7. Leo
Leo
Nina's lips taste like espresso. Warm, daring, a spark against the cold air. My hands find her waist, pulling her closer. She laughs softly against my mouth, the sound breaking something open in my chest—not love, not even desire, but the simple ache of connection.
We move toward the shadowed corner by the fence, the snow crunching under our boots.
Her breath catches as my fingers slide up her spine, and her head tilts back, exposing her throat.
The world narrows to heat and heartbeat, to the soft hum of the bond buried somewhere in my DNA that I try not to listen to.
The fence creaks as I press her into it, the rough wood biting at my knuckles. Nina's hands are everywhere—tugging at my shirt, nails scraping my sides, her body arching into mine like she's been starving for this.
The cold seeps through my jeans, but her heat counters it, her shorts riding up as she wraps one leg around my thigh. I can feel the bare skin of her ass under the thin fabric, a smooth warmth that makes my cock twitch hard in my jeans.
"Fuck, you're bold," I mutter against her neck, nipping at the skin there.
She shivers, not from the cold, but from me, and that sends a rush through my veins.
I've had plenty of women—Omegas, Betas, ones who don't give a damn about packs or hierarchies—but Nina's different tonight.
She's what I need: uncomplicated, fierce, no expectations beyond this frozen moment.
My pack knows about me. As the only Beta, I'm the reliable one, the fun one, but they whisper about my appetites too. Leo, the one who fucks like it's his last night on earth. They've seen me leave bars with strangers, come back with that satisfied grin.
Tonight, with the snow falling soft and the pines whispering secrets, I thank my lucky stars for this Omega who doesn't know my history, doesn't care.
I slide my hand down her side, pushing her shorts down and sliding her panties to the side.
My fingers brush the slick folds of her pussy.
She's already wet, dripping in the cold air, and she gasps, bucking against my palm.
"Leo," she breathes, her voice husky, eyes locked on mine.
I circle her clit with my thumb, slow at first, teasing, then faster as she moans low in her throat.
The snowflakes melt on her skin, tracing paths down her collarbone as I push two fingers inside her. Tight, hot, clenching around me like she can't get enough. I curl them, hitting that spot that makes her knees buckle, and she grabs my shoulders, nails digging in.
"Yes, just like that," she pants, her hips grinding down on my hand. The cold bites at my knuckles, but I don't stop, pumping in and out, feeling her juices coat my fingers, dripping down my wrist.
She's fearless, this one—spreading her legs wider in the snow, not giving a damn about the chill or the exposure.
I add a third finger, stretching her, and she cries out, her head falling back against the fence.
The stars above us blur as she rides my hand, her breaths coming in sharp bursts.
I watch her face, the way her lips part, eyes fluttering shut.
My cock strains against my zipper, aching to be free, but I draw it out, make her beg with those little whimpers. "Please," she whispers finally, her voice breaking. "I need more."
I pull my fingers out, slick and shining in the moonlight, and bring them to her mouth. She sucks them clean without hesitation, tongue swirling around each one, tasting herself. That sight alone nearly undoes me.
I fumble with my belt, the metal cold against my skin, and yank down my jeans just enough to free my cock. It's hard as steel, throbbing in the frigid air, precum beading at the tip.
Nina's eyes widen, a grin spreading across her face. She drops to her knees in the snow, not caring about the wet cold seeping into her skin. Her hands wrap around my shaft, stroking firm and sure, and I groan, threading my fingers through her hair.
"Dios mío, qué polla tan enorme," she murmurs, her accent thickening with lust as she takes me into her mouth. Her lips stretch around my girth, choking a little as she pushes deeper, gagging softly but not stopping.
The warmth of her throat contrasts the icy wind, and I thrust shallowly, watching her eyes water, her cheeks hollowing as she sucks.
She's good—better than most. Her tongue flicks the underside, teeth grazing just enough to tease, and she hums around me, vibrations shooting straight to my balls.
I thank my lucky stars again, silently, because nights like this don't come often.
Omegas in heat are one thing, but Nina's sober fire, her willingness to kneel in the snow for a stranger—it's perfection.
I pull her up before I lose it, my cock slick with her saliva, bobbing heavy in the cold. "Not yet," I say, voice rough.
She stands, shorts pushed down, pussy glistening.
I dig into my wallet—always prepared, that's me—and pull out a condom, the foil crinkling in my numb fingers.
I tear it open with my teeth, roll it down my length with practiced ease.
She's watching, biting her lip, and I spin her around, pressing her chest to the fence.
The wood scrapes her skin as I expose her ass—round, firm, dusted with snowflakes.
I grip her hips, lining up, and thrust in with one hard push.
She cries out, pussy clenching tight around me, so wet and hot it steals my breath.
The condom dulls it just enough for me to keep control, but fuck, she's gripping me like a vise.
I start slow, pulling out almost all the way before slamming back in, the slap of skin echoing in the quiet night. Snow falls thicker now, sticking to our joined bodies, melting on her back. Her moans mix with the wind, high and needy, and I reach around to rub her clit, keeping the rhythm steady.
I've fucked in worse conditions—back alleys, tents at ten thousand feet—but this feels primal, exposed under the stars. As I pound into her, my mind wanders, unbidden, to Mara Jameson. That quiet Omega from the café, with her loose hair and soft voice.
Would she fuck like this? Bent over in the snow, screaming for more?
Mara's all restraint, polite smiles and civility, but I imagine her underneath me, her body yielding like Nina's, pussy fluttering as I fill her.
Nina's wild, arching back to meet my thrusts, but Mara—god, she'd be tighter, shyer at first, then breaking open.
The thought makes me harder, if that's possible, and I snap my hips faster, chasing the fantasy layered over reality.
Nina's close—I can feel it in the way she trembles, her walls pulsing. "Harder," she demands, pushing back.
I oblige, one hand on her hip, the other tangling in her hair, pulling her head back so I can kiss her neck. Bite marks bloom on her skin, red against the pale, and she comes with a shudder, soaking my cock, her cries muffled by the falling snow.
I don't stop, driving deeper, the condom slick with her release.
My balls tighten, pleasure coiling low. Mara's face flashes again—those hazel eyes widening as I enter her, her hands clutching my shoulders instead of the fence.
Would she whisper my name like Nina does now, or beg in that soft voice?
The comparison fuels me and I thrust erratically, grunting as I spill into the condom, waves of heat crashing through the cold.
We stay like that for a beat, panting, the world rushing back—the hush of pines, the distant jukebox thump. I pull out carefully, tying off the condom and shoving it in my pocket. Nina turns, legs shaky, and pulls her panties and shorts up, snow clinging to her thighs.
She traces a finger along my jaw, studying me.
"That was fun," she says quietly.
"So fun," I admit. "Sucks you're leaving."
She nods, as if that explains everything. "I guess it's better this way. No strings."
"Yeah," I say, though the word feels hollow.
Because even as I stand there, watching her smile, my mind once again drifts somewhere else entirely—to the café earlier tonight, the warm glow of its windows, the soft sound of Mara Jameson's voice as she told Margaret she had a headache.
The way her hair had come loose from its braid, chestnut and wild against her cheek.
The faint scent of coffee and something sweet lingering in the air when she walked past me.
But tonight, Nina was exactly what I needed—raw, unfiltered, a release in the snow that chased away the pack's shadows, if only for a while. I zip up my jeans, the cold finally hitting full force, and offer her my jacket. She takes it with a grin, slipping it on over her shivering frame.
"That was… intense," she says, leaning against the fence, her breath fogging the air.
"Yeah," I reply, rubbing the back of my neck.
My body's still humming, muscles loose from the exertion, cock satisfied and softening in my jeans.
I've had quicker fucks, rougher ones, but this one lingers—the way her body fit mine, the contrast of heat and ice.
In my pack, they joke about my conquests, but they don't get the why: it's the escape, the proof that I'm more than just a Beta while Alphas rut and Omegas bond.
I'm not the weak one of the pack. Fuck Celia for ever making me feel this way.
Nina straightens, brushing snow from her shorts.
She talks, and I try to listen, but my focus wanes.
I picture Mara upstairs above the café, alone.
There'd been something fragile in her voice earlier, a tired kind of strength that made me want to ask questions I had no right to.
I don't know why I keep thinking about her.
Maybe it's something older, something deeper.
But it's there—this low hum under my skin that no amount of liquor or flirtation can dull.
"Leo?" Nina's voice pulls me back. She tilts her head. "You good?"
"Yeah," I say automatically, though my throat feels tight. "Just… long day."
She smiles, unaware of the war in my head. "Then I'm glad I at least helped make the night shorter."
I laugh softly, grateful for the out. We head back inside, where Gray is still at the bar, nursing a beer and chatting with Wes. He looks up when he sees us, and that knowing grin spreads across his face.
"Good walk?" he asks.
"Yeah," I say, settling back into my seat beside him. "Good view."
He chuckles. "You always did have a thing for views."
I shoot him a look, but he just laughs harder. The tension breaks, easy and familiar, and for a while we sit there like we always do—brothers by choice, bonded by the same history, the same wounds.
But later, when the laughter fades and the bar starts to empty, I catch my reflection in the window—eyes darker than they should be, smile a little too practiced. And I wonder if maybe Gray's right. Maybe I am vibrating. Not from want, but from something I don't know how to name.
Something that looks a lot like the way Mara's eyes had met mine across the café.
Something that feels too dangerous to touch.