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My Beast was screaming things I refused to hear, but they may have started with M and rhymed with the word Fate.
“Everything okay? Sorry I took so long—I swear Corvin grows three extra arms when he’s drunk. He’s like a horny octopus.”
She straddled my lap, threading her fingers in my hair and then tugging hard. “Calm, Omega. I told you I’ve got you. I’ll make you feel better.”
“She likes the stretch, don’t you, Kitten? You like feeling so full that you’re sure you’ll break in two. You like that burn as we fill your body to its capacity.”
The Wiley-Fletcher-Reid Pack treats me like I’m made of the most precious material on earth. I’m very happy with them.”
Normalize women being the big spoon—that was my mantra. Well, my brand new mantra anyway.
