Page 119 of The Florist and Her Alphas

Iam hovering above her on my forearms, my cock erect between us, my balls hanging heavy and full. Her body is laid out beneath me on the silk pillows.

Her pussy is flushed. Wet. Trembling.

Her auburn hair fans out beneath her head in loose waves, catching the candlelight in strands of copper and gold. Her belly is round and soft between us, rising and falling with each breath. Her pussy is still glistening from my mouth, slick running in a thin sheen down the inside of her thighs.

Her gold locket has slid to the side of her throat, and the bare skin where it usually rests is pale, freckled, the small pulse at the base of her neck hammering visibly against her skin. I stare at the big failed scar on her collarbone.

That is where I am going to mark her. I am going to erase her old mark.

I have thought about marking her for the last seven months. Every detail of it. The angle of my jaw. The pressure of my teeth. The way the bond will settle into my chest if it takes. I have rehearsed it in my mind a thousand times, lying awake at night in the penthouse with her sleeping beside me, my hand resting on the curve of her pregnant belly.

I have never wanted anything more in my life.

The candlelight catches the small pulse at her throat. Her heartbeat is visible there, rapid, insistent, and I watch it for one long moment before I look down at her face.

Her eyes are wet. Her lips are parted. She is looking up at me with absolute trust, and the sight of her, naked and flushed and carrying my children, looking at me like I am the only thing in the world makes my cock throb so hard I have to close my eyes for half a second.

“I’m going inside you now, my beautiful omega wife.”

“I’m ready,” she whispers.

I line myself up at her entrance. Push into her slowly.

She is so wet from the orgasm she had minutes ago. My cock sinks into her pussy to the hilt in one smooth hard stroke. Her pussy hugs my cock right away, making me groan.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” I growl, watching as Julian and August suck on her swollen breasts. “My love. My omega.”

“I’m yours,” she gasps, her legs tightening around me, her arms around my neck.

I bury my face in the curve of her neck and just feel her around me. Her pussy clenches around my cock in small, involuntary pulses, and I breathe through it without rushing to let her feel me.

I kiss the place at her collarbone where the locket usually sits. The skin is warm under my lips. I can taste salt, the faint perfume of her shampoo, the deeper note of her omega scent of roses, doubled now with the heat of arousal.

I pull back just enough to look down at her face.

“I’m going to do it,” I whisper.

She nods. A single, small movement. Her eyes don’t leave mine.

My three brothers have gone absolutely still. They are watching her face. None of them are breathing.

I lower my head slowly to the curve of her collarbone. Breathe against her skin once. Feel her pulse hammer against my lips.

Magnus's failed claim. Silus's, layered over it. A jagged, raised thing that never healed clean, that I have looked at a hundred times over the last seven months and hated every single time.

I am going to put my mark directly over it.

I trace one finger down the curve of her shoulder toward the scar. She shivers. My thumb rests against the old scar at her collarbone.

“Does it still hurt?” I ask quietly. “This one.”

“Only when I look at it,” she whispers.

Something tightens in my chest. “Then don’t look at it,” I say. “Look at me.”

She does. Her green eyes find mine, gold flecks catching the candlelight, and I lower my head slowly to her collarbone. I breathe against the scar once. Feel her pulse hammer up into my lips.

“I want to mark you right here,” I murmur against her skin. “Over the old one. I want mine to be the last thing that ever touched this spot. Will you let me?”