Chapter Twelve #6
I couldn’t argue, could barely even compute as he rose to his knees and began fucking into me, deep and thorough.
He used his grip on my hips to shove me off his dick before dragging me back even harder, his thighs connecting with my arse with a resounding slap.
He wasn’t gentle or kind; he started off with vigorous strokes, only building in rhythm until he was practically pummelling me through the mattress.
It was no surprise he fucked as brutally as he did everything else.
It would have irritated me if he wasn’t so good at angling his thrusts just right and hitting all the spots that mattered.
He wasn’t mindlessly jackhammering into me, uncaring of how I felt, even in his altered state.
He was aware of what he was doing. And alright, it actually did irritate me, realising he could already play my body like a fucking fiddle.
I tried to shift under him, eager to fuel the flames mounting inside, to rock back and meet his movements even if it was impossible, chasing the rise of pleasure.
But he snarled and gripped my nape, holding me still. “Stay.”
Fuck, he was totally gone, enslaved by his instincts, and all I could do was accept whatever he gave me.
My insides contracted, the omega in me keen to submit and comply.
I was appeased by his capabilities. He was strong, powerful, protective, and he’d already proven his virility.
He could breed me well, and my brain was struggling to remember why I was resisting.
He countered my insults, he indulged my attitude, and for whatever reason, it was enticing me into handing over my control.
His thrusts were somehow getting deeper, more erratic, and he pressed me further into the mattress.
I fisted the sheets, knuckles blooming as every nerve in my body thrummed with white-hot static.
I was surrounded by him, his dark and earthy scent, his gruff, feral moans.
I couldn’t even discern where he ended and I began.
The base of his cock was flaring, stretching me to my limit.
He drove inside one last time, locking his knot past my rim, and the arousal in my belly crested, unfurling from my core and extending to every part of my body.
I came with a bitten-off curse, my dick pulsing a constant stream onto the bedsheets, and each filthy grind of his hips against my arse brought a fresh kaleidoscope of stars to my vision.
Caine released a noise as if he’d been punched, doubling over, and I felt the beating throb of his dick and knot, his hot cum flooding me as deep as it could reach.
I sagged, and Caine swayed forward, removing his fingers from around my neck so he could nuzzle against it instead.
My awareness piqued, but I didn’t let it consume me.
Drinking down a composing breath, I closed my eyes and offered my throat, wanting to get it over with while my senses were dulled by the euphoric haze.
The bite didn’t come.
I clamped down on his knot until he grunted, his hips jolting, and tilted my head a little more, making my intention clear—not trusting my voice.
His lips roved toward my ear again, and he kissed the spot behind it.
“Stop tempting me,” he whispered, sounding laboured, as if his restraint was dangling by a single thread.
“But . . . aren’t we supposed to—”
“No.”
I didn’t understand. Had he changed his mind?
Was he resisting because it’d dawned on him he wouldn’t be able to leave us again when he lost interest?
If we didn’t make it permanent, he wouldn’t be bound to me; he could have anyone else and I’d be his mate on the sidelines, only of use when we had to feed into the pretence.
Or I’d be nothing at all.
I didn’t care about being irrelevant to him, didn’t care if he shacked up with the whole city. It wasn’t the fidelity that I’d been relying on the bond for, it was the reassurance of a physical barrier preventing him from going against his word . . .
From breaking his commitment to Minnie.
Caine must have sensed my distress rocketing, as he made a sound in his throat—a soothing rumble.
“The contract is binding. It is enough,” he said, words slurred as though he was forcing them out.
He ground his knot into me again, scrambling my train of thought.
“And with this, no one can doubt that you’re mine. ”
For twelve hours, we fucked.
I spread my legs and took Caine’s knot, giving myself over to him completely. I was sore, full to the brim, and I expected—hoped—it would break soon since a rut rarely lasted longer than twenty-four hours. Unless it coincided with an omega’s heat.
Apparently.
We were on our sides, tangled in the dirty sheets, sweating and tired—well, I was. The last wave had been taxing, Caine seemingly unsatisfied until I nearly blacked out with how many times he’d forced an orgasm out of me.
Mercifully, he was content now, plugging up his omega, his arms wrapped around me possessively as he sniffed and sucked my nape.
As I wouldn’t be needed again until his knot deflated, the comfortable silence lured me into my thoughts.
It was a dangerous thing, having the time to drift into my head.
It was how I found myself wondering what it would be like to experience this always, and not just as part of a contract.
To have an Alpha dote on me, worship me, wake up beside me and feel an unquenchable desire that only I could satiate. But also . . . a boundless adoration.
When I was a kid, I thought I’d be mated one day, have a shitload of babies, a house, and be in love.
Just like my parents were. That was a distant and hopeless dream now, no matter how realistic the mirage.
It couldn’t happen. Not with us. Not with anyone.
It would never be more, I knew that, so why did I insist on tormenting myself by imagining it?
This was how it was going to be from now until the day I died: temporary glimpses into a fantasy I once had, and that was all. I had to accept it.
It was harder than I thought to repel the compulsion to yield to the delusion, especially after going through a whole extravagant ceremony.
And a wedding night.
I’d wanted more than anything to belong to a pack again, to feel the comfort and protection that seemed to travel through one another like currents of electricity, the closeness, the family unit who stood together through thick and thin.
I wanted it for Minnie too. For her to be fortressed by those who cherished her, for her to physically feel the strings tying her to the people who’d do anything to keep her safe.
I supposed she would now. We hadn’t severed our bond, but being Caine’s recognised heir, she’d have the Devereux pack behind her too.
I didn’t. He hadn’t bitten me. We were only mated as a front, so there was nothing truly connecting us—connecting me to his pack.
It was for the best, but I missed it. The surrounded feeling.
It had faded when my parents died. I’d had my grandma, and it was good, but there was a puncture that never truly healed, a tear in the pack structure we couldn’t rebuild ourselves.
Two-member packs were uncommon, but not unheard of.
It should’ve been enough, but knowing what it was like to have a full unit, even a small one, before it was torn away, left me with a hollow sense of longing.
I’d still hoped. I’d listened to Grandma’s stories, and tried to believe it would one day reignite.
When she died, the feeling disappeared entirely.
Family, love, safety. Deep down, I wanted to cling to the dream of it being achievable, even just to honour her.
But the practical side of me—the one that had been dealt too much grief and wanted to protect my heart from going through it again—drummed the acceptance into my head that it might never happen.
I built walls, distanced myself, and focused on just existing.
It was a defence mechanism, a safety net for the child in me who was no stranger to loss but needed to put on a brave face and carry on.
If I prepared myself, turned myself against the idea, I couldn’t be disappointed.
I wouldn’t be at risk of losing everything again.
For four years, it had worked. Until Minnie.
The moment she was placed in my arms and our bond snapped into place, I dared to remember my life submerged in that feeling.
Dared to think again that it could actually come along, because I hadn’t expected her, and yet .
. . there she was. She had reopened the floodgates.
She had soothed the ache, given me purpose and strength, but with the fulfilment came the sensation of a missing piece inside me she couldn’t fill.
She was my entire world, my everything, my family, but I couldn’t help wanting to find what would fit into that gap.
Not just the return of those connections I’d lost, but I wanted to be loved.
Truly. Deeply. I wanted companionship. Romance.
Respect. Everything my parents had and more.
I let myself dream, only for it to be ripped out from under me for a third time.
Maybe it was my punishment for being greedy?
I’d known from his rejection of my second call the dream was a lost cause.
I’d even grown resentful of it, but it was one thing to choose to spurn it and another to have it taken.
It was impossible now. I’d signed away any last sliver of chance there might’ve been, so I had to disown the fantasies and harden my heart all over again.
Indefinitely this time.
I was exhausted.
Tears had gathered in my eyes, burning tracks down my cheeks.
A rumble came from behind me, strong arms tugging me closer as concerned lips peppered my skin.
He was trying to comfort me, and whether it was the toil of the last twenty-four hours or a blip of weakness, I melted into it, accepting the illusion of care because I was desperate for it.
My nerves were raw, my instincts swayed by the haze we’d created, but tomorrow it would all return to normal.
I’d bottle it up and go back to pretending.
“I’m okay,” I said, reaching back to thread my fingers in his hair, releasing a gust of placating pheromones. “Everything will be okay.”