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I've lived on this planet for twenty-two fucking years and I've never seen someone's eyes twinkle. Something is very, very wrong with this place.
The intensity of his stare is unsettling, to say the least. I'm pretty sure I've never looked at anything or anyone that way, except maybe a twenty-ounce sirloin at Longhorn.
I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding. Who does that? Me, apparently.
He slams the empty glass down on the table and says, "I'll drink you under the table anytime, anywhere, you fleabitten mofo." All I can do is gaze at him, a strange warmth stirring in my chest. "You are a charming creature, Brad."
All I can think as I black out is how I'd better wake up in my own world, or at least one where I can be a space pirate or something cool. This omega thing is absolute, complete fucking bullshit.
This is definitely that look that melts the main character's panties. My sweatpants are getting tight for entirely unrelated reasons, though.
I'm not used to someone being bigger than me, and I can't help but wonder just how much bigger he is everywhere else. What the fuck is wrong with me?
"I'm good," I say, holding my tongue because I'm way too fucking close to asking if he wants to fill my prescription for dick.
And in turn, that means my dream is to be a fucking omega who needs to get railed by a massive alpha shifter with a softball-sized knot at the base of his monster cock.
Fucking hell, maybe I am a little bit gay. Like... one percent. Maybe one and a half. He spreads my cheeks and his tongue slides up my crack and it immediately skyrockets to five percent.
"Great," I mutter. "Just what I've always wanted. A magical, lube-dispensing asshole to turn alphas on."
"Bro, you're saying I might be fucking pregnant?" I croak out once I can remember how to speak. Feels like there's another softball in my throat in addition to the one lodged firmly in my ass.