Eli and I work together. I unzip her jeans while Eli pulls her boots off. We strip her down until she’s wearing nothing but her panties and her bra.
The sight of her steals the breath from my lungs.
She’s beautiful. Her curves are soft and ample, her skin glowing with sweat. But it’s the scent that wrecks me.
It’s pouring off her in waves, thick and intoxicating. The musk of an Omega in full heat.
She arches her back, a moan tearing from her throat. Her hips lift off the rug, seeking friction that isn’t there.
“Please,” she begs. “It hurts so much. The cramps...”
“I know,” I say, my voice sounding like I’ve swallowed gravel. I unbutton my coat, tossing it aside, then pull my shirt over my head. “I’m going to make it stop.”
Fallon appears with a basin of cold water and a washcloth. He kneels on her other side.
“Here,” he says, dipping the cloth and pressing it to her forehead. She sighs at the contact, her eyes fluttering shut.
“Cold,” she whispers.
“It won’t be for long,” I say.
I reach behind her and unhook her bra. Her breasts spill free, her nipples tight and dark.
I cup one, weighing it in my hand, running my thumb over the peak.
“Knox,” she gasps.
“Eli, hold her hands,” I command.
Eli moves behind her, sitting on the rug so her back is against his chest. He takes her wrists, pulling them gently over her head, stretching her out for me. It exposes her completely, leaving her vulnerable to my gaze.
“Good girl,” Eli murmurs in her ear. “Let him take care of you.”
I hook my fingers in the waistband of her panties. They’re soaked through, the fabric clinging to her. I drag them down her legs, and the scent of her slick hits the air like a bomb.
She’s swollen. Her folds are puffy and dark red, glistening with wetness. She’s so aroused it’s running down her thighs, dripping onto the rug.
I crawl between her legs, pushing them open.
“Look at me, Amber,” I order.
She forces her eyes open, locking onto mine. Her mouth is parted, her lips wet and swollen. Her gaze is unfocused, glassy.
“I need you,” she says, her voice cracking. “Don’t make me wait.”
“I won’t,” I promise.
I lean down and drag my tongue flat through her folds.
She screams, her whole body bowing off the rug, her hands straining against Eli’s grip. The taste of her is electric—salt and musk and a sweetness that is uniquely Amber. It’s addictive.
“More,” she cries out, her hips bucking wildly. “I need more.”
I don’t tease. I wrap my arms around her thighs, holding her open, and feast on her. I lick and suck, driving my tongue into her entrance, drinking down the slick that pours out of her. She’s so wet, so ready.
She begins to make a sound, a high-pitched, mindless keening noise. Her head lolls back against Eli’s shoulder. Her jaw goes slack, completely loose.
I pull back for a split second to breathe, and I see it.
