Chapter 30 Willa
THIRTY
willa
I wake to a pulsing need in my core. A slow insistence that builds and blooms until it’s an ache that pulls me from sleep like a hook through water.
My skin prickles where the sheets touch—too rough, too much friction. Everything is sensitive. The slick way my thighs slide together is a sweet torture.
The weight of an arm across me sends need right to my core. Charlie’s breath on my shoulder makes me shiver.
My scent floods the room, overripe, turning thick and cloying, so sweet it’s almost obscene.
So much Alpha scent swirls around me as my breathing picks up—leather and bergamot and salt mixing with chocolate and chili, and with sage and sweetgrass.
The emptiness in my core is demanding. Fuck, this need is all-consuming, drowning out everything except the primal drive to be filled.
A whine slips from me as I arch my back, my nipples rubbing against the sheets. The friction is too much and not enough, sending jolts of both pleasure and pain straight to my core. More slick floods between my thighs.
I hear a deep groan—I can’t tell which Alpha it comes from—that sends shivers racing over my skin.
I arch back into the solid wall of heat behind me, seeking friction, seeking Alpha.
My hips roll instinctively, searching for something to fill the emptiness, grinding my core against hard muscle and harder cock.
Opening my eyes, I find Charlie holding me against his chest. His scent wraps around me, earthy and grounding, and my Omega purrs at the contact.
He groans in his sleep, hips pushing forward to meet mine. The thick length of him presses against my apex, hard and ready, even unconscious. My core clenches at the feel of him.
But there’s something my Omega wants. Something she needs.
She wants the Alpha she hasn’t had yet.
I try to pull away, to turn, but Charlie’s arms tighten around my waist, trying to pull me back against his chest. But I wiggle free, and I twist in his hold until I’m pressed against Beau’s side.
My hands map the planes of his stomach—hard ridges of muscle, soft skin, the trail of hair leading down. I trace lower, lower, until my fingers find the coarse hair at the base of his cock.
I pause, heart hammering, heat making me bold.
Then I reach lower still, wrapping my hand around his semi-hard erection. He’s massive, even half-hard, thick and heavy in my palm.
A sound of desire slips out of me—half-whimper, half-moan. Even though I know he could split me in two, my pussy weeps slick in anticipation of taking his knot. The contradiction doesn’t matter. My Omega only knows want.
I slowly stroke him, enjoying my little game as he sleeps. Watching as my touch makes his erection harder, thicker. His cock pulses in my hand, growing with each pass of my palm. Pre-come beads at the tip, and I swipe my thumb through it, spreading the wetness.
He makes a deep sound of pleasure that’s half-moan, half-growl, his hips flexing into my grip.
I look up at his face.
One arm is thrown over his head, the other resting at his side. His chest rises and falls with deep, even breaths. He’s beautiful. Sleep softens the tough man he is when awake, softens the decade we have between us. Makes him look younger. Vulnerable.
My eyes catch on his hands.
Strong. Scarred from years of bull riding. And new marks, knuckles scraped raw, bruised dark purple and black.
He defended me. The thought sends a fresh wave of slick out of me, my Omega preening. He fought for me. Protected me. Kept me safe.
Mine.
My hand tightens around him, stroking faster now. His cock is fully hard, thick and long and perfect. I can feel the place where his knot will form, already starting to swell at the base.
Need that. Need him. Need to be full.
Mine, my Omega purrs.
The urge in my core pulses stronger, insistent. Empty. So empty.
I release his throbbing cock from my grip and slide up his body, the heat of his skin searing against mine. Swinging my leg over his hips, I straddle him, my naked, slick core hot and open, his rigid erection nestled between my swollen folds.
Every shift grinds his shaft against my clit, sparking jolts of pleasure, while his musky Alpha scent floods my senses, thick and intoxicating, until it’s all I can inhale.
A desperate whimper spills from my throat—high-pitched, raw, pure Omega need.
My hips buck instinctively, rolling against him in search of more friction, more pressure on my pulsing clit, craving the knot that my body instinctively knows he can swell inside me.
I grind slowly, chasing the building wave of my climax, utterly lost in the sensation of him—mine, all mine.
He stirs beneath me, a low rumble vibrating through his chest like a possessive purr. His large hands rise automatically, clamping onto my hips and grinding my dripping core harder against him.
He takes control, guiding my movements, his massive cock now sliding through my soaked folds with each thrust of his hips.
His thumbs dig into the soft flesh just above my hip bones, and I gasp sharply at the pressure, the sound melting into a deep, throaty moan as fire ignites low in my belly.
Yes. Touch. Need touch. Need Alpha. Need knot.
I kiss higher, driven by compulsion I can’t name and don’t want to fight.
His collarbone, feeling his pulse jump beneath my lips.
The hollow of his throat where his scent is strongest—I press my nose there and breathe, letting him fill my lungs.
The sharp line of his jaw, rough with stubble that scrapes deliciously against my oversensitive skin.
My hips won’t stop moving, sliding along his shaft. His breathing changes. Deeper. Faster.
Until his eyes open suddenly.
For a second, we just stare at each other. Him, still sleep-hazy, pupils blown wide as my heat-scent hits him full force, so thick in the air I can taste it on my tongue. My hips start moving, still seeking, unable to stop.
Then understanding dawns in those ice-blue eyes—and they go pure fire. Predatory. Possessive. Hungry.
“Willa,” he growls, his voice gravel and smoke. “Fuck, woman, what a way to wake up.”
His hands clamp down on my hips, holding me completely still. The need to grind, to run toward release, becomes painful—a physical ache that makes me want to claw my way out of my own skin.
I whine long and high, keening—a sound of pure Omega distress. I start panting, shallow gasps that don’t bring enough air. I try to move my hips, but he has a vise-like grip on me, his fingers digging into my flesh hard enough to bruise. My Omega whimpers at the restraint even as she craves it.
“Give me a… minute…” His voice is strained, rough. “I want to savor this. Savor you.”
He holds me still and closes his eyes, jaw clenched, struggling to maintain control. His scent swells around me, rich and intoxicating, even more than normal. The scent of an Alpha edging toward rut.
But I don’t want slow. I want him breaking, losing control, I want to be filled and fucked. And if he doesn’t fucking move right now, I might die.
A growl rips from my throat—feral and demanding and completely un-Omega-like. My heat makes me brave, makes me bold. I bend down and bite him on the shoulder. Hard. Not enough to break the skin, but enough to get his attention.
The effect is immediate.
I’m met with an answering growl that vibrates through my entire body and a sudden, violent movement that flips our positions—him above me, me pinned under a massive Alpha with a dangerously hot look in his eyes. His pupils are so huge, there’s barely any blue left. Just black and want.
“That was naughty, little Omega,” he growls, his voice dropping an octave. That makes my pussy clench around nothing. The power in his tone bypasses my rational thought entirely and speaks directly to my Omega hindbrain.
My Omega immediately goes limp and submissive beneath him, neck tilting automatically to expose my throat. Slick floods between my thighs, my body surrendering even as my mind catches up. Yes. This. Alpha dominant. Omega submissive.
He grabs my hands and pins them above my head in one of his. The display of strength, of easy dominance, makes my Omega purr even as I whimper. My body arches into his—seeking contact, seeking to appease, seeking Alpha approval.
“You want this?” he asks, his free hand gripping my jaw, forcing me to meet his eyes. The gentle grind of his hips against mine makes stars burst behind my eyelids. “Then you’d better start being a good little Omega for your Alpha.”
The possessive in his voice—your Alpha—makes something in my chest crack wide open.
I nod frantically, unable to form words, completely overwhelmed by his scent, his size, his dominance pressing down on every part of me.
He collars my throat so softly, but the weight of it makes a rush of adrenaline and pleasure vibrate through me.
“That’s my girl,” he rumbles, and the praise sends a fresh wave of slick trickling out. My Omega preens, desperate for more approval, more praise, more Alpha.
But then his voice softens as he bends down to kiss the side of my neck, right over my scent gland, where I’m most vulnerable. His lips are gentle despite the iron control I can feel thrumming through his body, despite the way his Alpha is clawing to get out.
“I’ve got you, baby,” he murmurs against my skin, and I feel the words as much as hear them. His breath is hot against my throat. “Need me to take care of you? Need your Alpha to make it better?”
Yes, my Omega sighs, finally settling completely under the weight and scent and promise of him. Every instinct satisfied by his dominance, by his control, by the way he holds me down and keeps me safe all at once.
Alpha. Safe. Submit. His.