Page 125 of Your Wild Omega

I press a hand to my stomach. “Oh, goodness me, that champagne must have gone straight to my belly. I’d better go find the ladies’.”

Snatching my bag, I toddle across the floor, clearly tipsy. Wobbly enough to trip near the lone diner and sprawl directly over his lap.

“Oh, fuck,” I mutter, flailing across his table for balance. “I’m so sorry. Think I’ve had too much to drink.”

I’m halfway down the stairs before I hear the shout go up and chairs grate along the floor. I laugh as I pocket the stolen phone and run for my life out to the side alley where my alphas wait in the car. The scent of fries smacks me in the face as I throw open the door and fling myself inside.

“Go, go,” I call, clinging to as much of Zack as I can reach and diving my nose into his neck as the car lurches forward.

“Got it?” Rickon asks, checking me over in the rearview mirror.

“Yeah.” I beam at him. “This moron gave me everything.”

He laughs. “Great, because the big guy here was getting restless.”

To prove his point, Zack pulls me onto his lap, the vibration in his chest rolling through my body. Fuck, he’s purring, and it’s everything I need to cleanse Brad’s slimy presence from my thoughts.

“Wait a sec, Zack,” I murmur, tugging at my brooch. He helps me finish the task, revealing the tiny device on the back. I carefully tug the recording device free and pass it and the phone to Rickon in the front. Zack gets to work on my high-waisted pants, freeing me completely.

“Time to write some articles of our own,” Rickon says as Zack tilts backward, sliding his pants under his ass enough to free his cock.

Yes, this is exactly what I need. My alphas. Not some pretentious jerk trying to worm his way into being mine. The leech’s scent lingers on my skin and I rub the back of my hand on my clothes, wiping off the traces. I growl with annoyance as the unwanted alpha stench sticks like the plague.

But I know the perfect way to get rid of the scent.

I spread myself over my pack leader, moaning as his erection slips inside. Zack tugs me closer and kisses my bond mark, making me convulse with need. Thank goodness Rickon left Agent Pierce at home with the promise not to let Zack out of the car while they waited for me.

“Fuck, Zack,” I mutter as I writhe over his hips, hands braced on his hard chest.

He lifts his head off my shoulder only to press his lips to mine, swallowing down my moans as we sate each other on the backseat, sweating out any traces of Bradley on my skin.

Rickon groans in the front. “Bloody oath. You’re making me hard as a rock, you two.”

I giggle. Heat pulses through me as Zack locks one arm around my hips and spears up into me, stealing my breath. Hot and fast, the orgasm hits me, inspired by my supreme desperation for my scent matches.

I slump onto Zack’s pulsing chest, breathing hard.

The car dips, tilting as we slip down the ramp to our underground parking. “Better get those clothes back on so we can make it inside,” Rickon says tightly, one hand holding the tent in his pants.

“All right, alpha,” I whisper, knowing how much he enjoys hearing those words.

Rickon swears under his breath, and his fingers tighten on the wheel as he finds our parking spot. He flings himself out the door and comes around to open mine, pinning me against the car the moment I step out.

“I love you,” he says, stealing my mouth.

I shiver, his intensity palpable through his trembling body. When he breaks the kiss, I whisper, “And I love you,” against his lips.

He grabs my hand, leans in the car, and grabs the “unofficially” borrowed OCB recording device. “Come on, Zack. I need to take our clever omega to bed, stat.”

Zack slides out and follows us into the elevator, the car chirping as Rickon locks it.

Rickon kisses my hand as he leads me out of the garage elevator and across the lobby, his eyes loaded with the fiery promise of what’s to come.

“Wait, Ms Jones,” the concierge calls behind us. “A parcel arrived for you.” He comes around the desk, holding a thick A4 envelope. I turn and freeze as I realize Zack’s standing between me and the man, and he’s not leashed.

“Zack,” I call softly, willing him to behave.

Slowly Zack sticks out his hand. The concierge, who’s seen the OCB escort and witnessed us take him out on a leash, swallows hard as he extends the letter.

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