Page 173 of Pack Rivals: Part Two
I feast on her tits.
She bites my shoulder.
I lose track of time.
Light fades.
Light brightens.
The waves pound angrily against the shore one moment.
The next they whisper softly.
Somewhere among the piles of discarded clothes a wristwatch ticks.
Tick tock. Tick fucking tock.
I should be dog-tired. I should be exhausted.
I’m not. I’ve never felt more alive.
All the freaking rotten stuff I’ve done just to make myself feel? It’s never come close to this.
Because afterwards, when the fire burned out and the darkness melted away, it left me drained. Beaten. Angry.
Rutting our omega through her heat makes me feel.
It makes me feel … elated.
Good.
Worthy.
I don’t want it to end. I don’t want it to ever end.
But time’s a bitch.
And good things always do.
Soon her need fades, her temperature wanes and she can finally string a sentence together.
Angel fetches bottles of water and chocolate ice cream from the kitchen and we sprawl out over the bed and sofa, eating and drinking.
Our omega balances in Hardy’s lap as he insists on spooning lumps of ice cream into her mouth and my own spoon rests untouched on my thigh as I watch her.
Could watch this one forever.
My bird.
My girl.
“What was your dress like, little bird?”
“My dress?” she asks, forehead crinkling as she licks her lips.
“Your wedding dress. The one that made you sad.”
She looks at me, cocking her head to the side. “Why?”
