Page 18 of Desperate Omega

Source, that feels amazing.

When my body finally stops quaking, I bow my head and look down at the alpha who just gave me so much pleasure without even trying. My eyes go first to his face—he’s still asleep—then to the puddle of white fluid covering his abdomen.

“Oh Markus,” I whisper. “There’s so much.”

The air is thick with the smell of it, dirty yet intoxicating. Without even thinking, I draw my index finger down the centerline of his stomach, gathering some of that thick cream. Then I lift my soiled finger to my lips and suck it clean. The flavor is saltier than I expected, but there’s a sweetness underneath that makes my mouth water.

I need more.

With a hungry growl, I dip my face to the alpha’s taut belly, and I begin to lick the seed from his skin. There are still a few dribbles running down the shaft of his cock, so I clean that too. Then I clean his smooth, heavy balls for good measure.

By the time I’m finished bathing him with my tongue, my entire being is saturated with his flavor.

An intense weariness steals over me. I feel as though I’ve been running for days on end without stopping. My heat is not finished—I can still feel it smoldering deep within me—but it has been sated for the time being, and now my body needs to rest.

There’s just one thing I need to do first.

I climb the alpha’s body and lie on top of him, with my naked breasts pressed against his broad chest, and I stare down at his handsome, sleeping face.

“Thank you,” I whisper.

I don’t know if he can hear me, but I hope he can, just as I hope he can feel the soft kiss I press against his perfect lips. Then I slide off his body and curl up beside him on the warm bearskin. I close my eyes, and almost instantly, I feel myself drifting off to sleep with the sweet taste of Markus still lingering on my tongue.

CHAPTER 8: BRIK

We smell the fire long before we see it.

The time is well after midnight, and we’ve been running through the forest for hours, following the trail left by a pack of Farlanders. The same ones we’ve been hunting for the past year. When the first whisper of smoke reaches us, Thorus stops, and he motions for me to do the same.

“What do you smell, Brik?”

The alpha is not asking because he wants my input on the situation. He is testing me. Thorus is ten years my senior and my pack leader, though now we are only a pack of two. He has taught me everything I know about ranging the wildlands of the Zone.

I pause and drink in the night air laced with smoke.

“Old wood,” I answer carefully, remembering that seasoned wood smells different from wood that is still green. I can detect a hint of burning paint as well. This is no forest fire. “A house?”

“A barn.”

Now how the hell does he know that?

Thorus doesn’t tell me, because he wants me to work it out on my own. And I don’t try to argue with him, because I know he’s right.

Thorus is always right about everything.

“Come on,” he says, starting to move again. “Keep your senses open, Brik. This could be a trap.”

We continue onward through the dark woods. Now we are following two scents—the Farlanders and the smoke—and both are leading us to the same place.

It’s another hour before we finally reach the fire, and by then the Farlanders are already gone, but we didn’t miss them by much. I want to continue onward. I want to catch the bastards who killed our pack brother. But Thorus once again motions to stop. He wants to inspect the fire.

It is the right decision, of course.

It’s right because it is Thorus’s decision, and Thorus is always right about everything.

We are standing in a large clearing in the woods, with grass growing up to our knees, and glittering stars in the sky overhead, though half of them are blocked out by the clouds of smoke billowing off the smoldering pile of old boards. A few yellow tongues of flame are still dancing amid the charred boards, painting the trees around the clearing with a soft, golden light.

“How did I know it was a barn?” Thorus asks.