Page 46 of Prey for Me

The first few rounds they took control, took their pleasure, and ripped mine from my body. But as he leans back, and I sink down, I don’t fully understand why he’s allowing me to take control.

Don’t tell me a pack of possessive psychopaths have more manners than mainland alphas?

I don’t want to believe it, but as his strong, calloused hands glide up my thighs and knead my ass, I don’t think about it any longer. And the second his tongue pierces my dripping folds, my mind goes blank.

I hate that I’m here. Hate that I’m bound. Hate myself for failing Faith up until now.

But more than anything I want to cum; I’m burning up inside with desire and despair and so I take it all out by fucking his face until I scream and cream.

I lean back, peering down my heaving chest to his cum-stained face. A manic grin greets me, and I’m sure my grin is just as deranged.

A ragged sigh escapes me as Nakoa devours my pussy, kneading my tender flesh in all the right places. I roll my hips, seeking my release, but he pulls away with a grunt, keeping me teetering just on the edge.

His devotion is illogical, but I toss logic and reason aside to chase another high.

He kisses me much too tenderly, compared to the vice-like grip he has on my throat. His tongue tastes of my arousal and mine of his.

“Grrrrrrrgh,” I jump at the menacing growl.

Nakoa—since I refuse to call him by a nickname as nonsensical as Nakoagation now that I know the truth—glares at Raphael.

“You’re gonna take both of us this time, sweet princess, so open wide,” Leo growls, the stiff head of his swollen, knotted cock rubbing against my clenching cheeks.

Big mistake. I don’t know where in my delusional mind I thought two knots in my pussy would stretch me less. The fullness is overwhelming, and I’m starting to get sick off my own pheromones. I’ve only read about that happening in smutty romance novels I buried deep inside my regal bookcase back home.

But now? It smells like a high end perfume department spritzed in the woods.

Raphael finally joins in on the action, fisting strands of my hair as he rams into my throat with abandon.

I can’t remain their little fuck toy forever. But for now, I rest, I recover, and then I plot my revenge.

***

“Recon?”curledontohischest.

“Before we locate Blue Fox, we want to investigate a signal.”

“Why the shore?” Leo asks cautiously.

We no longer argue for the rest of the day as we pick our way along the coast; instead, we press on. I don’t have time for fairytales when I have a real-life case to solve. But it nags at me, Nakoa’s certainty that we’re not just mates because of random circumstances. No, we are fated to be alpha and omega.

He’s going crazy from the mating bond, and so am I to even entertain it. But I can’t lie and say I still don’t feel the heat pulsating inside me from time to time. A heat that shouldn’t exist outside of one cycle a month that’s no different than a period. And yet, like clockwork, every week since I’ve landed I’ve been wet and horny.

What if I did it, and just said fuck it! Would allowing Raphael and Leo mark me really be that bad. The upsides seem more numerous than the downsides, if it really does stop this persistent heat cycle. But if Nakoa is right, then I’d have to accept they are my fated packmates. And how could I ever abandon them then?

As the sun begins to set, we set a new course that hugs the coast a little tighter than before. For most of the day, we’ve stuck to the forest, partially for shelter from the rain, and secondly to avoid the brunt of the storm. But now we can’t avoid either as we walk out in the open.

My yellow rain jacket holds up better than I’d expect, as well as my oversized boots. I do my best to ignore every backwards glance from Leo, and don’t acknowledge how much I blush when I overhear him calling me a, “Cute little duck,” to Nakoa.

How embarrassing! It feels like all I do is make a fool of myself whenever I’m with them. I’m older than Leo. I may be an omega, but that should inspire a little respect. Instead the fool is pinching my cheek and clutching my waist, my yellow jacket clashing horribly against his jet-black.

“March!”

We plot along, our heavy footsteps masked by the downpour. By the time we make it to the viewing port, I’m sure I’m soaked to the bone despite being well protected form the storm. I’m so cold, and my rainsuit so wet and heavy, it has the same effect.

The radio tower is right where I crashed. The jet fuel fires are gone, but the wreckage is overwhelming. I’m having a panic attack. As I gaze out at the rusted shipwrecks, a graveyard of hopes and dreams of escape, the weight of my grief feels sinister and heavier than before: it’s different from before because at least when mother died I had my rage, but now I feel nothing. I’m a empty husk of an Omega

“Why?”

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