26. Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Six
Adrian
“ I don’t know how…don’t know what...” She breaks off, embarrassment and arousal warring in her scent.
The admission makes my cock throb painfully. She's so innocent, so untouched even though I’ve seen her through her heat. Everything about her calls to my most primitive instincts to protect and possess. But there's something darker there too, in the way she’s surprised by pleasure, like she's never known touch could be good. Her scars tell a dark story, one I want to know so I can raze from the earth the bastards who put her through so much pain. “You just need to tell me what you want, Little One.” I nuzzle her temple.
“I've never... I'm not supposed to want...” Her words break on her tongue, but she turns her head, pressing her face into my neck where my scent is strongest, her movements slow and careful. As though she doesn't know if doing such a thing, something she desperately needs, will be okay.
“You're allowed to want. You're allowed to ask for what you need.”
She lifts eyes to mine, her pupils so large there’s only a thin ring of green. “Alpha... please...”
“Please what? Tell me what you need, omega.” Her pulse races beneath my lips.
“It’s better when you touch me. Please... make it stop hurting.”
My control nearly snaps at the desperate plea. I carefully place my hand on her calf, her bone structure delicate beneath the worn denim. She's trembling, watching me with those wide, wary eyes. But she doesn't pull away. Her muscles are rigid under my touch, and I work my thumbs into her calf muscles, applying gentle pressure.
“Is this okay?” I murmur, watching her face. The slightest hint I’m doing something she doesn’t want and I’ll stop. Instead, she nods, almost imperceptibly. Her scent shifts, the sharp edge of pain softening as I keep up the gentle pressure.
“I'm going to move up to your thighs now,” I tell her, my voice rougher than I intend. “May I?”
Gods, please say yes. Please let me touch you. Please let me love you…
“Yes,” she rasps.
My breath rushes out with relief. I slide my hands up as slowly as I’m able. Deliberate. She needs to anticipate my touch, not flinch from it. I only want her to know pleasure at my hands. Not pain. I focus on the way she's melting under my touch, how her breath catches when I brush my thumbs between her upper thighs.
Her scent is transforming. The sweet notes of lilac deepen, mature, and I stifle a groan as the first hints of her slick reach my nose. My cock throbs painfully against my zipper, but I keep my touch therapeutic, professional. This isn't about my need. It's about her comfort, her choice.
Thank fuck I studied omega biology because it’s given me the insight I need to help her. Her breathing has deepened, little catches in her throat that go straight to my groin. I want to taste those sounds, to draw them out until she's drowning in pleasure. Want to show her how good touch can be when it's given with care, with consent. She needs to trust first. To heal. And I need to be patient.
But gods, the way she smells—like summer storms filled with fresh blossoms and exquisite, sweet temptation.
She smells like home.
She is home.
This is the power of an omega. Not just any omega, but our gods-sworn scent-matched omega. Our souls were made for each other before our bodies entered this physical world. Wherever she goes, we’ll follow.
We can’t do anything else.
She doesn’t realize the power she has. We’ll move worlds if she wishes it, and she has no idea.
Her thighs soften, tension melting away as I work her muscles. The denim between her legs darkens with slick, and the sight makes my mouth water, my instincts roaring to taste her. Her scent is intoxicating. My thumbs trace slow circles on her inner thighs, and she whimpers. Each tiny sound sends electricity down my spine.
“May I kiss you, omega?” My voice is hoarse.
She meets my eyes. A flush spreads across her cheeks, down her neck, disappearing beneath that threadbare sweater. “Yes,” she whispers, and that single word unleashes something boundless in my chest.
I lean in slowly, giving her time to change her mind, watching her face for any sign of hesitation. When my lips meet hers, every sense explodes into overdrive. Her taste is addictive. Sweetness and sin. The soft whimper she makes against my mouth sends a jolt straight to my cock. My hands tighten on her thighs as her omega pheromones flood my system .
She’s everything I've ever craved. My tongue traces her bottom lip, asking permission, and when she opens for me, I have to fight to maintain control. My knot throbs, demanding more, but I keep the kiss gentle, exploratory. Let her set the pace. Show her what it means to be cherished rather than used.
Her small hands come up to grip my shoulders, her trust making my alpha side roar with pride. The way she yields to me, soft and pliant, triggers every protective instinct I possess. I deepen the kiss slightly, drinking in the little sounds she makes, memorizing every reaction. This is what she needs, gentle pleasure to replace the pain, to show her that touch can heal instead of hurt.
Another wave of her slick hits my nose and it takes everything in me not to growl. She smells divine. Ripe. Ready. Every cell in my body screams to claim, to mark, to make her ours completely. I force those instincts down, focusing instead on the soft slide of her lips against mine, the way her scent blooms with pleasure rather than fear.
Her fingers tighten on my shoulders as I trace her bottom lip with my tongue again, and the small sound she makes nearly breaks my control. She's responsive in a way that makes me wonder if anyone has ever kissed her properly before, ever taken the time to give her pleasure without demanding anything in return.
My hands skim up her sides and over each delicate rib beneath that ratty sweater. She's so small, my hands span her entire waist. I settle my palm against her stomach as a tremble works through her body. The contrast of my large hand against her tiny frame makes my alpha roar with the need to provide, to nourish, to strengthen. I massage gently through the worn fabric, watching her face carefully for any sign of discomfort. Her breathing has gone shallow, but her scent remains sweet with arousal rather than sour.
“Is this okay, omega?” I murmur against her lips, needing to hear her consent.
“It…yes,” she says, the word catching.
I trail higher, letting her adjust to each new touch. “May I touch your breast?” I ask, my thumb already brushing the soft underside through her sweater. She arches slightly into the touch, and the movement sends another wave of her arousal-scent crashing over me .
Her “yes” is barely audible, but her scent speaks volumes. I cup her breast carefully, the weight small in my palm. When she whimpers softly, the sound goes straight to my groin. My knot pulses, needing friction, but I keep my hips right where they are. This is about her, not me. I want to worship every inch of her, to replace every bad memory she has with pleasure.
I brush my thumb across her nipple, and it hardens through the fabric. Her lips part on a soft gasp, pink and swollen from our kisses. I can't resist capturing them again, drinking in her little sounds of pleasure. She's intoxicating, every response pure and unguarded, like no one has ever taken the time to worship her properly. As an omega of her stature should be worshipped.
When I skim my fingers in the space where her sweater has risen on her waist, she groans into my mouth, the sound vibrating through me straight to my throbbing dick. I keep myself firmly leashed.
“Is this okay, Little One? Can I remove your sweater so I can touch you better?” I whisper against her lips. She hesitates, and I immediately slow my movements to let my touch trail across her ribs, letting her set the pace. Be in control.
Because she is.
Nothing happens without her consent.
“Please,” she finally whimpers, arching into my touch. The desperate need in her voice is music to my ears. “Please touch me, Alpha.”
I lift her sweater, slowly drawing it off her frame. She tenses. The bra she wears is threadbare, gray and shapeless from too many washes. Shame colors her scent, sharp and acrid, but all I see is her strength. Every worn item of clothing tells a story of survival, of fighting against impossible odds.
“You're incredible,” I murmur, pressing soft kisses along her jaw. Her skin is silk beneath my lips, and I have to resist the urge to mark her. “Do you know how strong you are? How brave?”
She shakes her head, disbelieving, but I continue between gentle nips at her lips. Each kiss is a testament, a prayer. “You survived. On your own. Do you understand how remarkable that is?” Kiss. “How resilient?” Kiss. “How clever?” Kiss. My hands span her tiny waist, thumbs stroking softly over her ribs .
“I'm not…” she starts, but I silence her with another kiss, pouring all my conviction into it.
“You are,” I insist, trailing my lips down her neck. Her trapped-bird pulse flutters beneath my mouth. “You're fierce.” Kiss. “Independent.” Kiss. “Beautiful.” Kiss. “So many omegas wouldn't have made it, but you did. You fought. You survived.” Each word is punctuated with a gentle brush of my lips, imbuing them with the truth.
Her scent wavers between arousal and uncertainty, like she can't quite believe me. But I mean every word. Her strength leaves me stunned, this tiny omega who carved out her own path in a world designed to break her. The evidence of her struggle only makes her more beautiful to me.
“Let me show you,” I whisper against her skin, tasting her intoxicating scent. “Let me prove how precious you are.” My hands slide higher, thumbs brushing the undersides of her breasts through the worn fabric. She arches into the touch, a soft whimper escaping her lips.
I press my lips to her breast. The worn cotton dampens instantly with my saliva, and when I exhale hotly against the wet spot, she gasps. The sound is pure sin, breathy and desperate. My cock jerks, pre-cum dampening my boxers.
Then her fingers thread through my hair, tentative at first, before tightening when I trace my tongue over her hardened nipple through the fabric. The gesture is spontaneous, uninhibited, satisfying my alpha side. This is what I've been waiting for… her touching me because she wants to, not because she thinks she has to.
I reward her initiative by sucking gently through the fabric, and her grip in my hair tightens further. Her slick scent spikes sharply, filling my nose with sweet omega arousal. The combination of her fingers in my hair and her responsive body beneath my mouth is intoxicating.
“That's it,” I murmur against her breast. “Such a good girl for your alpha.”
She tugs slightly at my hair, guiding me to her other breast, and the trust in that simple action makes my chest tight with emotion. I follow her lead willingly, proudly, wanting her to understand how much I cherish her growing confidence .
My hands span her ribcage, steadying her as she arches into my mouth. She's starting to lose herself in the sensation, her usual careful control slipping, and it's the most beautiful thing I've ever experienced.
“Let go. Let me catch you, Omega.” My words are a prayer I want her to hear.
I want her to know truth beyond a doubt.
“Going to take this off now. So I can touch you on your skin. On your perfect nipples. Your gorgeous breasts,” I rasp, my fingers circling the clasp on her back until she whines.
Actually whines.
The pure omega sound is music to my ears because she’s losing herself to her nature. Allowing me to help her. My heart pounds as I unclasp her bra, letting it fall away…somewhere. I don’t care where the fuck it goes. My whole attention is locked on the sight of her bare breasts. They're small, perfect, topped with dusky pink nipples already hard with arousal.
Mine .
I capture one perfect peak in my mouth, sucking, lapping, worshipping. My hands slide down her sides to her hips, fingers pressing into soft flesh. She's responding so beautifully, all inhibitions melting away under my touch. The painful notes in her scent have disappeared completely, replaced by pure, sweet arousal.
I groan against her breast, barely recognizing my own voice. “Let me touch you more, Little One.” I punctuate the words with gentle nips and kisses. “So perfect under my hands, in my mouth.”
Our scents combine into something intoxicating…something right. The air around us is thick with pheromones, heavy with desire. My cock throbs painfully, my knot threatening to pop just from her scent alone. Gods, I don’t care how much pain I’m in. Every throb is worth it.
“Please,” she whimpers, arching into my touch. “Alpha, please...”
The desperate tone in her voice nearly breaks my control. All traces of fear are gone, replaced by pure want. Her grip on my hair tightens as she tugs me closer to her breast .
“Tell me what you want, Little One,” I murmur against her skin. “Tell me how to make you feel good.”
“Need you…between my legs.” Her words send fire through my veins.
She’s not denying me.
She’s voicing her desire.
Trusting me.
The win makes my heart explode. I unclasp her jeans with shaking hands, drawing down the zipper. In one fluid motion, I slide both denim and cotton down her legs, tossing them aside, and then she's bare before me.
All the air leaves my lungs.
She's exquisite. All delicate curves and soft skin. Her thighs are trembling, slick glistening on the inside of them. Her sex is pink and perfect, already swollen and wet for me. Her outer lips are flushed dark with arousal, her inner lips peeking out like rose petals.
“Beautiful,” I growl, unable to keep the alpha resonance from my voice. Words are too inadequate for the vision before me. “Omega. Mira. You are absolutely perfect.”
Her little pearl is swollen and begging for attention. My thumbs trace gentle circles on her inner thighs, spreading them wider. Her entrance flutters and slick seeps out. Her scent is intoxicating. She's perfection incarnate, splayed out in my office armchair as an offering to a devoted worshipper.
And I am that worshipper.
I’ll pray at her altar for the rest of my life.
She squirms under my intense gaze, a whimpered “please” falling from her lips, and I realize I've been staring too long, drinking in the sight of her. I won’t make her wait any longer.
I lean closer, letting my hot breath ghost over her center, watching as she shivers in anticipation. “Going to give you so much pleasure, Little One.”
My hands gently press her thighs apart, making space for my shoulders between them. I drag my tongue up the inside of her thigh, collecting the sweet nectar of her arousal. Her taste explodes across my palate. I flatten my tongue against her core, taking a long, slow lick that makes her gasp and arch. Her taste is addictive. I’m never going to get enough. I lap at her entrance, coating my tongue with her slick, before moving up to circle her clit. Each pass of my tongue draws little whimpers and moans that go straight to my cock.
When she starts squirming under my mouth, I gently pin her hips, holding her steady so I can properly worship her pearl. I seal my lips around her clit and suck gently, reveling in the way she cries out.
Sliding two fingers into her core, I groan at how perfectly she takes me. Her inner walls flutter around my digits, hot and silky. I curl my fingers, searching for that spot that will make her see stars, while maintaining the steady suction on her clit. The combination of my fingers gliding in and out while I work her with my tongue has her trembling, her thighs quivering against my shoulders.
This is easily the most erotic thing I've ever experienced, my beautiful omega spread out before me, accepting my touch, my worship. Pride swells in my chest at being able to pleasure her like this, at being the one to show her how good touch can be.
When her climax hits, it's glorious. Her inner muscles clamp down on my fingers as waves of pleasure roll through her. I don't let up, drawing out her orgasm with gentle suction and curling fingers until she's shaking and limp.
Only then do I gather her into my arms, lifting her slight weight easily. I settle into the chair with her in my lap and arrange one of the fluffy blankets Cole placed over the back of the armchair—and in every damn room in the penthouse, for that matter—across the both of us. Her trust in this moment is the greatest gift she could give me.
I tighten my arms around her and inhale our mixed scents, so perfect together. Having her safe and sated in my arms is everything . She presses her nose into my scent gland as she drifts into sleep. My purr is a steady rhythm that matches her peaceful breathing. We’ve both crossed a line we can’t come back from.
She’s not going anywhere.
She mine to protect.
Mine to cherish .
Mine to put on a pedestal to worship each and every day and remind her of the goddess she is.
Later, we'll deal with her withdrawal symptoms, with her past, with everything else, but this moment—her trust, her pleasure, her peaceful sleep—I will treasure forever.
I close my eyes and rest my head back against the armchair, grateful for my omega in my arms, her flavor on my tongue and for the chance of fate that brought her to us.