The Omega Chase, page 7
“I know, but I don’t want you to.”
“If I bite you, the bond will be unbreakable. We won’t be able to part. Ever.”
“You’re having doubts?” she asks, hurt flickering in her eyes, and I remember how sensitive an Omega in heat can be.
“No! NO!” Who knows why I feel so sure, but I do. I want this more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life.
I sit on the chair and motion her toward me and she climbs into my lap, lowering herself slowly onto my waiting hard cock. I hold her close, one arm wrapped around her waist, my other arm supporting her back and my finger lost in her hair. She grinds against me and I kiss her, my tongue deep in her mouth, loving the feel on her fingers raking up and down my back. Behind her is the mirror, and I draw away to watch the sight of her riding me. My strong arms in case her small body, her spine arching as she moves against me in waves. I sweep away her hair and I can see her gland in the reflection, glimmering at me. I lick my tongue over the edges of my teeth. Not long now, not long now.
When I come it’s hard and long, pumping her again and again, and then I meet her eye and she knows what is coming. She grips my shoulders and I expand my knot, feeling the way she stretches to take me. Her body stiffens and she screams through her teeth, bracing herself against the sensation.
“Take it,” I growl. “Fucking take it.” And she does, howling as her skin stretches further, but then slowly the features of her face soften, her eyes drift shut and her head tips all the way back revealing the tender slope of her throat and a long sigh rushes from her mouth, her whole body shuddering, a beautiful blush darkening her already rosy skin. And then we are locked together and I carry her to the bed and lay her out above me as I lie on my back.
Her breath is soft by my ear, as I stroke my hands up and down her spine and we are silent.
“Why do you think they did it?” she whispers finally.
“Why does anyone ever do bad things? Too many Alphas these days are arseholes, they give us all a bad name. It’s why the vetting at that place was meant to be so thorough, but some psychopaths still slipped through the net.” She shivers and I purr low in my throat, reassuring her. Her scent is soaring now, so potent, and I know the effect of her recent orgasm will soon subside and she’ll need me again. Her skin is hot too, burning against mine. I want her to brand me with it, to mark me, for the intricacies of her skin to be permanently imprinted on my own.
She traces the thick lines of ink over my chest. “Is it a tree? What does it mean?”
“An oak tree. It represents family.”
“And family is important to you?”
“To an Alpha it is everything. My father instilled that in me from a young age.”
“Are you close?” she says, her fingertips tickling the roots of the tree that spread across my lower abdomen, and the sensation has fresh spunk jerking from my cock still buried inside her.
“Yes. But he died when I was 20.”
“And your mum?”
“They died in a car accident together.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I’ve had to make my way in life without them.”
“Do you have any other family?”
I pause, screwing shut my eyes. “No, I was the oldest. The only one who wasn’t in that car.”
She gasps a little, but then she is silent, her fingers continuing to caress me as if she hopes to soothe away any unease my words have brought.
I speak again. “I want a family.” As I say the words, I realise how much I miss them, and how much I miss the warmth of a family surrounding me. I want my own family so very badly and I think the Alpha does too. It’s why he was never interested in sowing his seed in any willing Omega out there in the grounds. He was always searching for my mate. Someone to build a family with.
“Children, you mean?” she says.
“A mate and children, lots of children.”
She laughs. “How many exactly?”
“At least four, five or six maybe.”
“I’m one of five,” she says. “I miss the chaos and noise of it. I’ve always wanted a big family too.” She laughs again. “I feel like I’m in a crazy dream, that I’m falling further and further into it.”
“Is it a good dream or a nightmare?” I ask her.
“A good one.” She pauses. “One I don’t ever want to wake from.”
“We don’t have to. We don’t ever have to wake from this.”
She lifts herself up to sit above me, resting her fingertips on my thighs and I gaze up in awe at her pretty face and her beautiful body. I know what is coming before she says the words and I hold my breath in anticipation, wanting nothing to distract me from the words on her lips. “Claim me.”
I growl low and primal and unlock us, flipping her around and over the bed, pulling back her hair to reveal her gland. She lifts her hips, wanting me back inside her and I plough into her, whipping her breath away and pounding her solidly into the mattress. She’s panting hard and already building toward her orgasm — her heat is here, and she’s so wet, so pliable, so perfect for this — and as it rolls across her body, I lean down and sink my teeth into her gland, and she screams. An explosion of taste hits my mouth, lifting me away, and her scent curls and climbs, coils and caresses, carving it’s way inside me and I feel the bond between us lock into place; permanent, unbreakable, everlasting.
I soar high, high into the sky, my body light and free, every nerve ending spitting with intensity and then I crash back down to earth and I am a wreck, washed up on the shore of her body, hanging on by just my teeth, and she whimpers beneath me as I suck away her blood running into my mouth.
I close my eyes, and I murmur into her neck. “Mine, little Omega, mine.”
It is my Alpha talking; sedated, calm, at peace.
Finally, content.
~THE END~
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Omega’s Forbidden Heat - sneak preview
Chapter one
He can’t take the silence anymore. The silence and the emptiness. Four blank walls staring at him unblinking.
So he grabs his jacket and his wallet and heads out the door, already half way down the path when he hears the door click closed behind him. The Autumn’s evening is chilly and he shrugs on the jacket, burying his hands in his jean pockets and hurries down the lane.
He’d forgotten how dark it is out here. No city glow, no passing headlamps, no streetlights. As he walks down the black lane, the stars appear in the sky, little pins of light shining more brightly as his eyes adjust and the moon illuminates his steps with a silver trail.
At the end of the lane, he takes a left into the centre of the village, the dark outline of the church’s spire visible in the distance, the flat space of the green to his right and the pub glowing on his left.
There’s a couple of Land Rovers, a truck and a car parked out front and faintly he can hear the hum of voices.
He wonders if there’ll be anyone in there he knows. Not that it matters; he’d be content to sit and nurse a beer alone as long as there are people and noise around him. But likely there’ll be one of the old boys in there. Someone who’ll want to talk farming and weather with him and he’d happily distract himself from his thoughts with that too.
He strides along the stone path and pushes against the heavy wooden door of the pub, ducking his head to make his way through the low doorway, built several centuries ago.
Automatically, he takes a deep inhale as he blinks against the dim yellow glow of inside. The smell of this pub is something homely, smoke and hops and the scents of people he grew up with. It grounds him, makes him feel at home in a way his own house no longer does.
But the aroma that greets him is not the familiar smell of alcohol and ancient chimneys, and his stomach growls.
Omega.
It’s strong and new. A scent he does not know.
His body reacts to it automatically, even before his mind registers it; an electricity bruising across his skin, the hair rising on his arms and his gland tingling. Drawing himself to his full height, his shoulders hunched forward, his fists clenched, he swings his head from side to side, nostrils twitching, chasing the scent in the air trying to locate the owner. His eyes follow the arc of his nose, sweeping through the inside of the pub with its dark wood furnishings and worn floorboards.
Then the scent sucks his senses in one direction. It’s the deep pungent aroma of ripe peach, wet and juicy. Something to sink your teeth into, through the paper-thin skin, soft against your lips, sweet nectar trickling into your mouth and over your tongue, warming your throat and your gullet. It’s the smell of summer and sunshine and sticky fingers.
His stomach growls again, more violently this time as the scent sinks into his stomach and his bloodstream.
No doubt about it. It’s the curvy little barmaid, leaning over the counter. She’s all arse and he licks his lips.
He hasn’t screwed anyone in a long, long time. There’s been too much on his mind, too much to do. But now he considers it might be just what he needs. To be all feeling and no thinking. If he can charm his way into her bed that is.
Fuck, she smells like something divine and the way the denim stretches over the curve of her behind, the seam riding all the way up into her crotch has him almost groaning out loud. Removing his hot hands from his pockets, he stalks towards the bar, eyes locked on her.
He’s a few steps away when she turns and her eyes latch onto his face. Deep brown eyes the colour of walnuts. Her eyebrows rise in surprise and then a smile blossoms over her face, two dimples forming in her plump cheeks and her pretty pink lips curving. There’s recognition in her eyes, that and something else. Something that looks like sympathy.
He halts.
Does he know her? She looks familiar, so familiar. The dimples and the eyes, the loose plait cascading over her shoulder. He knows her. He’s sure he knows her.
She saunters to the near side of the bar, towards him, her face all excitement, ready to talk with him, but still he struggles to place her; his brain racing through faces and memories, frantically trying to find her.
“Jack,” she says. And it’s her voice that finally slots the piece into place.
“Amy?” He takes a hesitant step towards the bar.
She laughs. “Erm, yes. Hello, stranger.”
He’s still two yards from the bar, but he daren’t move any closer. He ought to turn right around and walk straight out of the pub.
Amy?
Since when the fuck has Amy Logan been an Omega. And why the fuck has Finn never told him this?
A warning. He needed a warning. His best friend should have warned him about his little sister.
She’s watching him, the smile fading from her lips and he’s sure she must see the thoughts flickering over his face. The sense of panic. He’d just been thinking about … with his best friend’s little sister.
“Can I get you anything to drink?” she asks, a tad hesitant, the faintest of pinkness tinging her cheeks.
“Erm.” He coughs, his body yanking him towards her, towards the intoxicating aroma of her, and his mind tugging him away. Digging his fingernails into the flesh of his palms, he concentrates on breathing through his mouth, of keeping his body locked rigid to the spot. He’s like a starving man offered food who knows he must refuse it, though his body weeps to be fed.
Amy cocks her head and examines him, her eyes darting over his face. “I didn’t know you were still around. I thought you’d left again already.”
He forces himself to speak, hoping the uncertainty isn’t clear in his voice. “I need to sort out Mum’s house, get it on the market.”
“You’re selling it?” Her eyes widen.
“Yes.” Can he leave now? He should leave now, because the temptation to allow his gaze to leave the safety of her face and trail down her body is growing stronger with every passing second. He knows if he just drops his vision, he’ll land on the softness of her curves. Somewhere he’d like to land. Violently, he shoves the dirty idea from his mind.
“I would have liked to come to the funeral,” she says.
He grimaces. “She wanted something small. No fuss.” His mum knew how much he hated fuss. How agonising he would find the condolences and the sympathy.
“I know.” She nods, sighing, “Finn told me.” Her hair falls backwards over her shoulder as she flicks her head, as if she’s shaking away those somber thoughts, and her fluttering smile returns, something that almost reads like flirtation in her eyes. “So can I get you that drink?”
When and where did she learn to do that? Sweeping her hand under her chin to brush away a stray lock of hair and deliberately leading his eyes to her throat where he can see her pulse thrumming under her creamy flesh, where he knows her gland hums at the base of her skull. When he left five years ago, she was one scrawny, whiny kid, always trailing behind Finn and annoying the hell out of them. And now …
“Yeah.” He nods. “Yeah, I’ll have whatever ale you’ve got on tap.”
She stands on her tiptoes and reaches for a pint glass from the shelf above her head, and he turns his head away, avoiding the faceful of tit the movement flashes him. “It’s Red Fox, that alright?”
He nods stiffly, every tendon and fibre in his body taut and on edge.
Dark liquid pours thinly from the tap as she pulls down on the lever, lifting and pumping it, and white foam swirls with amber ale. When the liquid reaches two-thirds way full, she places the glass down to rest and allow the bubbles to meander to the surface, and turns away to the till. He lets his eyes flick down her body, noting the pinch of her waist, the sweep of her hip and the roundness of her arse and he shakes his head. And how did that happen? She didn’t look like that when he left. She was all jutting bones and sharp angles back then, now she is all softness, all curves. The hunger in the pit of his stomach rumbles more ferociously and his hands begin to shake.
“Five pounds and sixty-two pence, please,” she calls over her shoulder, in a provocative way that has him wanting to rush at her and pin her over the counter.
He drops his gaze to the floor and wills away the desire pumping in his veins.
As he hands over a note and she passes him his now full pint, he makes a decision to stay away from the pub. To stay away from her. Although Finn was around for the funeral, he’s been away working for the last few days and he’ll be there for a few more yet, so there’s no reason to visit the Logan house, no reason they’ll bump into each other.
He takes a seat in the corner as far away from the bar as he can be, by the fire where the smoke goes some way to masking her scent. But there’s nobody else in here he knows and sitting on his own over here means nobody comes to talk to him. Instead, his eyes keep flitting over to her involuntarily as if they’re drawn there by some unseen force and the gland on his neck throbs.
He knows if it wasn’t for who she was, for who she is related to, he’d be over there now, chatting her up, reeling the little thing in with his deep and masculine scent and gruff and domineering voice, getting her all aroused and wet for him with innocent little touches of her waist, of her hip—
Shit! He swallows his drink, trying to down it as quickly as he can so he can get the hell out of here. But then she’s there, right in front of him, collecting glasses from the tables around him.
She smiles at him again. “It’s so good to see you, Jack,” she says. “I mean, the circumstances are awful and …” She shakes her head and her eyes drop to the floor, hands floating in midair, “But you’ve been away too long and Finn’s missed you.”
“I’ve been home plenty of times since I’ve been out,” he mumbles with irritation. He doesn’t need to be reminded what a crap son he’s been, not now.
“Hardly!” She laughs. “When was the last time I saw you? What? Three, four years ago?”
“Five,” he says and his eyes meet hers. “Five years ago,” he repeats. “You were just a little girl.”
“I was fifteen,” she says, meeting his eye and an electricity skips across the space. A recognition that they know what each other is, and her jet black pupils swim wide and her scent rises in a heady way.
“A baby.” His gaze slivers down her figure. He can’t help it, he’s barely aware of his own mind right now. She is so Omega, so very Omega. He wonders if she tastes as good as she smells. She remains frozen to the spot while he inspects her, as if she’s waiting to gain his approval, keen to have it.
He could take her right here if he wanted to. There is no way she’d refuse him — even here in the pub with the other patrons. She would do it. Or he could grab her by the wrist and drag her along the road, back to his house.
His hands start to shake again with the effort of holding back. He yanks his eyes away and scrabbles about in his coat pocket, finding the packet of pills and popping one, two through the silver film. The pills melt on his tongue when he throws them into his mouth and almost instantly the suppressant chemical tempers his reaction. His shoulders relax and the tension in his brow and in his forehead fades. When he dares to peer back at her, desire still looms in his blood, but it’s not as overwhelming. It’s been a long time since he’s needed to take one of these pills. He’s better at controlling his Alpha urges now he’s older, but it seems he’ll need to ensure he has a packet on him all the time while he is here.
She’s biting her bottom lip and the pink on her cheeks has darkened and swum right down her neck to her collarbone. She releases her lip and the plump flesh springs back into place, the red of her mouth just visible.
