Page 68 of Pack Choice
“I want to touch you so badly, little butterfly. I want to keep you safe. I want to make you feel good.”
“I want that too. All of it.”
I kiss her again, my hands traveling down her back, over the rump of her backside, squeezing the globes with both my hands, making her squeal into my mouth.
The shorts she’s wearing are so tiny. Silly, little pathetic things I want to rip into pieces, but I temper that urge, running my hands around the columns of her thighs, squeezing the warm flesh, finding the soft skin of her inner thigh, and stroking my fingers upwards until I find the hem of her shorts.
I pause here, waiting to see if she’ll stop me, pausing to see if she’ll pull away.
She does the opposite, whimpering into my ear and parting her legs so I can reach inside, finding the dripping wet gusset of her panties.
Slick coats my fingers as I stroke along her seam, wondering how anything can feel so soft, imagining how beautiful she’ll be down there.
I ring her clit, make her judder in my arms before I slip a finger inside her hole. Just one. Testing the stretch, testing her limits. She’s tight and warm and her walls clench around my digit with promises I want to redeem.
“How are you so perfect, Omega?”
“I’m not,” she gasps. “I’m a bad omega. A really bad one.”
“No, you’re not. Look at you. Look at you clenching around my finger. Look at you dripping slick for me. All wet. All needy. Smelling like paradise. You’re such a good omega. Doing everything you should be for me.”
She whimpers hard, her omega instincts taking over, her body submitting to the feelings I’m generating as I massage that spot inside her pussy, all swollen, begging for my attention.
I adjust the angle, sliding another finger inside her, stretching her a little more, and rubbing the heel of my hand against her clit. Her hips buck, chasing that friction and her lips go slack, as her head tips backward, her eyes falling shut. I kiss her elongated throat, her pulse leaping against my lips, her skin quivering. Her legs shake. Her pussy sucks at my fingers. Moans and whimpers spill from her lips. She’s close.
“You want this?” I ask her against her throat.
“Please,” she begs. “Please.”
And then she breaks, a long blissful sigh rushes from her parted mouth and her body turns limp, her head falling back completely.
I pull back, soaking her up, watching her bask in this piece of ecstasy before the waves of pleasure claim her, her pussy going crazy around my fingers, her body bucking, and loud moans escaping her mouth.
I cradle her head, tipping it back towards mine and capture all those pretty noises in my mouth, like I can taste it, taste that magic, taste what she feels.
But I don’t pull my hand away. Not yet. I want to make her come again and again.
* * *
The omega isthe bright little spark I expected. She doesn’t come just once on my fingers. She comes again and again and again. Each orgasm chasing on the heels of the one before until she’s sweaty and limp in my arms and begging me for mercy in a shaking voice.
“I could make you come all night, Omega,” I growl, tugging at the neck of her tank and finding the soft skin of her tits.
“Can’t,” she gasps, a tear winding down her cheek. “Can’t.”
“Too much?”
“Yes,” she mutters, nuzzling against my face. “Too much.”
With reluctance, I slide my fingers from her. They’re a sticky mess and with anticipation bubbling in my stomach, I bring my fingers up to my mouth and suck at her slick.
The taste crashes through my mind. Like thunder. Like the rapid fire of a gun. Blasting away all the cobwebs, all the doubt and shame and sadness. I’ve never tasted anything like it. A taste I could become addicted to.
My already-stiff cock becomes impossibly hard, begging for his own taste of the omega. She feels it against her belly.
“Want to come up to my bedroom?” she purrs in my ear, her little hands traveling down to the crotch of my pants.
And that’s when it happens. The inevitable crash after the high.
