Page 140 of Run Wild Omega

Miles withdraws his hand from her clit, wiping his fingers on the sheet. “The bond will stabilize over the next few hours. Right now, the connection is raw. Unfiltered. It’ll settle.”

“How do you know that?” I ask.

“I read extensively about Alpha-Omega bonds during my master’s program. The initial connection is overwhelming, but cognitive integration happens gradually.”

Of course Miles read about it. Of course he has data.

Tess laughs. It’s weak, breathy, barely more than an exhale, but it’s real. “You’re such a nerd.”

“And you’re bonded to a firefighter who can’t control his teeth,” Miles replies, but there’s a warmth in his tone that takes the edge off.

The knot is shrinking, the pressure easing. I can feel my cock softening inside her, the seal loosening, and when I finally pull out, a rush of warmth follows. Come and slick, mingled together, spilling onto the sheets.

A lot of it. An absurd amount. My body emptied itself like it was trying to fill her completely, and the evidence is everywhere. On her thighs. On the sheets. All over the nest we built.

Tess shivers when I pull out. A whimper escapes her, and I immediately curl against her side, my hand finding her hip.

“I’m here,” I murmur. “I’m right here.”

Wyatt pulls a blanket over her. Miles retrieves a bottle of water from the nightstand and holds it to her lips. She drinks, her eyes closing, her body going boneless against the mattress.

The three of us arrange ourselves around her. Wyatt on her left, his arm across her waist. Miles on her right, his hand resting on her hip. Me, still between her thighs, my forehead pressed against her shoulder, the bite mark inches from my nose.

The bond hums between us. Her heartbeat, my heartbeat, tangled together in a rhythm that’s already syncing. Her breathing evens out and the flush on her skin begins to fade. The heat isn’t gone, but it’s receding, the peak passing, the fire banked to embers.

Her hand finds mine. She threads our fingers together, and I feel a pulse of warmth through the bond. Love. Trust. Exhaustion.

“Stay,” she whispers.

“We’re not going anywhere,” Wyatt says.

“Promise?”

“Promise,” Miles says.

I press my lips to the bite mark, feeling the raised skin, the proof of what I’ve done, the evidence of a choice my body made before my mind could catch up.

I don’t regret it. I can’t. The joy is too big, too bright, too overwhelming. It fills every corner of me and spills over into the bond, and I feel Tess receive it, feel her own joy echo back.

“Sleep,” she murmurs.

I close my eyes. The room smells like apples and sagebrush and amber and pine. It smells like pack. Like home.

Within minutes, her breathing turns deep and even. Wyatt follows, his arm tightening around her waist as he drifts off. Miles is last, his glasses abandoned on the nightstand, his hand still on her hip.

I lie there, surrounded by the people I love, the bond humming in my chest, and let the quiet take me.

Sleep comes. And for the first time in years, I don’t dream.

Miles

Wyatt’s phone vibrates against the nightstand at the four-hour mark.

The sound cuts through the bedroom, pulling me out of a sleep so deep it feels like sedation. My eyes open to the dim room. The air is thick, warm, and heavy with the scent of four bodies tangled on a mattress that wasn’t designed for this many people.

Dr. Nguyen. The check-in call.

I turn my head. Wyatt is already reaching for his phone, his arm disentangling from Tess’s waist. The medic in him never fully shuts off.