Chapter 7 #4
With a rumbling moan more resonant than any of his singing, Rus nods rapidly. “Fuck yeah.” He grabs onto the back of my head, his fingers tangling into my hair. I let out a hiss, trying to hide how good that made me feel, and allow him to pull me in for another bout of messy, wild kisses.
His tongue is unrelenting as it explores and tastes every inch of my mouth. I let him, panting into his mouth while I take my cock in my hand and position myself against his entrance.
Rus surprises me by throwing his leg over my shoulder for better access. He’s damn heavy, but the weight of him also feels nicely grounding.
Spreading his hole with my fingers at the rim while I slide in, I draw another whiny yelp out of him. He arches again, head snapping back until it hits the mattress. “Ah, fuck! Fuck, Wren,” he cries out.
His pheromones are making me completely lose it. I’m so turned on it hurts. All I want is to fuck, claim, and come. I think this might have actually kick-started my rut a day early, because there’s nothing else left in my mind but that. Taste, feel, fill…
Rus is practically dripping with slick. Wrapping both of my arms around his thigh for support, I bury myself into him in one sharp, smooth movement, rocking his entire body and the bed.
Rus cries out as I drive into him, and it feels like his voice is the only sound for miles.
He digs his fingers into my hips, pulling me as close to him as I can get.
“Wren,” he gasps. “Like that, Wren.”
This feels incredible.
“I should’ve fucked you the second I laid my eyes on you,” I say, slowly settling into a tempo of slow but forceful thrusts.
Rus’s eyes stay closed, his face completely red.
His cock flops around with each thrust. Glorious.
“I should’ve taken you against that counter the moment I stepped in and scented your pheromones.
They were for me…just for me, weren’t they? ”
He makes a high-pitched noise, something between a whine and a moan, and shakes his head. Frowning, I pull his leg higher up my shoulder and grind against his hole harder, my stomach and his balls clashing together with loud claps.
Rus cries out, the sound of it fading into my name as it trails off.
“That’s right,” I say, sinking further and further into complete, lust-driven madness. “For me. Say it was for me. That you were waiting for me.”
What even is happening? Where is this coming from?
Is it because of what Felix did? Because of how he hurt my ego, my alpha pride? Or is it just because I haven’t had a good fuck in far too long?
“Say it!” I demand, needy and desperate and feeling like I might die if he doesn’t.
“Shit, I’m— Mhmm, it was for you! I’ve been waitin’ for you to wreck me,” Rus gets out, sounding almost unrecognizable. His voice is all gruff and raspy. “Gods, you smell so good… More. Gimme more, please.”
“That’s my omega,” I whisper, instantly realizing how fucked up it is of me to say, but there’s no way to hold it in.
With every movement I make, I study his reaction to see when I hit his prostate.
He’s so expressive. Makes it so easy. “Now come for me. Your sweet spot’s right against the head of my cock, isn’t it?
” I growl, hitting it over and over again.
“Show me how much you like it there. Come for me.”
We must be running purely on some animalistic, pheromone-driven instinct. I feel our bodies work in unison, doing exactly what they’re supposed to do when an alpha and an omega come together.
Rus goes rigid, and his hole clenches around me so hard he might snap my dick off. I dig my fingers into his thigh—never wanting to leave this moment, the rightness and comfort of his body, the burn of his skin—as my balls draw tight and my cock erupts. An inconceivable bliss sears through me.
Panting desperately, I keep thrusting, each stroke haphazard now, some feral instinct telling me to release every last drop I have inside of him.
After a few moments, completely delirious and probably overdosed on pheromones, I collapse onto him. Rus’s soft body is the perfect landing pad.
I blindly move my trembling hand up until I reach his face.
It feels so hot I have to look up, no matter how exhausted I am.
I meet his gaze, which is tender and dewy, just like the rest of him.
The way he looks at me, so trusting, so vulnerable, thankful almost, sends a sharp ache through my heart.
“That was…”
“Yeah,” I say, kissing him to stop the conversation.
It was. It was much better than the cheap ploy I’d planned it to be. Far too good for it to be only an excuse for me to do something horrible.
And it was far too good for someone like me. But at least for a few moments, I actually felt like a good alpha. A sweet, dignifying fuck you to Felix.
Doesn’t that make it even worse?
I can’t look Rus in the eye, so I take my lazy smooches down to his throat before nestling my nose into the dip between his neck and shoulder, letting out a deep sigh.
“I’m tired. Let’s just sleep,” I say, hoping for him to get along with it.
“Yeah,” he whispers, his voice buzzing through my skull.
He kisses the top of my head before sliding me off of him.
When he pulls the cover over us and moves me to the side, settling behind me as the big spoon, my heart hurts even more.
It feels so effortless and natural. Like we’re a couple. Like this is normal.
Resting his forehead against my shoulder blades, he exhales and probably closes his eyes, his hand gently placed on my hip.
I stare into the cracking fire.
As the pleasurable hormones and the nice buzz from the orgasm leave my body, I’m left with that emptiness again. The emptiness of guilt. Pain. Fear.
This was only the beginning. The truth is, I could go on. His scent lingers, and I still want it, because my rut has started. And now that Rus is lying contentedly behind me, falling asleep, my thoughts once again pull me toward the place several yards away in the very direction I’m facing.
I desperately wish I could let myself fall asleep, slipping into dreams as satisfied and content as Rus probably is. If only I were normal, whole, and I didn’t have these demons haunting me relentlessly, no matter where I go.
I swallow the bile coating my throat.
As I fight to keep my eyes open—something I need to do until I’m sure Rus is out—I sink deeper into shame. ‘You don’t have to do this,’ a stray brave thought makes its way into my mind, but it’s quickly crushed by even stronger forces. By another voice. Louder, rougher, and much more true.
‘You can’t survive this without relief. You never can.’
“These urges are too powerful to fight against, Wren. You’re meant to surrender to them. Trust me. It will feel good,” her voice says, echoing in my ears.
I jerk awake.
Shit. I fell asleep?!
Sitting up slowly, I turn around to find Rus with his back to me, letting out slow, periodic breaths. When I check my phone, which I probably shouldn’t, I discover that only about an hour has passed. That’s a relief.
With a shaky sigh, I rub my eyes and sit at the edge of the bed, fighting to take control over my jittery body. My skin is itchy and hot.
As carefully and quietly as I can, I get up.
The mattress creaks. I pause, waiting for any movement from Rus, but he’s out cold. I barely swallow a gasp when the stupid bird flies away from its food bowl on the ground and up to the fireplace mantel. I flash it a sharp glare.
Don’t you dare ruin this for me, or I’ll throw you out the window into the blizzard.
Cautiously moving around the bed, I reach for my clothes and put them back on. Then I look around for the most important thing: the necklace with the key. I pray for it not to be under Rus somewhere.
Thankfully, I spot it lying on the floor next to his pants. My fingers shake with anticipation as I pick it up. It feels almost like I have the drugs in my hands already.
“Okay,” I mouth to myself, trying to keep calm. “You’ve got this.”
I stalk my way across the room and toward the stairs. As I reach for the door handle, the remaining fragment of my conscience—the sober, decent part of me that is always losing the fight—makes its last-ditch effort to stop me.
Like I’m held back by some invisible string that’s tied to the man sleeping peacefully on the bed, I feel its pull. The pull of guilt. The pull of ‘Are you really going to do this?’
Holding my breath, I look over my shoulder, brows drawn together.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper.
I’m sorry, Rus, but I’m too weak.
Making only the slightest sound, I open the door and slide through.