Page 78 of Your Wild Omega

White Mine’s lips are softer than mine, and I love running my tongue over them. He smells like a combination of Mine and me, which fills me with satisfaction. He gasps as I leave his lips and trail my mouth down his chin and under his jaw, his internal thumping speeding up below the skin.

“Shi-it,” I murmur, trying out the word against his neck. He uses it often enough, especially when I insert myself inside him, but I don’t know what it means.

White Mine flinches and touches his finger to my lips. “No,” he orders. “That one’s not for you. Not yet.”

Holding his gaze, I suck his finger into my mouth.

“Damn you,” he says huskily. “Do you have any idea . . .?” He groans, clutches my face with both hands, and presses his hungry mouth to mine. I clamp an arm around his waist, my cock stirring as our legs scrape together. His body writhes in response as our lips touch over and over.

He’s like a good meal I want to eat more and more of; having him under my power like this is amazing.

White Mine gasps and shivers, dropping his head to my shoulder as he vibrates all over with a moan. His sweet cake scent floods over me and I breathe it deep.

“Happy now, bastard?” he gasps, punching my shoulder. It doesn’t hurt at all because he’s only playing at being mad.

I grin.

He rolls off my chest. “And I don’t even have time to shower.” White Mine glares at me and crooks his fingers a few times. “Get up! It’s go time.”

I throw back the blanket and roll to my feet. The wet patch in his sleeping trousers fills me with another swell of pride.

“Don’t you dare look at me like I’m something to eat, you smug alpha,” he calls, running for the stairs. “Red, you out of the shower yet? Hurry.”

I grumble when we leave the house without eating, but White Mine drives the car through a tunnel that hands food directly to us. The slender alpha mutters under his breath the entire way as I stare out the window at the many beings who flow through the city.

Including people walking dogs on leads.

I stroke the collar around my neck, feeling the bumps and seams. After my first brush with the small four-legged monster, Mine showed me a book about dogs and taught me the word. Well, I’d already heard the worddogsplenty of times, back at the first stage of my life, but these creatures are different. Dogs aren’t people, which is even more confusing, but the day my pack took me to the wide grassy area—the park—I began to understand.

When not held close by their owners, dogs run around wildly, chasing everything in sight. But when the leash drapes from their neck, they stand calmly next to their owners. White Mine puts the collar around my neck for the same reason: I might chase all the threats if they hadn’t taught me this.

Which means I’m still different, because I never see any other alphas or ohms or non-alphas wearing a leash.

“What are you so deep in thought about?” Mine asks, leaning her head on my shoulder.

I point out the window. “Dog.”

That familiar, delicious flush of warmth glows in my heart. I twist and rest my hand over the same spot in her chest. “Ohm like?”

She captures my hand, holding it in place. “Yes, it means I’m happy. Happy that you’re learning so fast. One day I’ll ask your forgiveness for leashing you like a dog, but by then you’ll be able to understand my reasons.”

Somehow I know she’s talking about me becoming less like a dog. “Learn,” I mumble.

“Yes, you’re learning so well.” Mine presses a kiss to my cheek, happiness in her smile and heart.

“I see twice as many reporters here today,” White Mine muses as the car slows.

I peer out the window, but recoil as bright lights flash in my face. When I growl softly, my ohm rests her arm over my body to restrain me.

“Gotta get used to this, sorry,” she murmurs. “Your omega’s getting more famous by the day.”

I nuzzle into her. She doesn’t seem upset about the crowd, so I let it go. If they try to take her from me, I can teach them a lesson. “Mine,” I murmur, to make sure she knows.

White Mine interrupts as the car stops moving. “Quick, time to run.”

Mine trips as we rush toward the tent city, so I sweep her up over my shoulder and she laughs all the way.

A man who always yells and orders everyone around duringactingstorms toward us, fists on his hips. “This is out of line, Rickon Jones!”

---