Page 91 of Fourth Base with the Alpha

She sways, a sheet wrapped around her body, skin gleaming with sweat, her eyes glazed.

“H-h-h-hunter,” she mumbles, her eyes focussing in and out on me.

“Yes, it’s me, sweetheart. I’m here.”

I step towards the door.

“Is that Hunter Larsson?” someone mutters behind me.

“Yes, he’s seeing the Santos girl isn’t he?”

I push Isabella gently into her apartment and shut the door. I’m not assuming she wants me here – although fuck I’m hopeful – but I’d rather not have another audience today.

“What are you doing here?” she mumbles.

“What do you think?” I growl, my gaze swimming up and down her body. I inhale deeply. Her scent is so strong it almost knocks me off my feet. I wobble for a fraction of a second, my cock straining in my pants, my fingers twitching to grab her.

She stares up at me, her mouth opening and shutting. She’s too far gone, too lost in the fever.

But I need her consent. I’m not fucking with any girl who doesn’t want me to.

“Cupcake,” I say, taking one of her damp palms in mine, “I’m here to see you through this, if you want me to. If you don’t, I’ll turn around now and–”

“Stay,” she croaks. “God, please stay.”

I growl like a feral animal. Low and loud and her body shivers.

Fuck, I like that.

I pull away the sheet and it falls to the ground.

She is so beautiful it whips my breath away. So beautiful my gaze darts all around her, unable to settle, loving every curve, every sweep, every blush of color.

“Where’s your nest, little Omega?”

“In my bedroom,” she murmurs, “but … I don’t think you’ll fit.”

I swing my gaze around the apartment. It is small but it will do. I’d fuck Isabella in a broom cupboard if I had to.

“Where’s your mom and your grandma?”

“Out.”

“Good.” I reach out and rest my fingertip on her collarbone, feeling just how hot she is. “I’m sending them on a trip. An all-expenses holiday to Hawaii.”

“What?”

“This apartment is ours for the next three days, Omega, and no one is coming in.”

“But their stuff?” She watches as I drift my fingertip down her chest, along the curve of her breast and the crease of her nipple to the taut little peak. “They’ll need to pack.”

“Kim will give them my credit card. They can buy anything they need.”

“Hunter!” she whimpers.

“Yes,” I say, dragging my gaze from her breasts and to her face.

She’s wet, so wet. The smell of it dominates the room. It’s obscene. And all that wetness, all that slick she’s making, is just for me.