“I’m used to smelling my packmates on an Omega. It doesn’t make me jealous. It just makes me feel like you’re really ours.”
“Yours?”
“Ours. I don’t know how to explain this to you, but when we share an Omega, our scents kind of mix with hers. We haven’t done it in so long that I’d forgotten what that usually smells like.”
I pull back to look at him, a sudden spike of irritation in my chest. I don’t want to hear about other women right now. Not when I’m sitting in his lap.
“What, sweetheart?”
I slap his chest playfully, my palm connecting with his flannel shirt. “I’m not so sure I like you talking about other Omegas when I’m in your lap, Eli.”
He laughs, a bright, happy sound. He smiles, and it reaches his eyes, crinkling the corners. “There’s no one else, Amber. There hasn’t been anyone else in a long time.”
He fumbles for the lever on the side of the seat, and the chair reclines with a mechanical whine. We sink back, horizontal now, looking up at the roof of the car.
“Still. I know you don’t mind sharing me with your pack, but I don’t like the idea of sharing you with another Omega.”
“Are you being jealous?” He chuckles. “I think I like this possessive side of you. It’s very hot.”
“I’m being serious, Elijah. You’re mine.”
“Let me make it up to you, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his gaze dropping to my mouth.
He kisses me, and this time it’s not sweet. It’s deep and demanding, his tongue sweeping into my mouth to stake a claim.
I melt into him, my fingers tangling in his hair. His hands are under my pink cardigan, warm and callused against my skin.
He tugs the sweater up and over my head, tossing it into the passenger seat. The cold air hits my skin for a second before his hands are there, cupping my breasts through the thin lace of my bra.
His thumbs brush over my nipples and they peak instantly, aching for more.
“Oh, wow,” I gasp, my head falling back.
He doesn’t stop. He undoes the button of my jeans, then he’s sliding the zipper down. His hand slips inside, under the edge of my panties, and his fingers find me.
I’m already wet. I’ve been wet since Fallon kissed me by the river.
“Eli, please.”
He strokes me, his fingers sliding through my folds, finding that sensitive spot that makes my toes curl. I rock my hips against his hand, needing more friction. I feel so wanted, soneeded. It’s not just the physical act; it’s the way he looks at me, like I’m the only thing that matters.
It’s a struggle to get his clothes out of the way. We fumble with his belt buckle, the metal clinking in the quiet car.
I tug his boxers and jeans down just enough. He’s hard, thick, and heavy in my hand.
Outside the window, the snow has begun to fall again, soft flakes drifting down to coat the world in white.
“It’s beautiful,” I whisper, looking past his shoulder.
He captures my face in his hands, forcing me to look back at him. “You’re beautiful.”
My chest aches. I stroke him, my thumb brushing over the slick head of his cock. He’s leaking, wet and ready.
I lean down and kiss him, tasting the wine on his tongue.
“Have you been with anyone?” I ask against his lips, my voice trembling. “Since we started... this?”
“Never,” he says, shaking his head. “Not since the moment I saw you in that grocery store.”
