes into my front at the exact same second Wyatt works his head into my rear.

The stretch is agonizing and magnificent. My body screams as two thick shafts force their way into me, occupying every inch of space I have to give. I can feel them against each other through the thin wall inside me, the pressure building a friction so intense that my vision blurs. I weep against Dylan’s neck, my fingers clawing at his forearms, my body stretching, adapting, opening to accommodate them.

“Fuck,” Wyatt groans, his forehead dropping to my shoulder as he seats himself to the base. “She’s so tight. She’s taking all of me.”

“Look at her,” Miles rasps, buried to the hilt, his hands squeezing my waist. “She’s completely filled.”

Dylan’s hand finds my jaw from behind, tilting my head back. He kisses me, deep and brutal, swallowing every sound I make. His cock twitches against my hip, hard and leaking, and I reach down, wrapping my fingers around him. He groans into my mouth, his hips jerking against my grip.

They begin to move.

It’s not gentle. It’s a synchronized, primitive rut.

Miles pulls back and drives in hard, his hips slapping loudly against my thighs, while Wyatt counter-thrusts from behind, hitting deep, terrifying angles. They use my own slick to grease their pace, the wet noise of their bodies colliding with mine echoing off the cedar beams. In and out, alternating, one filling while the other pulls back, a relentless seesaw that drives me up the mattress until Dylan’s hands brace my shoulders, holding me in place.

I stroke Dylan in time with their thrusts, my grip slick and tight, my thumb smearing the precome over the head in a twisting motion that makes his breath fracture against my neck. His fingers dig into my hips, holding me steady, keeping me aligned for the two men inside me while I work him with my hand.

Overstimulated to the absolute point of madness, I sob against Dylan’s chest. Tears roll continuously down my cheeks, soaking his skin. He cups my face, his thumbs wiping the tears away, and then he licks the salt from his fingers.

“You’re doing so good, Tess,” he praises, his tone almost tender even as his arms hold me pinned for the brutal pace between my legs. “Look how well you take your pack. You’re taking two cocks like you were built for this. And you’re stroking me at the same time. Greedy girl. Perfect, greedy girl.”

Wyatt’s pace turns completely feral. His jaw locks, exposing his extended canines. He grips my thigh, lifting it higher over Miles’s hip, his hips snapping forward with terrifying force until the base of his shaft slams against my rear with every stroke.

“I’m knotting,” Wyatt growls, a warning tearing from his chest. “I can’t stop it, Tess.”

At the exact same moment, Miles lets out a wrecked, ruined noise. His fingers dig into my ribs, his hips driving forward one last, devastating time as his shaft swells violently inside my front entrance.