Page 66 of Pack Me Up

April 29th

The nest is a ruin. Brittney is sprawled in the dead center, limbs flung wide like she crash-landed. Her thighs are sticky, lips swollen and slick, hair pasted to her cheek in dark, feverish waves. The blankets and pillows we bought her are everywhere, shredded and twisted and bunched in odd shapes.

She whimpers. The sound barely human. Her eyes are glassy and shot through with red, pupils blown wide so there’s barely any color left. She’s not here anymore, not really. Her omega is running the show, and all it wants is to be bred again. To be claimed, filled, and used.

Colton, for once, isn’t a smartass. He’s trembling a little, bracing himself on the mattress, breathing hard like he just ran a mile.

Brittney writhes, claws at the nearest pillow, tears it with her teeth. Her voice is hoarse and raw. “Alpha,” she moans. “Please—please—more—” The words degrade into gasps, then into a wet, rhythmic panting as she ruts against the soft mound beneath her.

She wants to be full again, knotted, stamped with another round of claim.

I kiss her, hard, with teeth and tongue and the desperate bruising of a man who’s been starving for years and finally gets to eat. She whines into my mouth, biting back with her own small, sharp canines, and the taste of her is so good I see white.

I press my body to hers, shoving the ruined blankets aside, hands digging into her hips. I want to be careful, but my alpha is howling for release, and every time Brittney bucks beneath me, it gets harder to hold back.

She grinds her pelvis against my thigh, trying to line us up, and I realize with a dizzy, sick thrill that she doesn’t care who it is, only that it’s pack. The twins’ love bites are still fresh on her skin. She’s marked up like a perfect omega, and every inch of it makes me harder.

I can barely see, barely breathe. My hand shakes as I fumble with the button on my jeans, nearly tearing it off in my hurry. By the time I get my boxers down, Brittney’s legs are wrapped around my waist, heels digging into my back with bruising force.

I reach down, stroke the length of my cock, and find that I’m already leaking, the tip wet against my knuckles.

She’s so wet I slide in on the first try, no resistance, just heat and suction and the obscene, hungry noise of an omega that’s been bred already and still isn’t satisfied. She cries out, the sound sharp and rising as I bottom out, and I realize she’s already close.

The smell of her is in my lungs, in my blood. I’m drowning in it, every cell screaming for me to claim her, to bite down and mark her forever. I grit my teeth, fight it with every ounce of willpower I have left.

“Brittney,” I rasp, voice gone to gravel. “Tell me if it’s too much. Tell me to stop.”

She shakes her head, feral. “Alpha.” She arches again, and I see the muscle in her throat jump as she chokes back another wail.

I want to be gentle, but she won’t let me. She writhes and claws and bucks, meeting every thrust. I can’t get enough leverage, she’s too wild, so I flip her onto her stomach, press her down into the nest of pillows, and fuck her from behind, rutting hard and deep.

The world narrows to the wet slap of skin, the heat and the slick and the animal sounds echoing off the walls. Brittney’s breath comes in sobs now, not pain but pleasure so sharp it cuts. Her back bows, then collapses, then bows again. My hands are huge on her hips, squeezing tight enough to leave marks.

Brittney comes with a scream, claws raking the blankets, her whole body clenching around me. The tight, fluttering spasms nearly undo me, but I hold out, bite down on my own tongue, taste blood and keep going.

I want to ruin her for anyone else.

The pressure builds, slow at first, then all at once. My knot is swelling, catching at her entrance, making her whine and wriggle and try to take it all.

I want to look her in her eyes when I knot her, so I flip her back over and stare into those beautiful brown eyes.

I press my face to her neck, breathe in the scent of her and the pack, and this moment. For the first time, I let myself be proud.

This is mine. All of it. Her, the pack, the chaos, and the peace and everything in between.

A bolt of pride shoots through me, unexpected and bright. I want her to be covered in marks. I want anyone who comes close to know she’s pack, claimed, loved, and protected by five men who would kill for her.

She’s slippery and hot, every inch of her skin glazed with sweat, every muscle in her body straining to meet me.

“Alpha. Now,” she demands.

The words are almost nonsense, but the need in them is real. I fuck her harder, hands gripping her hips so tight I know she’ll have bruises. The thought makes me reckless; I want to see my fingerprints on her, I want her to feel me tomorrow, and know who did this.

There’s a moment where we’re perfectly matched. Her body moves under mine, a fluid, perfect machine. The pressure builds, pressure and heat and the pulsing slick between her legs, and I lose myself to it. My vision goes white at the edges, narrowing until all I see is her, mouth open, eyes wild, chest heaving with every breath.

I hear myself groan, deep and rough, and it takes me a second to realize the sound is coming from me. I bury my face in her neck, tasting the sweat and salt. I want to bite her, to lock my teeth on the sweet curve of her shoulder and never let go.

I don’t. Not yet. I promise myself I’ll wait until the end, until she’s past the worst of her heat, until she can say yes with her own voice.