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A violent man with a violent past, but he was a marshmallow for his Pack.
“Is that an allegory?” “An allegory? No, ma’am. I’m Irish Catholic.”
“If you need anything”—a nest, treats, cock, my cubs—“all you need to do is ask. Murphy and I are here for the both of you.”
“My poor Omega,” I whispered against his lips. “Soon I’ll get you out of these clothes and into a nest. And then I’m going to fuck you, fill you full of my cubs, knot you deep until the only thing you can feel—the only thing you can think of—is the feel of my cock inside you.”
“It smells like a whorehouse on a two-for-one night out here,” he groaned. “The natives think you’re all perverts.”
“I’m Alpha!” Murphy snorted derisively beside me. “I’ve taken shits that were more Alpha than you, kid. Fuck off.”
Testing the waters, I make my hand a little less corporeal. Huh, that works. Folding my hand like some kind of origami swan, I pushed a semi-corporeal hand inside her, and she gasped.
Omg she is getting fisted by a ghost!
