Chapter 36
chapter
thirty-six
There’s a desperate surge my middle.
Panic?
No, it’s too… solid.
Urgency, maybe.
I can’t decide if it’s mine or if Tristan has accidentally let himself through, but I decide to take it as my own.
When I step out of Spencer’s bathroom and into his dark, pristine bedroom, a slow, heated wave of need rushes up my abdomen. Frothing against my insides until familiar tingles race down the backs of my thighs.
Spencer holds himself with a controlled, condescending air. But his nostrils flare wide, his chest heaving on every breath.
And his eyes burn , bottomless.
“You want a lesson?” he husks, looking down his nose at me. “Can you control yourself?”
He wants to know if I can keep from touching him. Considering my sexual experience is pretty much limited to what Jonah and Avery have done with me—neither of which like for me to keep my hands to myself—I don’t really know how difficult that will be.
But I do know one thing: after working at the club, I will never be the kind of person who touches someone if they don’t want me to.
I nod at him. It’s harder for me to speak now, with him glaring. He seems less angry with me and more pissed off in general, but he’s just as intimidating as ever. Especially in his dark bedroom, with shadows filling his sharp features.
Jonah is a thick slice of manly perfection, and Avery is art . But Spencer is… lovely. As beautiful as a sculpture by a master, shaded with stern shadows.
That isn’t the only difference. Avery has no discipline, but he always treats me like I’m made of glass. Spencer is the opposite—his air is controlled but not careful . There’s a roughness to the way he regards me.
And I like it.
He jerks his chin at his desk, the motion almost callous. But utterly in command. “Get my chair.”
My body moves without even consulting my brain. I grab the chair pushed under his wide, cluttered desk. It’s heavy—a solid wooden piece with a velvet cushion. I struggle a little, but force myself to carry it over, scared to drag the legs along the floor and displease him.
Which is wild.
Why do I care if I piss this alpha off? It’s not like I couldn’t walk out of the room. Or call for one of the others. Or—in an emergency—try to signal Tristan internally.
I don’t do any of that, though.
I just… obey .
And it feels good .
Calming. Like I don’t need to have a hundred thoughts and fears swirling in my head all at once. I just need Spencer’s dark gaze and his deep, even orders.
“Set it here.”
His foot taps a spot on the rug under his iron bed frame. I drop the chair there, and he nudges it back until it’s only six inches from the footboard.
“Wait.”
I grasp the towel knotted over my breasts, watching while he clips to his armoire and returns with two neckties. Without pausing, he secures each to a different iron slat along the end of his mattress.
When he’s finished, he turns and glares at me again. “I will sit here. You will be in my lap, facing the room, with your hands on the back of the chair. If you move them or try to touch me without permission, I will use the ties to bind you to the bed.” His silvery brow arches. “Understood?”
“Yes, Professor.”
Oh. My. God.
Whyyyy did I just say that?
I don’t know, but the air between us pulls taut. And for a moment, I’m sure he’ll laugh at me. Or—more likely, in Spencer’s case—kick me out.
Silly little ? —
Instead, he curses under his breath. A ragged exhale rolls out of him. He lowers himself into the chair and spreads his long legs.
“Come here, darling.”
I move without a thought. Again. Until I’m between his bent knees, looking at him for more instructions .
When he sees my searching expression, something in his softens. His voice gets quieter but no less stern. “Drop the towel.”
My fingers pluck at the knot holding it up, shucking the whole thing. Spencer’s throat works, but he keeps his chin tilted up, watching my face closely instead of looking at my naked body.
“You like this, don’t you? Obedience.”
I swallow, not wanting to admit it out loud. Or even to myself.
It seems wrong. After everything I’ve been through, all the alphas who wanted to control me—it’s almost shameful to enjoy it.
When I start to hang my head, Spencer’s fingers hook under my chin, angling my face back up. Black eyes smolder into mine.
“We like what we like, Miss Swanson,” he murmurs. “You can’t control the way you enjoy obeying any more than I can control the desire to direct you. It’s part of our biology.”
I’ve heard about an omega’s urge to please their alphas, but I’ve never experienced it like this .
It helps that Spencer is a true educator, through and through. Hearing him explain omega biology in his crisp, matter-of-fact way helps settle some of my guilt.
The truth is, I can’t imagine anyone not hanging on his every word. He has… power .
Just like the other Thorne, when Spencer speaks, I feel compelled to listen . But I also feel like I’m truly learning something. He’s so clearly brilliant—how could I not?
“I’ll show you,” he says, his tone brokering no argument. “Sit astride me, facing outward.”
The tweed fabric of his pants chafes against my thighs as I whirl around and lower myself onto his lap. I move carefully, but he still hisses when my ass settles over his groin. The hard twitch against my left butt cheek makes me gasp a little, too.
For a long moment, he stays still, breathing hard enough for me to feel his chest expanding and contracting behind me. I hear a hard swallow just before his hands find my wrists, guiding them back to the chair frame.
He wraps his fingers around mine and squeezes, showing me how to hold on. His voice takes on a harsher bite. “These will not move. Is that clear, Miss Swanson?”
I start to nod again, but one of his hands flies up, wrapping around my throat to halt the movement. He squeezes carefully, growling into my naked shoulder. “ Say it .”
“Yes, Professor.”
“ Fuck .” The erection pressed into my backside swells. His other hand comes up to grip my hip. “Spread your legs. Hook your knees over mine.”
It’s a little tricky, rearranging my lower body without moving my hands for balance. They stay wrapped around the chair back, my fingers throbbing from my white-knuckle grip. My pussy echoes the pulse, pounding dully as I spread myself over Spencer’s lap.
The fingers at my throat give another squeeze—this one softer. Approving. “Very good.”
His touch ghosts over my hip, up to my waist. It tickles, and I start to rear up a bit, but he closes his palm over my windpipe. “ Down .”
Oh my GOD .
Why do his one-word commands make me so wet ?
My body pours slick into his lap, soaking the fabric between us. He rumbles his satisfaction, breathing deep while I will myself to relax, settling back against him. His chokehold loosens, his thumb skating over the wild pulse in my throat.
“You will stay still,” he tells me.
And—Lord help me—I believe him.
His free hand resumes its leisurely glide up my abdomen. He watches over my shoulder, gaze riveted to the way his fingertips dip into my navel and stroke up to the bottoms of my breasts.
Spencer reaches the scars branded along my ribs and stops. His eyes sharpen while he stares at the thick, raised lines and works on a swallow. “You said you got those when you tried to leave?”
A beat passes before he slowly raises his arm, holding the translucent skin close to my face. It’s faint, but I see what he means for me to see—a thin, silver-white line. Long and deep. A scar.
His voice drops to a murmur. “I tried to leave once, too.”
For a moment, my lungs forget how to expand. My heart shatters . His father really hurt him—so much deeper than any outer wounds.
He made Spencer feel hopeless. Had him believing there was no way out .
I should probably feel pity. Instead, relief bleeds across my mind while desperation claws through my body.
He gets it. He understands.
And, suddenly, I need him.
A frantic whine scrapes out of me. I buck forward, just barely managing to remember to keep my hands on the chair. Spencer likes that. His scent erupts, more glorious than ever before.
He drops his arm to band around my waist, pulling me tight to his body. His lips skim along my shoulder.
“Hush. You’ll get what you need.”
More slick seeps out of me. His teeth graze the soft part of my neck. “Do you even know what that is, Miss Swanson? Or shall I make that part of my lesson, too?”
My slick? Or what I need? I don’t really care either way. The thought of hearing him discuss my body in his detached, haughty way makes me crazy.
“Please,” I beg.
“Mm. Please, who?”
He’s toying with me. I sort of love it. Not just because it makes me wetter but because it’s a new side to him.
“Please, Professor.”
He straightens, focusing. “Very well. We’ll begin here .”
The fingers wrapped around my throat slide to the side, their pads pressing into the healed bite from Tristan. The second he touches it, a new whine bursts out of me. My hips writhe, looking for weight and pressure.
“Claiming marks,” he explains, every bit the professor lecturing a student. “They’re linked to our pleasure centers, but the connection is especially strong for omegas. So, when I do this—” He lightly scratches over the scar tissue, and my entire core clamps on air— “your body responds.”
My perfume is so thick, I can almost taste the way it swirls with his clean freshness. I think he can, too. Every time he exhales, a slight purr rumbles on his breath.
His control remains absolute, though. Which is impressive, with his cock pulsing against the back of my thigh and his pants drenched in slick. Something about his steadiness makes this feel even safer than it already did.
One second later, he brings his mouth to the tingling mark, scraping his teeth against it until I whimper.
“When you have all of our claims on you,” he half-growls, “stimulating them at the same time will be an interesting experiment.”
I gasp at the thought, relishing the way his scent pours into my lungs. So clean and thick. It’s like a balm for all the hyperventilating I did earlier, cooling any lingering sting.
But it’s also too good . My nipples harden to the point of pain, and I struggle, shifting as much as I can without moving my hands. Need edges my perfume. His chest rumbles louder.
“You need more.”
It isn’t a question, but I bob my head. He keeps his grip on my throat and moves his other hand to the curve of my belly. When he grazes his touch over my mound, I bite back a frustrated scream.
“This pussy seems very needy, Miss Swanson,” he comments, dry and disapproving. “Perhaps if I teach you what it requires to be properly satisfied, we can avoid dousing another pair of my pants. ”
I can’t tell if he’s still teasing or if he’s actually annoyed—and right now? I can’t care. Molten arousal dribbles from my center, and I moan, grinding my ass along his hard cock.
Spencer’s fingers finally drift over my spread lips, tracing the swollen, soaked edges. He snarls under his breath, stiffening beneath me. When he speaks, his even tone just makes me more desperate for him.
“This is perfect omega slick,” he hums. “Silky and slippery. Exemplary, really. Very good, Miss Swanson.”
I moan quietly, squirming to get more friction from his hand. He ignores me, dipping two fingers into my folds and skimming them over my entrance. It cinches tight, my pussy clenching in desperate squeezes.
His put-on disapproval returns. “You’re too tight. We’ll have to work on that.”
Spencer’s fingertips press inside. Just a bit. Just enough to make me crazy. I start to let go of the chair but force myself to hold on, crying out from the way my fingers ache and the feel of him pushing into me.
“And here, about three inches in—” His words break off as he finds his mark, touching a place inside of me that whites out my vision and forces a shrill whine. Another tumbles out half a breath later when he hooks those fingers against the front wall of my pussy and starts to rub in a wide oval.
Everything burns and buzzes. My nipples feel like sharp darts of pain, my thighs quiver from straining, and my knuckles start to scream. But Spencer’s mouth lands on that godforsaken claiming mark again, his lips dragging in time with the fingers inside of me.
“This is where you’ll take my knot,” he says into my skin. “It will expand to fill you. Here.” He finds a new spot to torment and I whimper. “And here.” Everything starts to gel and tighten. “But most especially here.”
The last place turns my breath to golden dust. My vision sparkles while pleasure snaps in my core. So close to everything, but not enough .
I pant and squirm, making an even bigger mess of his lap, but he rears back, sitting up again. “Have you ever watched a knot inflate, Miss Swanson?”
I start to shake my head, but he squeezes my throat in reprimand, demanding words.
“No, Professor.”
He tsks . “That won’t do.” His touch slides away from my center and presses under my ass. “Lift up.”
He’s not ? —
He won’t ? —
But he is. He does .
And ten seconds later, his trousers are unfastened, his underwear is shoved down, and his cock bobs between my spread legs.
Oh holy fuck. It is thick . Not quite as big as Jonah, but more proportional. With veins pulsing up the shaft and a head that flares as wide as its root. I’d expect nothing less than perfection from this alpha.
Perfume rises off my chest, my pussy tightening with want . Slick gushes out of me, sliding down to where his girth parts his fly. He grunts softly, his solid length twitching as pre-cum dribbles from the purple head.
His free hand clasps around the base, strangling it. I watch in awe while he strokes up to the tip and collects the pearly liquid there. “Open your mouth.”
My lips are already slack. He slips his wet finger in easily, feeding me a mixture of him and me. The taste should be repulsive, but it’s perfect . For the first time in as long as I can remember, my Omega actually purrs, satisfied.
“Is that good, Miss Swanson?” Spencer hums, his voice as dark and delicious as his cum.
When I whine, he slowly drags the pad of his finger against my tongue, lecturing, “For scent-sensitive mates, slick and cum often taste like concentrated versions of each other’s scents. You’ll want more later.”
I want more now .
I turn my head before I can think. My lips find Spencer’s, pressing them open and slipping my tongue against his. He goes rigid, fist flexing around my throat until I gasp into his mouth.
For a moment, I think I’ve ruined everything, but then he groans and adjusts to kiss me back. Our tongues collide, stroking one another while our lips cling.
I can barely keep my grip on the chair; there’s no way I can stop myself from sliding lower in his lap, until the wide base of his hot hardness presses against my aching clit. He snarls, kissing me savagely while I start to glide against him.
We both pant, growls vibrating through his chest while whines build in mine. His free hand cups his cock, pressing it against my slit, letting me use it.
I grind and moan. Slick gushes against his girth. The bundle of need in my core pulls so tight that I practically sob into him when tingly relief finally bursts through me, snapping the cord.
While I come all over him, Spencer stiffens. The hand at my throat grips my chin. With a sharp motion, he guides my face away, forcing me to look down. His voice is gravel.
“ Watch .”
I look down at his cock, riveted by the way he squeezes it. Trying to stop himself from spilling.
But it doesn’t work. He comes in an impressive eruption, shooting blast after blast onto my body.
While he’s still coming, the rounded mass at the base of his cock expands, growing wider and thicker. It must feel good because he makes a serrated sound, sliding his fist down to knead at it, milking himself until I’m glazed in his scent.
“ Omega ,” he grits. His head falls forward, his jaw clamping over the place below his brother’s bite, teeth pressing into my throat.