Page 143 of Run Wild Omega

“Still in heat,” she says, her voice raspy. “It feels like my blood is on fire.”

Wyatt laughs, a low sound shaking his shoulders. “Your body is going to cycle like this for days, Tess.”

“Five hours of this was enough,” she mutters, reaching for a piece of toast off my plate. She bites into it with focused hunger.

“Finish it,” Wyatt says, pushing his plate toward her.

“I need water,” she gasps, her hand trembling against the counter.

I pour a large glass from the filtered pitcher and hand it to her. She drains it in rapid gulps, water trickling down her chin and dripping onto her chest.

Dylan steps up behind her, his hand sliding under her shirt to rest against her waist. His thumb traces a firm circle against her hip, and a low whimpering sound tears from her throat. Her hips tilt back into his knuckles, her slick soaking straight through the thin fabric of her cotton shorts.

“You shouldn’t have put your clothes back on,” Wyatt chimes in.

“I didn’t want to drip all over your floors,” she says.

Despite everything, that puts a smile on my face.

“She’s burning up again,” Dylan says, his grip tightening. “The next surge is hitting her.”

Tess drops the toast, her head falling back against Dylan’s chest. Her eyelids flutter shut as her fingers claw into his forearms. “Miles… please. It hurts. I’m so tight it aches.”

I don’t hesitate. I step around the island, setting my plate aside. “Drink more water first.”

I hold another full glass to her lips. She drinks greedily, taking down the cool liquid while Dylan holds her steady. The second the glass is empty, I drop to my knees in front of her, spreading her thighs wide on the barstool.

Her heat scent hits me in a heavy wave—honey, copper, and crisp apples. Her slick is dripping down her inner thighs, hot and endless.

I slide my hand up her thigh, hooking my fingers into the elastic of her shorts and pulling them down her legs until they drop to the floor. She is completely exposed to the cool kitchen air, her entrance swollen and glistening.

“Wyatt,” I say, my voice steady despite the hammer of my heart. “Hold her hands.”

Wyatt steps up, leaning over the counter to trap her fingers in his, pressing his mouth against hers to drink in her breathless gasps. He kisses her deep, his tongue sliding against hers, while she moans into his mouth.

I press two fingers straight into her entrance.

Tess screams against Wyatt’s mouth, her hips jumping off the barstool. She is scorching inside, her walls clamping around my fingers like a vise.

“Shh,” I murmur against her inner thigh, pressing my thumb firmly against her drenched clit. “I’ve got you.”

I work my fingers inside her, curling them upward to hit her sensitive spot while pumping in a steady rhythm. The sound of her slick coating my hand fills the kitchen, loud and wet.

Dylan leans over her shoulder, his teeth finding her earlobe, biting down gently while his hand moves down her stomach to press against her lower abdomen, helping her muscles work against my hand.

“Fuck, Miles,” she sobs, breaking away from Wyatt’s kiss. Her face is bright red, sweat slicking her throat. “More. Put another one in.”

I add a third finger, stretching her wide. The friction is incredible. I drive my fingers deeper, angling up, relentless in my speed. Wyatt reaches down to cup her jaw, guiding her face up so he can kiss her again, licking the sweat off her top lip while Dylan holds her hips locked to the stool.

“Let it break, Tess,” Dylan growls in her ear, his own body pulsing against her back. “Come for Miles.”

Her walls contract violently. The climax hits her like a physical shock, her body shuddering as a thick wave of slick pours out over my hand, dripping onto the hardwood floor. She cries out, her head rolling back against Dylan’s shoulder as her chest heaves.

I keep a steady pressure on her clit through the tail end of the surge, milking every drop of friction until her shoulders drop in total surrender.

I pull my fingers free with a wet slide. I stand up, taking her chin in my clean hand, and lean down to lick a bead of sweat off her collarbone, right beside Dylan’s fresh mark.

“Better?” I ask, my voice rough.