Page 147 of Run Wild Omega

I arch into him, pushing my hips back, and he groans against my shoulder.

“Good morning,” he murmurs.

“Good morning.”

He thrusts deeper, and I gasp, my hand finding Dylan’s arm across my waist. Dylan stirs, his body pressing closer, and I feel his cock hardening against my hip.

“How are you feeling?” Dylan asks, his voice rough with sleep.

“Like I belong to three men,” I say.

“You do.”

Wyatt is at the foot of the bed. He’s been awake, I can tell. He’s sitting cross-legged, watching us, his eyes dark and hungry. His cock is hard, curving against his stomach, and he’s stroking himself with a measured pace.

“That’s a hell of a thing to wake up to,” I say.

“You’re a hell of a thing to wake up to,” he replies.

Miles’s thrusts deepen. His fingers work my clit in tighter circles, and I feel the orgasm building, a warm pressure that expands with each stroke. Dylan’s hand finds my breast, his fingers rolling my nipple, and the dual sensation pushes me closer.

“Come for us,” Miles whispers in my ear. “Let us feel it.”

I come. The orgasm rolls through me like a wave, gentle but unstoppable, and I feel all three bonds light up in response. Miles groans, his hips stuttering, and he spills inside me with a shudder.

Dylan takes his place. He rolls me onto my back, settles between my thighs, and slides in with one thrust. I cry out, my hands finding his shoulders, my nails digging in. He sets a pace that’s hard and fast and desperate.

Wyatt moves to my side. His mouth finds my breast, his tongue swirling, his teeth grazing. His hand joins Dylan’s between my thighs, and his fingers press against my clit while Dylan fucks me.

I come again. And again. And again. Each orgasm blurs into the next, a continuous cascade that my body can’t distinguish from breathing. It just happens. Over and over.

Dylan knots me again. The swell locks him inside, and I feel his release, hot and thick, flooding me. He groans against my neck, his body rigid, and the bond pulses with his pleasure.

When the knot deflates, Wyatt takes his place. He’s rough, claiming, his hands gripping my hips hard enough to bruise. He fucks me like he’s making up for ten years of silence, and I take every thrust, meeting him, matching him, pulling him deeper.

“I’m yours,” I whisper. “I’ve always been yours.”

He comes with a sound that’s half sob, half growl. His release triggers one final orgasm, and my body arches off the bed, every muscle locking, every bond blazing white-hot.

I collapse. They collapse. We’re a tangle of limbs and sweat and come and marks. The sheets are destroyed. The nest is annihilated. The room smells like sex.

I lie in the wreckage, staring at the ceiling. My body is theirs. My mind is theirs. My soul, whatever that means, whatever that is, is theirs.

Three bonds. Three claims. Three men who broke me open and remade me.

I’m not just Tess Hartwell anymore.

I’m an Omega. Bonded. Claimed. Pack.

I’m theirs. In everything. Mind, body, soul.

I close my eyes. The bonds hum. The snow keeps falling outside. And somewhere in the distance, the world is waiting with its lawsuits and its predators and its headlines.

But not here. Not now. Right now, I’m wrapped in three pairs of arms, breathing in three scents, feeling three heartbeats sync with mine.

Right now, I’m home.

Tess