Chapter 15
Lucien
I lower myself onto Branson, letting gravity join us as flames lap lazily at my insides. I hiss as he fills me, the stretch sudden and perfect. I rock my hips smoothly back and forth, tightening my hand around the base of my cock as he starts thrusting up hard.
Twin pleasures mingle—dick and ass. Ass and dick. My dick in my hand. His dick in my ass. His thick, pulsing alpha meat cleaves me open, tunneling into me and hollowing me out.
He looks up at me as we fuck, honeyed eyes glowing and glazed. Even on his back, he looks like a picture of power. Raw power. Sinew and bone and hard places. Muscle that clenches and bulges. Virility and testosterone oozing from his pores.
This isn’t heat brain, by the way. It’s real. Branson is powerful. He’s strong. So strong that he could snap me in half if he wanted to. It wouldn’t even be hard for him. It was something I feared before, but now, far from scaring me, it turns me on in ways I’m not sure make sense.
If they do, I can’t explain them.
As I ride him, he gasps and pants beneath me, biting his lip to stop the garbled sounds that threaten.
He groans when I clench my ass and growls loudly when I grind against him.
Every sound I coax out of him spurs me on.
It makes me hornier and wilder. Stronger in ways I didn’t know I was strong to begin with.
He lets me have him like that for most of the day and into the night. When I collapse into his arms around midnight, I’m exhausted, a cum-drunk, quivering mess that can barely see straight.
He can tell because he extricates himself from my body and places a heavy hand on my back and says, “Sleep, Lucy.”
“Wanna, but don’t wanna.” My speech is slurred and slow, and I sound nothing at all like myself. “Still need you.”
The hand on my back travels upward, not stopping until it’s in my hair. He tugs twice and then scrapes his fingernails gently over my scalp.
I’m looking at him, into his eyes, but my vision is hazy.
Heat-addled and fuzzy. He’s still handsome though.
Even with blurred edges, he’s a riot of color.
Inked skin and thick hair. White teeth and solid mass.
“Tired…but so horny,” I mumble. “Need to keep fucking, alpha. Can’t stop. I’ll die if I stop.”
He strokes my hair again, clenching his fingers into a fist and pulling at the hair at the base of my neck. My spine vibrates in response.
“How about this?” His voice is deep and musical. A broken baritone hum that sends tiny pulses through me. “You sleep, little omega, and I’ll keep my hand on you. When I feel your skin heat, I’ll put my dick in you and fuck you so gently that you won’t even wake up.”
“Will I still come?”
His eyes crease at the corners and his lips quirk, taking my breath away. It makes him look sweet. It makes him look kind. More than anything, it makes him look like he’s fond of the thing he’s looking at.
“Yes, baby. You’ll come your brains out, and you’ll wake up tomorrow leaking thick ropes of my seed.”
Fuck, that sounds nice.
“Promise?” I mumble as sleep sinks its claws into me and pulls me under. I fight it, batting my lashes for no reason except to get another glimpse of Branson’s face.
“I promise.”
I wake, groggy and disoriented. I blink a few times to bring the world around me into focus. The air is heavy, the pungent scent of semen impossible to miss, and while the room is dimly lit, there’s a wispy shard of light shining through a crack in the curtains that heralds a new day.
It’s morning.
I slept through the night without waking.
I blink again to orient myself and gradually become more aware of where I am. Of how I am. I’m in my nest, on my belly, with my face mashed into the mattress. My legs are splayed open and two or three pillows have been shoved under my hips. My ass is in the air, gaping hole on display.
My cheeks flush when I realize what I must look like. Arranged for easy access. Positioned for use. Shame rises quickly, hotly, but wires get crossed as it travels upward. It changes, turning into a different kind of heat altogether.
My dick stirs beneath me and my ass twitches.
I reach back and finger my opening lightly to check the damage rather than pleasure myself.
I find Branson was as good as his word. My hole is loose, heavily used, and leaking profusely.
Stretched out and open. So sensitive that even my light touch makes me moan wantonly.
Damn. I’m a mess. A fuck toy with no off switch.
I feel debauched and depraved, and sweet Jesus, I like it.
Beside me, Branson sleeps deeply. He’s on his side, facing me, mouth slightly ajar, breath sawing in and out at regular intervals. He has his hand on my back like he said he would. Palm down, fingers spread. A comforting weight that grounds me.
I lie still because I don’t want him to move his hand. I lie there, a mess and a fuck doll, and watch Branson sleep as I wait for my next heat wave to set me on fire.
Branson is so in tune with my needs that he wakes before I become aware that my temperature is rising. He moves quickly and quietly, swaying slightly from the rigors of sleep as he positions himself behind me.
“Shh,” he whispers as he slots his dick in me. I can’t tell if he’s talking to himself or me.
The sound his first thrust makes is obscene.
A loud, slick squelch that clicks as he fills me to bursting.
His breath shakes, tiny moans escaping from lips that sound like they’re pressed together.
I’m an observer and an object. I don’t move, and I hardly make a sound.
I simply receive what he sees fit to give me.
Curiosity creeps up my legs and tickles my arms. I was with him last night when he fucked me…and I wasn’t. I let him into my body, but I can’t remember what he did to me.
I lie as still as I can and try not to make a sound as Branson shows me what I missed.
It turns out that Branson, when no one’s watching him, is tender and gentle. A passionate lover who seems more concerned with my pleasure than his own. He strokes my back and hair. Kisses my shoulder and cheek. He gives me fast, shallow thrusts that tattoo otherworldly pleasure onto my prostate.
Each time I come, he whispers, “Good boy,” saying it in a way that makes him sound proud of me.
I let him fuck me like this until I’m so wildly turned on that I can’t keep still any longer. My hips start moving of their own accord, thrusting back and forth, taking him deeper each time.
“Are you awake, horny boy?” says a hot caramel voice, dripping with sex.
“Yes, alpha,” I cry on the back of a broken moan.
“Are you my horny boy?” He hasn’t spoken to me like this before. Molten and dirty, and possessive in all the right ways. I nod my head with the enthusiasm of a bobblehead shaken hard, and I keen pathetically on his cock. “Work for it then.”
And I do.
I work my ass off for it. Literally. Branson slows his motion to almost nothing, forcing me to buck for every lick of sensation I get.
I slam my hips back, arching my back and opening myself as wide as I can, clenching my hole until Branson hisses when I rock them forward.
He starts growling, long and loudly. Deep sounds that vibrate up the back of my legs and amplify my pleasure tenfold.
He starts fucking me back in earnest, but only after I beg for it.
Soft slaps become loud echoes, punctuated at regular intervals by long howls of pleasure torn from my throat. I milk him and milk him until my vision whites out and the jet of semen Branson plants in me triggers my orgasm.
I don’t know if I’m imagining it, but I think I might come even harder than I did yesterday. I didn’t think it was possible, but if the way my balls feel right now is anything to go by, I’ve never busted like this before.
When it’s done, when I’ve come as hard as I possibly can and have gratefully received every drop of Branson’s load, he shuffles me to the bathroom for a much-needed shower.
I’m shaky in a different way today. It’s not my legs that are affected now.
It’s my insides. My core. It’s the middle of whatever it is that makes me myself.
The cold water hits me, but does nothing to subdue me. All it does is make the space between Branson and me slippery.
I don’t like it, but it doesn’t matter. I’ll simply have to find a way to get closer to him. I press myself against him, my chest against his, and the warmth of his skin sinks into mine.
I want him.
More of him.
All of him.
I want him so much that when he spins me and starts washing my back, I can’t bear the space between us. There’s an ache inside me that hurts differently today. It isn’t from a heat wave. It’s just there. A need. A desire. A desperate yearning for an unnamed thing I want but don’t have.
So far, the only thing that’s brought me relief since my heat started is Branson’s cock, so it seems obvious to me that it must hold the answer to my current predicament.
I reach behind me, capturing him in my hand and stroking him quickly to full hardness.
I lean forward surreptitiously as he washes my back, almost delusional enough to think he won’t notice if I slip his cock into me.
The position is less than optimal. He’s a lot taller than me, and without him widening his stance and bending his knees, there’s no easy way to get him inside me comfortably.
Still, I’m not one to be easily deterred, so I push myself onto my toes and rub his head against my opening, nudging the tip in. Not deep. Just deep enough to take the edge off.
“Lucy.” He chuckles softly as he tries to wash me around my licentious ministrations. “I’m trying to clean you out. How can I do that if we’re joined?”
“Oh, you know. Just do your best. It’ll be fine.”
There’s something unhinged in my voice. A hoarseness that spins and grows high-pitched. It would bother me a lot, except that right now, the only thing I care about is getting Branson’s big, beautiful alpha dick in my ass.