Chapter 12
Branson
Lucien is the only thing I can smell.
The last of the clean-skin smell is gone now, replaced by a bone-deep richness. Bone-deep ripeness. Bone-deep rightness. He’s the only thing I can smell, see, or feel. And God, he feels good. He’s smooth and silky inside. Wet and warm. No, not warm, hot.
Scorching hot. Burning hot.
My dick has never been this happy.
I’ve had him three times so far, and my lust for him isn’t remotely sated. I’ve come harder than ever, yet even as it’s happening, I want him again. I want him so much that I don’t know what to do with myself.
I lie beside him, searching for signs of his next heat wave, and I can’t wait for it.
I cannot wait.
I count the minutes as they tick by, listening to Lucien’s breathing.
It starts out long and even, a soft, quiet saw of air flowing in and out of him, but it gradually quickens.
Long pulls stutter and become uneven. Uneven breaths become ragged.
His head drops back, nestling into the pillow, exposing his throat to me.
It’s an act of submission that comes naturally to omegas.
Lucien is probably hardly aware he’s doing it, but it’s an act I’m hardwired to notice.
Hardwired to respond to. It enters my being through the back of my skull.
A tiny vine that quickly infiltrates all that I am.
It takes all my strength, mental and physical, not to take hold of his jaw. Not to tilt it back more and expose his scent gland fully. Not to lean down and run my tongue up his neck from his clavicle to his ear.
No!
I can’t think like that.
I wrench my gaze from his jugular and focus instead on the rest of his body. Slim hands clench into balls at his side and his chest arcs up. Pale-pink nipples are thrust into the air.
He sobs softly, reaching blindly for me as the temperature in the room ratchets up.
He struggles with the quilt, throwing it off himself as he tries to get onto his hands and knees.
His limbs are heavy. Uncoordinated. He’s been weakened by the heat, his body so stunned by the sudden onslaught of fucking it’s received over a short period of time that he can barely hold himself up.
“You can stay on your back,” I tell him.
He flops limply onto his back, sky blue glittering gratefully at me. His eyes are something else. Pale crystal rings around big black globes. Light shines at me from the black. Twinkling stars that light up something inside me.
I kneel between his legs and look down at him. He looks unreal. So naked. So defenseless. So utterly, utterly captivating.
His hands are on the bed, palms facing up on either side of his head.
His legs are open too. Not open with purpose as such, open because he’s burning so hard that he can’t remember how to close them.
He might not even know his knees are spread wide.
He might not even realize his hole is gaping and on display.
Milky-white thighs, smooth and silky soft, spread for me.
Perfect, stocky little cock straining at me, making my mouth water.
Seeing him like this makes my cock ache. It makes me throb. Not just my cock. It makes my heart throb too.
I take a slim ankle in each hand and push his legs back until his knees are all but touching his ears. He’s as open as a man can get, but he doesn’t resist at all. There’s no fight in him, only acceptance. Only surrender.
His hole is pink, glittering with slick, fluttering sweetly as my previous loads leak out of it. It’s a clear solicitation.
An open invitation.
An offer I find infinitely seductive.
“Are you going to hold me down?” he asks dreamily, his voice traveling from a faraway place to find me.
The thought of it—Lucien on his back, powerless and pinned down—turns me on in an old way. A savage way. Blood thunders through arteries and veins. Rough edges twist and grow rougher. Wild parts of me break free and go wilder.
At the same time, I’m dimly aware of something new. Something soft. Something that swells in my chest. “Do you want me to?” I ask.
“I want all the things,” he replies with a fuck-me slur.
I lower myself onto him, reaching up and circling his wrists with my hands. He smiles and doesn’t resist. Not at all. Not even to test my strength. He doesn’t need to. He knows we’re unevenly matched, and he accepts it.
That turns me on too.
My knees bear my weight as I raise his arms over his head, stretching them up the bed until his abs tighten.
I cross them at the wrist and hold them both in one hand, looking down at him as the approaching heat wave makes his teeth clench.
He keens loudly, and I feel the sound in my balls, a tantalizing plea I’m built to respond to.
Every cell in my body tenses, a not-so-subtle suggestion that I bury my cock in him. I fight the urge, the instinct, waiting instead for his next wave to make his body temperature skyrocket, no matter what it costs me.
I hold back, abs engaging, jaw clamping until I hear it: a thin, distant wail I now consider the harbinger of unimaginable pleasure.
His opening is soft and willing. Wet and wanting. He grants me entry with only the smallest of grunts. A quick inward pull of breath through gritted teeth, followed by a long, lusty moan.
I melt into him and lose myself. I go away.
Far, far away to a place that’s warm and liquid.
A place that envelops me completely, wrapping me in layer upon layer of heat.
A place so blisteringly hot, my spine tingles and my pulse roars in my ears.
In my lips. In my face. It’s so loud and distinctive that Lucien’s heart hears it.
It must because, as I thrust, his pulse slows and his heart starts beating in time with mine.
I hold him down with one hand and hold myself up with the other, so I don’t crush him.
Our bodies are close. Chests pressed against each other.
Skin against skin. I love this position.
I love how his ass feels clamped around me.
Snug and slippery. I love seeing him like this.
Helpless and willing. Open and yielding.
He thrashes beneath me, snarling and gnashing, snapping at my jaw as his first orgasm closes in.
He comes quickly, like he has every time I’ve had him, hardly able to withstand two deep thrusts before dissolving in pleasure. His muscles clench around me hard, tugging at my shaft greedily, sucking me in deeper as he milks my cock.
Lucien, when he’s coming, is so beautiful my eyes water.
His eyes slam shut and a tiny line appears between his brows.
His perfect, puffy lips part, and he’s paralyzed for a moment.
A pause that makes the world stop turning.
A lull that makes my heart stop beating.
He opens his eyes, wide and wild, unseeing, as pleasure wracks him and his grimace fades into a picture of pure ecstasy.
I don’t take my eyes off him. I can’t. There’s nothing I want more than to see him like this, and for him to feel like this, soft and hard, thrashing in my arms as he’s ravaged by the pleasure I’ve brought him.
It knits something in me together. Something I didn’t know was open or in need of mending. A kind of wound, or hole, in my chest that I didn’t realize was empty. Bringing him to orgasm fixes me, darning past pain and old injuries. Leaving me a little more complete each time it happens.
This is why I’m here. Why I exist. To make Lucien’s toes curl. To make him tremble and cry out. To make his whole body shudder. It’s what I was made for.
I wait until he recovers, opening his eyes and smiling drunkenly at me, and then I quicken my pace.
My hips work by themselves. A machine powered by something that doesn’t require conscious thought from me.
My dick slides in and out of him, so fast and hard that it burns where we’re joined.
Pleasure sluices through me, slicing me into small pieces and wiping my brain clean of everything that isn’t Lucien’s body and his scent.
A choked, chopped sound escapes his throat. “Yes. God, yes. Fuck me like that and don’t stop. Please, alpha, don’t stop.”
A base, primordial part of me likes it when he calls me alpha. A deep animal part hears it and basks in the rightness. I mean to tell him I’d rather die than stop, but the only response I’m able to produce is a low, guttural growl.
I fuck him deeply, filling every inch of him until he’s surfed the stupor of his climax and ridden it to the beach. He stills and blinks at me, seeing now. His face is close to mine. So close I can feel the warm puff of his breath on my lips.
His lips are inches from mine.
Two, maybe three inches.
I want to close the space and kiss him. I want to force his lips open with my tongue and claim his mouth the way I’m claiming his ass. I want that. Fuck, I want it so much. But I don’t want to take it from him. I want him to give it to me.
We didn’t talk about kissing before he went into heat, and we should have. He wasn’t thinking clearly, and it seems I wasn’t either.
Some omegas like kissing during heat, and others don’t. Especially not when their heat partner isn’t a romantic partner. Many omegas like to keep kissing separate, so they have something to hold back. Something they can keep for themselves as their biology wrecks them.
I release his wrists and push myself up on my hands, buying some space from him that I hope will clear my mind.
It doesn’t. It doesn’t help at all because all it’s done is improve my vantage of him.
His lovely face is in reach. His lips swollen with heat.
Puffy and pink. A deep Cupid’s bow and a full bottom lip beg to be bitten.
I bet they’re soft, his lips.
I bet they’re the softest, sweetest lips I’ve ever encountered. I bet Lucien is the kind of guy who sighs when you kiss him, but only when you kiss him good. When you kiss him for real. When you kiss the breath out of him and make him see stars.