Chapter Two
CAINE
Iclosed the door behind me, locking it as my gaze landed on the snarling bundle on the bed. “You’re causing quite a lot of trouble, little omega.”
The scent wafting from him was . . . tempting—fresh and subtly floral, like a rainstorm in spring, with notes of lemon—a far cry from the nauseating stench that typically hit me whenever I met with the opposite designation.
Especially one in heat. He was burrowed into his nest, if it could even be called one.
It was atrocious. A chaos of blankets, pillows, and what looked to be his own clothes, piled up with no structure.
Had he no intention of impressing a mate?
The blood smeared on the floor and the sheets—not his, I noted—gave that assumption merit.
My lip twitched, wanting to sneer as the pheromones of unknown Alphas assaulted my nose, all of them weak and unworthy, but I suppressed it, stepping further into the room.
The creak of the floorboards had a head poking out from a gap in the sheets, teeth bared and eyes alight with threat.
My cock reacted, thickening in my trousers despite the obvious warning signals.
His skin was flushed pink, his black hair damp with sweat, and a primitive part of me craved to mount and ruin him, but judging by his hostility, he wouldn’t be amenable.
Nor was it my intention.
“You do not want me either, hm? You fussy little brat. What do you want, then?” The omega stopped growling, studying me, his brows creased and nostrils flaring as if he’d finally caught my scent. He didn’t answer. “Do you wish to be alone for your heat? There are toys in the cupboard.”
Still nothing.
“Very well.” I didn’t have time for pandering to the notions of an indecisive omega. I turned toward the door, intent on leaving him to his own devices, but a voice, broken from overuse, called out to me.
“Wait.”
With my fingers curled around the handle, I paused, and the padding of footsteps on tiles hastily advanced.
That green citrus scent infused with arousal grew richer, closer, and I barely stopped myself from inhaling greedily.
A hand settled over mine, steering me away from the door and urging me to turn back around.
My skin didn’t crawl from the contact.
“Don’t go,” he said, and from this close it was impossible to resist filling my lungs with his essence.
He swayed forward as if compelled by my pheromones in their reaction to his.
His hand moved up my arm, over my chest, aiming to unbutton my shirt, but I seized his wrist. His eyes, dazed and owlish, lifted to my face.
For whatever reason, my body wasn’t rejecting him, and after years of enduring those maddening symptoms, part of me was curious to see what would happen if I indulged in the reprieve.
I hadn’t planned on being in here longer than it took to ease his distress—hadn’t felt any particular enthusiasm for the alternative—but instead of the cold, hard refusal that was primed on my tongue from habit, my mouth formed the words, “You have thirty seconds to convince me to stay.”
He stared up at me, processing, as if he hadn’t expected me not to pounce like any typical Alpha would.
I had no interest in what was typical.
“Twenty-nine . . .”
The omega blinked, his pupils dilating at the flat tone of my voice, and he dropped to his knees.
He reached out tentatively, to gauge my reaction, and when I didn’t stop him for a second time, his lithe fingers roved up my thighs, inspecting each cord of muscle.
He leaned in, drinking down my scent, before rubbing his cheek against my crotch, humming in satisfaction.
I wanted to scoff at the implication my cock also met his particular approval.
“Twenty-seven . . .”
He was clumsy in unbuckling my belt, his brow creasing with forced concentration as he pulled down my zipper. The heat was warping his awareness, but he shook his head and peered up at me from under his lashes, a smile spreading across his face that promised disobedience.
My next breath was heavier. “Twenty-two . . .”
He extended his tongue, keeping eye contact, and I had a split second to notice the piercing lancing the centre before he swerved in and licked a sloppy, wet path up my shaft, darkening the fabric.
Even through the barrier, the metal ball dragged over the sensitive skin, drawing a hiss from between my teeth as it caught on the head.
A laugh huffed from his nose and he brushed his lips over the spot, planting a teasing kiss before sucking the tip into his mouth.
“Fifteen . . .” I warned, a growl playing at the back of my throat. It made him moan around me but didn’t deter him from taking his sweet time.
I felt him swallow before he withdrew, his lips already turning a deeper shape of pink.
His hands rose to the waistband of my boxers, peeling them down to reveal my cock to his wanton gaze.
His breath caught, his scent thickening, but instead of taking me into his mouth again, he lapped up the precum welling at the slit, eyes fluttering closed as if he genuinely enjoyed the taste.
I was stunned by his self-control. He wasn’t instantly yielding like I’d anticipated he would—as other omegas did—and I couldn’t deny it heightened my arousal.
The heat was a shroud on his senses, but he was challenging me, even subtly.
He acted as if there was no rush to persuade me to fuck him, as if he wasn’t leaking all over the floor and a slave to the impulses twisting in his core.
He was letting the time tick, coaxing my impatience with each second, as if wanting to see how far he could push before I snapped.
As if making me prove I was worthy of his submission.
“Five—fuck.”
He swallowed me down to the base without warning, his nose pressed against the coarse hairs and cheeks hollowed.
I stopped counting.
My fingers threaded through his hair, gripping the strands harshly as I thrust inside. He choked, but recovered quickly, relaxing his jaw and accepting whatever I gave him. “This might be your first heat, but it’s not your first time sucking cock, hm? Just how much of a slut are you?”
The omega groaned, the sound vibrating against my skin.
Tears ran down his ruddy cheeks as he obliged my wordless demands to take it deeper.
He licked at my shaft as his throat opened up, welcoming me inside like it was created for this very purpose.
He was staring up at me from under his wet lashes, his lips stretched thin, and that was the moment I noticed his lower body rocking in rhythm, his arm positioned between his spread thighs, concealing his actions from my field of vision.
I seized his neck with my free hand, squeezing the sides until his breath hitched. “Did I say you could touch yourself?” My voice was pitched low and assertive, my teeth were bared. “Hand. Off.”
Surprisingly, he obeyed without hesitation, both of his hands reaching for my legs and clutching my trousers like a lifeline. His eyes rolled in pleasure, and I gripped his throat tighter. “Good boy.”
I bucked into him with vigour, sensing he could handle it, revelling in every muffled groan and startled flick of his tongue.
The wet gagging sounds crowded the space between us, and I suddenly felt insatiable.
I couldn’t tear my attention from him. His slight frame, his pale skin.
His fucking reflective eyes blazing with fire and contempt.
For what or whom, I didn’t care enough to know, but he had a fury in him, bone deep or newfound, it didn’t matter.
It was infectious.
There were more tattoos littering his body than I’d seen in his picture.
They were badly done, patchwork line art.
Had he scratched them into his flesh himself?
Or had he offered himself as a canvas for an amateur?
The uneven piercings in his ears and patchy blond streaks in his hair prompted the same question.
They were tragic, a rebellion. He was a beguiling maverick, and having him under me, on his knees at my feet, made pressure start to coil dangerously in my stomach.
“Make me come,” I demanded, loosening my clutch on his hair. “Swallow down every drop, and then I’ll decide if I’m going to fuck you.”
Free to move, he bobbed his head with abandon, gulping reflexively each time my prick hit the back of his throat and constricting deliciously around the tip.
He used my thighs as leverage, fingers wound so taut in my trousers I banked on them ripping at the seams. He was heeding my instruction not to touch himself, but his hips rolled against the air in sync with his mouth, as if mindless in their pursuit of friction.
I inched my foot forward, wedging it between his legs. He sighed at the pressure. “Go on, then,” I challenged, a nonchalance hanging over my words. “Rut against me like a dog if you’re so desperate.”
Barely a handful of strokes later, his eyes screwed shut and he tensed, whining around his mouthful, tears streaking his cheeks. My balls throbbed in response, and I ground forward once, twice more before stilling, anchoring him in place as my cock kicked, shooting over his tongue.
He gulped it down, prolonging the sensation, and only once those pulses of pleasure had subsided did I pull him off.
He looked entranced, lips swollen and spit-slick, his nose running.
He was already wrecked, and it pleased me infinitely more than I thought it would.
A trail of cum dripped from the corner of his mouth; I scooped it onto my finger, feeding it to him.
He accepted it eagerly, licking and sucking the skin clean as if he were starved.
I drew back my leg, glancing down and scoffing at the white stains striping my boot and trousers. “You couldn’t help yourself, could you? I should make you clean it up.”
“Alpha . . .”