Chapter 14
Grayson
I'm trying very hard not to completely lose my shit.
Bea is in my studio. On my desk. Half-naked and panting my name. Her scent is everywhere—cinnamon and apples and that sweet slick that's driving my alpha absolutely insane.
And she just told me she's tired of keeping her wants small. That she wants this—wants us—and she's done apologizing for it.
Fuck, that's hot.
I've been holding back for weeks. Watching Seth get to kiss her, watching River scent her at the Tree Lighting. Being the patient one, the one who waits his turn, because that's what pack alphas do. We don't compete. We support each other.
But listening to her talk about that asshole ex who made her feel like wanting things was selfish? Who spent two years dismissing her dreams?
That makes me want to prove to her that not all alphas are like that. That we listen. That her wants matter just as much as ours.
"Bed," I manage, my voice rougher than I intended. "Should move to the bed."
"Too far." Her hands are already fumbling with my belt, clumsy with want. "Here is good. Here is perfect."
The desperate need in her movements makes my knot throb. I catch her hands—gently, but firmly enough to get her attention.
"Bea—" I hold her hands. "Slow down for a second."
"Don't want to slow down." She looks up at me with those green eyes, pupils blown wide with arousal. "Want you. Want this. Please, Grayson."
Fuck. How is a man supposed to resist that?
But she deserves better than getting fucked on a desk for our first time. She deserves to feel like she matters. Like her pleasure is just as important as mine.
"Okay." I take a breath, trying to find some semblance of control. "But we're doing this properly. Not on a desk."
"You're very particular."
"I'm very turned on and trying not to embarrass myself." I scoop her up and she squeaks. "Hold on."
I carry her through the doorway into my apartment—which is really just an open loft space with a bed and a small kitchen. The bed is unmade because I wasn't expecting company, but Bea doesn't seem to care as I lay her down on the dark sheets.
"This is better," I say, settling over her. "More room to work."
"Work?" She laughs breathlessly. "Is that what we're calling this?"
"Professional assessment," I say with a grin, echoing her earlier words. "Very thorough. Very detailed."
"You're ridiculous."
"You like it." I kiss her neck, finding that spot behind her ear that makes her shiver. "Admit it."
"Maybe." Her hands slide under my shirt. "Take this off. Want to see you too."
I sit back and pull my shirt over my head. Her eyes go wide, tracking over the tattoos covering my chest and arms.
"Wow," she breathes.
"Professional assessment?" I tease.
"Shut up." She reaches up to trace one of the designs on my ribs. "These are beautiful. When did you get them?"
"Over the years. Some I did myself." I catch her hand, pressing a kiss to her palm. "We can talk about my ink later. Right now, I have other priorities."
I kiss my way down her body—her neck, her collarbone, between her breasts. Taking my time, savoring every sound she makes.
I take my time, lavishing attention on first one breast then the other. Learning what makes her gasp, what makes her squirm. When I scrape my teeth lightly over her nipple, her hands fist in my hair and she makes a sound that's pure need.
"Grayson, please—"
"Please what?" I kiss my way across her chest. "Tell me what you need, baby."
"I don't—I need—" She's incoherent, and I love it.
"The couch," I decide. "Need you somewhere I can take my time."
I scoop her up and she yelps, wrapping her arms around my neck. "I can walk!"
"I know. But I like carrying you." I deposit her on the leather couch and follow her down. "Comfortable?"
She nods, eyes dark with want.
"Good." I settle between her legs, careful not to crush her with my weight. "Because I plan to make you very comfortable."
I kiss her again while my hands roam—over her ribs, her stomach, the soft skin of her sides. When my fingers find the button of her jeans, she lifts her hips eagerly.
"Can I take these off?" I ask, wanting to hear her say yes.
"God, yes. Please."
I make quick work of the button and zipper, then pause with my hands at her waistband. "Just these? Or everything?"
"Everything." Her voice is firm, confident. No hesitation. "I want everything off. I want you to see all of me."
My brain short-circuits for a second. "Bea—"
"We're not having sex," she says quickly. "But I want—I need—"
"I know what you need." I hook my fingers in her jeans and panties. "Lift up for me."
She does, and I slide both down her legs in one smooth movement. When I see her fully bare beneath me, I have to close my eyes and count to ten.
The scent of her arousal hits me fully now—cinnamon and apples spiked with the unmistakable sweetness of slick. My knot throbs in response, already beginning to swell just from her scent alone.
"Grayson?"
"Give me a second." My voice is strained. "Trying not to come in my jeans like a teenager."
She laughs, the sound shaky but real. "That's—that's actually really flattering."
"It's embarrassing is what it is." But I'm smiling when I open my eyes. "You're so fucking beautiful, Bea. Do you know that?"
She bites her lip, suddenly uncertain. "I'm—"
"Perfect." I kiss her knee. "Absolutely perfect."
Then I start kissing my way up her thigh, breathing in the intoxicating scent of her omega biology responding to me.
She tenses. "What are you—"
"Relax." I press a kiss to her inner thigh, feeling the slickness there against my lips. "Let me make you feel good."
"Grayson, you don't have to—"
"I want to." I look up at her from between her legs. "I've been fantasizing about tasting you. Please let me."
Her pupils dilate. "Okay. Yes. Please."
I grin and lower my mouth to her.
The first taste of her makes me groan. She's sweet and tart like the apples in her scent, and the slick coating her thighs is perfect.
I start slow, learning what makes her gasp, what makes her hips buck.
When I find her clit and suck gently, she cries out and I feel a fresh wave of slick coat my tongue.
"Oh god—Grayson—"
"That's it." I work her with my tongue, adding a finger carefully. She's so wet, slick making it easy to slide inside. "Let me hear you."
She's not quiet. Breathy moans and gasps and my name like a prayer. Her hands fist in my hair, holding me exactly where she needs me. I add a second finger and crook them just right, and she practically levitates off the couch, more slick flooding against my palm.
"Right there—don't stop—please don't stop—"
I don't. I work her steadily, building her higher and higher until I feel her thighs start to shake. My alpha is rumbling with satisfaction in my chest—a deep purr that makes her respond even more.
"Grayson, I'm—I'm going to—"
"Come for me, Bea. Let go."
She does, crying out as she comes apart beneath my mouth. Her inner walls clench around my fingers as another rush of slick coats my hand. I work her through it, gentling my touch as she comes down, until she's pushing weakly at my shoulders.
"Too much," she gasps.
I press one last kiss to her inner thigh, then crawl back up her body. "Good?"
"Good?" She laughs breathlessly. "That was—you—I—" She pulls me down into a kiss, tasting herself on my tongue. "Wow."
"Wow works." I settle beside her on the couch, pulling her against my chest. My purr is still rumbling, automatic and instinctive. "You okay?"
"Better than okay." She's still catching her breath, and the satisfied sweetness in her scent makes my alpha preen. "But you—you didn't—" Her hand slides down and freezes when she feels the thick bulge at the base of my cock straining against my jeans. "Oh. Is that—"
"My knot," I confirm, voice rough. "It's been trying to swell since I first got you naked."
Her eyes go wide with fascination and want. "Can I—" She swallows. "Can I touch you?"
Every rational thought in my brain evaporates. "Yes. Fuck yes."
"Good." She makes quick work of my belt and zipper, and when she finally frees my cock, her breath catches. "Grayson..."
I'm hard and flushed, my knot already partially swollen at the base. She wraps her hand around my shaft carefully, avoiding the sensitive knot, and I see stars.
"Like this?" she asks.
"Perfect." My voice is wrecked. "Just like that."
She experiments with pressure and speed, watching my face for reactions. It's almost embarrassing how quickly I'm losing control—but the way she's looking at me, focused and determined and a little bit awed, is the hottest thing I've ever seen.
"You're very focused," I manage.
"I'm fascinated." She strokes me again, then lets her fingers ghost over the swollen knot at my base. I buck into her hand with a groan. "Does that feel good?"
"So good."
"It's bigger than I expected," she murmurs, tracing the edge of my knot with curious fingers. "How much does it swell?"
"Twice that size when I'm fully knotted," I grit out. "But you can't—fuck—you can't keep touching it like that or I'm going to come."
"Good." She does it again deliberately, watching my face. "That's the plan."
"Evil woman."
"You like it." When she wraps her hand around my knot and squeezes gently, I nearly come apart. "See? You definitely like it."
"Bea, I'm close—"
"Good." She focuses on my knot now, learning what pressure makes me gasp, what angle makes my hips jerk. "I want to see you come. Want to feel your knot swell in my hand."
"You're perfect," I groan. "So fucking perfect."
"Keep talking." Her eyes are dark with want. "I like hearing you lose control."
That does it. My knot swells fully in her grip as I come with a growl that's pure alpha, spilling over her hand and my stomach. She works me through it, squeezing my knot gently as it pulses, until I'm boneless and satisfied.
"That was amazing," she breathes, watching my knot slowly deflate in her hand. "You're amazing."