Chapter 15 #2
I whine and stamp my foot, sending indignant splashes into the air around us, when he pulls out and hoses me down. The cold water does nothing to take the edge off. If anything, it makes me worse.
“Come on. Let’s do your front.” Branson turns me so I’m facing him and lathers me again. This time, he tackles my chest and armpits and follows that with a methodical handling of my dick that’s meant to be purely perfunctory. My dick takes it completely the wrong way.
As the suds run off me, I cling to Branson’s neck, lifting one leg and hooking it around the back of his legs.
His cock bounces stiffly between us. It’s a nightmare trying to get it into me in this position. Fortunately, I’m nothing if not determined.
“Sorry I’m being like this,” I say out of social conditioning more than actual regret as I wrangle him between my legs.
“It’s okay. I understand.” His eyes are patient and warm. Kind and soft. Molten honey I feel in the back of my head.
“It’s just… It’s just that I need…something.
” It doesn’t make sense because he’s already fucked me to within an inch of my life, but it’s the best way I can describe it.
He’s fucked me so well and so often that I don’t know what day of the week it is.
I don’t know how long I’ve been in heat or how many times I’ve taken him.
There’s no way he could fuck me more, but still, there’s something I want. Something is missing.
I whine in frustration and push myself up higher onto my toes. His dick slips out of my grip, and he pulls away from me enough that it bobs up determinedly and becomes sandwiched between us.
“I know what you need, Lucy.” His voice is molasses. Thick and seductive. I like it so much that I almost don’t understand what he’s saying.
“You do?” I ask when his words land and rotate into something coherent. He nods and smiles as I reach down with both hands and hold on to his boner as though it’s a lifeline. “What is it?”
Light and shadows waltz in his eyes, a playful dance I feel in my belly. “A knot, Lucy. You need a knot.”
Oh Jesus. I forgot about that.
The idea of being knotted has always terrified me. An already big cock, swelling bigger inside me. A thick base filling me and expanding so wide that once it takes root, it has the potential to get stuck in me until it recedes.
My God.
The pressure against my prostate will be relentless. A sensation endless and overwhelming. Branson’s body and mine will be joined, with no way of being separated. We could be stuck together for hours. Hours and hours.
Thinking about it now, I can’t quite remember why I haven’t always loved the idea. I mean, what’s not to like? Seriously, is it just me, or is the concept full-on idyllic?
“Can I have it?” I ask with the distinct twang of a plea.
“Of course you can, baby. It’s yours.”
Branson’s little smile from last night is back, and this time it’s paired with bloodshot eyes that droop from lack of sleep.
He looks so sexy like this that I forget about my quest to get on his cock and unhook my leg, putting it down on the tiled floor with the other one so I can take him in fully.
He really is terribly good-looking. Handsome in a hard way. Strong jaw, heavy brow. I think maybe that’s why I like this little smile so much. It’s so soft and so sweet. Such a stark contrast to everything else about him.
I like it so much I have no choice but to touch it.
His lips are soft to touch. Warmer than the rest of his skin. Delicate flesh, mostly hidden by coarse facial hair. I trace the seam of his lips from left to right with my fingertips, and when that’s not enough, I lean up and trace it with my tongue.
Branson’s body tenses, his fingers digging into my hips, but he doesn’t move. He doesn’t blink. He doesn’t pull away. Bloodshot eyes track down my face and a heavy gaze sinks to my lips and doesn’t budge.
I lean up a little more, turning my face upward and curling my arms around his neck. His hands travel from my hips to my waist and circle me so fully, so deeply, my entire body breaks out into goosebumps.
His lips are inches from mine. One inch, maybe two. It makes no sense whatsoever why they’re there, when I’m here, so I pull him down toward me and brush my lips against his.
Branson emits a stunned, punched sound and his body tenses again, harder this time. A hand travels up my back, curling around the back of my neck, holding me steady.
The space between us is back. An inch now, no more.
Branson’s eyes are on mine, dark and slick with arousal.
His lips curl up microscopically. With desire and something else.
Something hotter. Something hopeful. I see the space between his lips, the tiny gap, and shove my tongue into it.
Our tongues meet, delivering such a fierce bolt of electricity that I almost pull away.
Maybe I would have if Branson weren’t holding me so tightly.
It’s a kiss that starts with heat. Open-mouthed and almost angry. We kiss like that, tongues ferocious, fighting, until Branson pulls away, panting. He turns off the water, chest heaving, and pushes his hair back off his face with both hands.
Then he leans in and kisses me again.
It’s a different kiss now. A slow kiss with an alpha at the helm. My alpha. He licks into my mouth so gently, so tenderly, that it stops snowing outside.
The planet stops turning.
My bones dissolve.
It’s the full moon at midnight of kisses. A knee-knocking, head-spinning kiss that’s so good, so captivating, so mesmerizing, it almost drowns out my next heat wave. It almost drowns out the little sting, the little shock, of an alpha dick sliding into my rectum.
Branson fucks me in the shower, against the tiled wall, holding me up like I’m weightless and he isn’t exhausted.
My alpha lies on the sofa naked. He looks like he’s been dropped from a great height. His head is lolling to the side, his mouth ajar, and one of his arms hangs off the sofa.
Bless him. Poor thing has been run ragged. He looks a mess, and he’s snoring softly. A gentle purr more than anything else. It’s like his voice, like the rest of him, sexy as fuck.
I know, I know. I didn’t think people could snore sexily either, but they can. They definitely can. Or Branson can anyway.
I let him sleep for ages. Hours. I watch his chest rise and fall, hypnotized by the motion. When he’s sleeping, he looks almost beautiful. Almost soft. Almost sculptural. Each feature is strong and hard, blurred at the edges, and a work of art in its own way.
I’m tempted to touch him. To run my hands through his hair or trace the ink on his arm. I don’t do it, though, because I’m not sure what it means that I’m looking at him like this when I’m sated.
And I’m not sure I like what I think it means.
No.
I shouldn’t look at him like this. The best thing would be for me to stop looking at him right now.
I wrench my eyes off him and fix them on the little bulge of uneven plaster above the fireplace. It’s painfully boring. So boring that my eyes roll in a big circle and find their way back to Branson.
Because I really don’t think I should spend any more time on his face, I let them settle on his cock. It’s soft now, and I think it might be the first time I’ve seen it soft. It’s still damn big, resting comfortably on his thigh, but I know enough about him now to know he’s a grower.
Goddamn, that thing grows.
It’s hard to believe it can grow any more than it already has, but I know it can. It definitely can because he hasn’t knotted me yet.
His knot will be massive, I’m sure of it. So thick that it will probably break my brain.
I’m not sure why the idea appeals so much, but it does. In fact, I can hardly think of anything else.
Just thinking about it makes me ache. It’s a deep ache. Low down. It feels like longing. Like loneliness in my body. In my soul. Sadness that I’m alone, even though Branson is sleeping right beside me. It’s a horrible feeling.
It’s sadness that I’m alone in my body, I guess.
I sit alone in my sadness until the now-familiar burn of heat ignites. I hold still as it travels up my legs, feeling the distinct shift as the wave crests and shoots up my spine. I bite down on my lip to stop myself from crying out because Branson looks so peaceful when he sleeps.
He’s tired, and I want him to sleep for as long as he can.
I ride that wave out, and the next one. Heat hollows me out, hurting as it rises. Hurting more and more until, by the third wave, I can’t take it. It’s too much.
“Alpha,” I whisper, crouching over Branson. His eyelids flutter, opening a crack before sliding shut again. “I need you.”
“You need me?” His eyes fly open, wide and completely focused on me.
Wide and focused as if I’m the only thing that exists.
He puts his hand on my chest, and tiny gold striations narrow.
“Lucy! You’re burning. Why didn’t you wake me?
” His expression is one of such pure panic and empathy that if I weren’t burning as hot as I am, I’d probably smile at it.
“I wanted to let you sleep,” I whimper.
“But, baby, I told you I wouldn’t let you suffer.”
He speaks kindly and quietly, and as he does, he lifts me by the hips, bundling my legs so they’re curled over his forearms, spread wide, and impales me firmly on his cock.
I come the second his head breaches me. Before the sensation of fullness has time to take hold.
Before the relief of being fucked has even registered.
My body knows his now. It knows the pleasure he brings me.
Trusts it. Anticipates it. Reacts to it before it’s even happened.
I come loudly, messing all over Branson’s chest and convulsing on his cock as if I’m receiving a strong electrical current up my ass.
He rocks his hips gently as I come down, fucking just enough sensation into me to keep me floating for a while. I look down at him, sated and stuffed beyond recognition, yet the ache is still there.
I want more.
“Branson,” I say, leaning in and dusting my lips against his. He moans into the kiss, pulling himself up by the core to chase my lips for more when I retreat. “I want your knot.”
He drops back onto the sofa and looks at me. What’s happening in his eyes is hard to describe. Every striation lights up at once and sparks. I see it happen, but more than that, I feel it happen. Under my skin and my bones. I feel it in a place I thought was mine only.
“Are you sure?” His voice is thick and stripped bare, and there’s a flare of something unreadable in his eyes.
“Yeah. I’m sure.”
“You know I can’t stop it once it starts. I can’t make it go away if it’s too much for you.” He looks sincere, kind, and good, and that provokes me.
“Oh, I can handle it, alpha man,” I say with the confidence of a man who has no idea what he’s talking about.
He bites back a smile, still sincere as all get out. “You know it could make you delirious, don’t you?”
“Please.” I wave him off. “If I were you, I’d be more worried about it making you delirious.”
He chuckles at that, and fuck, he has a nice laugh. A rough, scratchy sound. One that’s round at the edges and feels so good on my skin. “Trust me, I’m plenty worried about that.”
We both laugh. It’s funny because while omegas often become delirious when they’re knotted, it’s not at all common for alphas. It only happens in rare cases, where the alpha and the omega are extremely compatible. And even then, it usually only happens when the couple has been mated for years.
“I’ll take my chances,” I tell him.
With that, he swings his feet onto the floor and gets up with me still skewered on him.
It takes a bit of wrangling to get my feet around his waist and my arms around his neck, but it’s a logistic issue that has more to do with me not remembering how to use my limbs than anything else.
It certainly has nothing to do with Branson struggling to bear my weight.
He lugs me to the bedroom without breaking a sweat, his alpha dong pummeling my prostate a little more with each step.
It’s one hell of a turn-on.
“You’re so strong, alpha,” I hear myself say. “I bet you could throw me across the room if you wanted.”
He huffs at that but doesn’t answer.
“Oh my God.” I’m only joking, but his reaction stokes my line of questioning. “You could actually do it, couldn’t you? You could toss me against the wall like a ball if you wanted to, couldn’t you?”
“Not like a ball,” he says reasonably. “More like a wet noodle.”
It shouldn’t be hot in the slightest, but sadly, it is.
“I bet you could snap me in half if you wanted to,” I whisper into his ear.
His face crumples, concern seeping out of his eyes. “No, Lucy! I wouldn’t do that. I’d never hurt you.”
Ugh, he’s so sweet.
So strong. So alpha.
“I know, I’m not saying you would. I’m saying you could.”
He slows his pace and fixes me with a faux warning look. “Stop flirting.”
“I’m not flirting,” I lie.
“You are too.”
I click my tongue at him. “That’s not flirting, Branson.”
I tighten my legs around his waist and clench my asshole around him. He hisses through his teeth and releases a breath slowly.
I lean in, letting my lips drag down his earlobe as I speak.
“This is flirting.” I run my tongue up his earlobe, blowing hot and cold onto it.
“I want that big alpha knot, bad boy.” I lick his ear again and add a sharp little nip to punctuate my point.
“I want it inside me. I want it to fill every inch of me. I want to feel it in every cell of my body. I want it to split me in half and make it so I can’t ever think of anything else. ”
Branson comes to a dead stop and clears his throat a couple of times before he’s able to speak. “I hate to break it to you, Lucy, but that’s not flirting. That’s talking dirty.”