Chapter 4 #3
His weight collapses on top of me, pressing me into the mattress. We stay like that for a long moment, tangled and slick, riding the ragged wave back down toward reality. My heart is a frantic bird against my ribs, and my lungs are finally, greedily, taking in the air.
I wait for the heat to recede. For the fog to lift.
It doesn’t.
And to my horror, I realize it isn’t over.
“First wave.” Enzo lifts his head, and he looks as wrecked as I feel. Sweat-soaked, chest heaving, eyes still dark with hunger. “It’ll come in waves for the next twelve to twenty-four hours. Maybe longer, with how long you’ve been suppressing.”
The words echo in my head like a death sentence.
Twelve to twenty-four hours or more of being stripped down to nothing but need. Of begging him. Letting him use me. Losing every last shred of dignity I have left—if I have any left at all.
I want to cry, but there’s no energy left for it. Not with my traitorous body already stirring, heat building again despite the orgasm still shivering through my muscles.
Enzo’s cock twitches inside me. I feel him swelling, thickening, stretching me anew.
“I can’t—” Panic claws at my throat. “Not again, I can’t—”
I try to push him off, but the movement just rocks me onto his cock, and a moan leaves my throat unbidden.
His hands shoot to my hips, pinning me in place. “Careful,” he says, voice tight and frayed. “You’ll hurt yourself.”
The concern makes my chest tighten. I don’t want his concern. Don’t want him to care.
“Let me go.”
“No.”
“Mr. Valerio—”
His hand comes up to cup my face, tilting my head until I’m forced to meet his eyes. “Really?” Something dangerous flickers in his gaze. “You’re going to call me that after taking my cock and my cum?”
Heat scorches my cheeks. “I don’t—”
“It’s Enzo. Just like you moaned it when you came. Or do you need a reminder?”
I glare at him, trapped between wanting to spit in his face and the humiliating knowledge that I did moan his name. Screamed it too.
“I’m not going to let you die from your heat because you’re too stubborn to accept what you need.”
“What I need?” A bitter laugh scrapes out of me, which soon turns into a gasp when he shifts inside me. “Fuck you.”
“You already are.” He rolls his hips in a slow grind, dragging his cock against every oversensitive nerve, and I arch into him despite myself.
“See?” he murmurs, triumphant. “Your body knows the truth even when your mouth lies. And you’re going to keep needing this until your heat breaks.”
I want to deny it. Tell him I’d rather die. But my hole clenches around him involuntarily, and we both feel it. The slick starting to build again. The tremble of new hunger sparking to life.
I hate that he’s right.
An omega in full heat after years of suppression is a dangerous thing. The dehydration alone could kill me, not to mention the fever and potential organ damage.
I need this.
Need him.
I just wish it were anyone else.
The second wave is slower. Less frantic.
Enzo pulls out midway to grab water bottles and forces me to drink despite my protests. Then he’s back, settling between my legs like he belongs there. This time when he pushes inside, the desperation has dulled to a persistent ache.
The need is still there, and so is the heat burning through my veins. But I can think beyond the desperation now. I can process more than just the screaming demand for relief.
Which means I’m suddenly aware of everything.
I’m aware of the intensity of his gaze on my face as he fucks into me, dark eyes tracking every flicker of pleasure, like he’s savoring what makes me fall apart.
I’m aware of how his hands span my hips, his fingers digging into my skin just shy of bruising.
Most devastating of all, I’m aware of the way he releases calming pheromones to soothe me, making me feel safe when I absolutely shouldn’t.
“Why didn’t you kill me?” I ask between thrusts, because apparently heat makes me chatty. “On the terrace.” I gasp as he grinds deep. “You said you had guards watching. Why didn’t you give the order?”
Enzo’s rhythm doesn’t falter. If anything, he fucks into me harder. “I told you. I understand wanting revenge.”
“Bullshit.” I clench around him deliberately, watching his jaw go rigid. “You don’t get to run a crime family by being sympathetic.”
“No.” He leans down, folding me nearly in half, and the new angle has him so deep I see stars. “You don’t.”
He pulls back slow, then slams home, punching a moan out of me. “But you also don’t keep power by killing everyone who has a grievance against you.” Another brutal thrust. “Your brother was murdered by my underboss without my knowledge.” Another. “That’s a failure of my leadership.”
I’m panting now, barely able to string words together.
“S-so this is guilt?”
“This—” He snaps his hips so hard the headboard cracks against the wall, and I cry out. “This is something else.” He holds himself deep, grinding, and I’m shaking beneath him. “The guilt is separate.”
“And the fact that I tried to kill you?”
His smile is feral. “Makes it more interesting.”
I should hate this. Hate every second of being pinned beneath the man I came here to murder. But then he changes the angle and hits that spot dead-on.
Pleasure tears through me so violently my back bows off the bed. I can’t hold onto the hate. Not when he’s fucking it out of me with every stroke. Because dammit, he is fucking it out of me with every stroke, and like a fool, I’m letting him.
“When this is over,” I gasp, nails raking down his back hard enough to draw blood, “I’m still going to kill you.”
“I know,” he mutters, working his hips, driving into me with deep, measured thrusts that have me seeing white at the edges. “I’m looking forward to it.”
The simple acknowledgment does something to me.
He knows who I am. What I want. And he’s still here, still buried inside me, still looking at me like—like—
“What?” I manage through the haze.
“Nothing.” But his hand comes up, cups my jaw, tilts my face so I can’t look away.
“You’re just—” He lands a thrust that makes me whimper. “Fucking beautiful like this.” Another that makes me moan. “You smell like you’re already mine.”
“Shut up.” But my voice breaks on it, and I’m arching into him, chasing more.
“Make me.”
I grab him by the throat and drag him down to do just that, but the moment our lips meet, it’s fireworks and explosion.
My mouth moves against his, all teeth and tongue and raw fury. I bite his bottom lip hard enough to taste copper, and he growls into my mouth, slamming into me so hard I scream.
His hand fists in my hair, yanking my head back, and he devours my throat while he fucks me.
I’m clawing at his shoulders, his back, anywhere I can reach, leaving marks I hope scar. When I suck a bruise into his neck, his rhythm turns savage, hips pistoning, the wet slap of skin on skin obscene in the quiet room.
“Fuck,” he snarls against my pulse. “The way you take me. It’s like you were made for my cock.”
I should be humiliated by the way I keen at that. But I’m past the shame. Past everything except the orgasm building at the base of my spine, like a detonation waiting to happen.
“Harder,” I demand. “Fucking harder.”
He hooks my leg over his shoulder and pounds into me with abandon, and I’m gone.
The orgasm rips through me like an earthquake, shatters me from the inside out, and I’m clenching around him so hard he chokes out my name.
Enzo follows me over with a strangled groan, burying himself to the hilt as he spills inside me. I feel every pulse, every throb, and my body milks him for all of it.
We collapse together, wrecked and gasping. When he finally pulls out, I feel the loss like a wound.
He settles beside me, one hand splayed across my hip like he can’t bear not to be touching me.
“Sleep,” he pants. “You need rest before the next wave.”
“Don’t tell me what to do,” I mutter. But the defiance is empty; exhaustion is already dragging me under.
The last thing I feel is his fingers weaving through my hair with a gentleness that doesn’t match anything else about him.
I wake to wet heat and suction.
Enzo’s mouth is on my cock, and I’m already hard, throbbing and so sensitive that the first drag of his tongue rips a cry from my throat. My hands fly to his hair, fisting the dark strands before I’m even fully conscious.
“What—” I try to form words, but he hollows his cheeks and sucks, and the thought dissolves into static.
He pulls off my cock with a pop, and looks up at me through thick lashes, lips are swollen and shiny with spit.
“Third wave,” he says, licking the length of my cock. “Easier if you come first.”
Then he swallows me to the root.
I choke on a moan. My hips buck off the bed, shoving my cock deeper into his throat, and he takes it. Takes all of it without gagging.
I’ve never fucked a man’s throat before.
Never let anyone close enough for this kind of intimacy.
And Enzo is—fuck, he’s good at this. Too good.
He knows exactly how much suction makes my thighs tremble, exactly where to press his tongue to make me see white, exactly when to pull back and let me teeter on the edge before dragging me back under again.
He works my cock like we’ve done this a thousand times.
His hands grip my thighs, spreading me wider, holding me open while he devours me. I look down, and the sight of him—this powerful, dangerous man between my legs, with his mouth stretched around my cock—
“Enzo—” His name breaks out of me . “I’m going to—”
He doesn’t pull off. He looks up at me with those dark eyes and takes me deeper. His throat flexes around the head, and I detonate.
The orgasm tears through me like a live wire. I’m coming down his throat in hot, endless pulses, and he swallows every drop, gulping it down without breaking eye contact. He moans around me and the vibration through my cock is almost enough to make me hard again immediately.
Almost.