Page 25 of The Feral Alpha
Rex nodded.
“Do you like the ice cream more than you like me?”
At that, Rex growled and wrapped his arms around Olson, pulling him into a hug. He continued to lick his ice cream over Olson’s shoulder. “Mine.”
“Should I be glad that you don’t get this possessive over your ice cream?” Olson asked dryly.
Rex grinned and waved his ice cream at Olson. “Mine.”
Olson snorted, his mouth twitching. “Figures.”
Rex’s laugh was low and rough; it vibrated into Olson’s chest. Then he nuzzled Olson and got ice cream all over both of them, some of it smearing into his beard.
Olson sighed, leaning into that alpha. He caught Mrs. Bentham grinning. “You won’t be telling my dads about this, will you?”
She looked innocently back at him. “That depends. When are you telling them?”
“Oh, gods. I don’t know.” Olson couldn’t help resting his weight on Rex, though. Letting him bear the full brunt of it since he was so strong.
Under Mrs. Bentham’s watchful eye, they left the ice cream shop, Rex’s large hand wrapped around Olson’s as they made their way back to the parking lot.
Rex rumbled happily; he squeezed Olson’s hand and brought it up to nuzzle his knuckles, leaving a smear of ice cream on his fingers that he licked off. “Olsonnnn. Mint chip.”
“Your two favorite things, right?”
Rex grinned.
This felt familiar. Like they’d done this tens of times—
Olson had, with George. And he couldn’t explain why Rex wanted this, why Rex had picked the same exact flavor George used to go crazy over.
At the car, Rex pressed Olson up against the driver’s side door. Olson’s breath snagged in his throat.
“Olllsonnnn,” Rex purred, bringing his own ice cream between them, rubbing that cold sweetness against Olson’s lips.
“You want me to have some of yours?”
Rex nodded.
So Olson bit off a small chunk of Rex’s ice cream, feeling the cool tingle of mint on his tongue.
“Yesss,” Rex growled. He took the cone away. And he leaned in, tipping Olson’s head back and pushing his tongue between Olson’s lips, chasing the ice cream.
“Fuck,” Olson breathed, his entire body responding to Rex’s demanding touch. Rex slid his tongue deep into Olson’s mouth the same way he’d touched further south—hungry, seeking, claiming.
It was all Olson could do not to slide down the side of his car. He held onto Rex, sounds falling from his lips, Rex growling softly as he licked the ice cream right out of Olson’s mouth.
“Mine,” Rex said against his mouth, pushing his tongue back inside.
“We’re supposed to... to be eating ice cream,” Olson whimpered. He hadn’t thought he’d be all but kissing this man right outside the ice cream shop.
At that, Rex pulled back. Olson realized that Rex had crushed his ice cream cone in his fist, lines of pale green dripping down his fingers.
Olson’s own ice cream was on the ground, forgotten.
Rex made to pick it up; Olson grabbed him before he could.
“No. We don’t eat food that’s fallen on the ground,” Olson said. “I don’t want you to get a stomachache.”