Chapter 30
A Sensual Feast
JOHANNA
Corin naked is a sight worth etching permanently into my brain.
His glorious body starfishes against the crisp, striped sheets.
Every inch deserves attention, from his long limbs and strong torso to his upstanding cock, with the gentle circle of his knot starting to puff around the base.
A mix of cedar and cider infuses the air.
Each indrawn breath brings a hint of his taste, increasing my hunger.
His gaze challenges me. His grin shows he knows I’m trying not to salivate.
Where to start?
This is mostly uncharted territory. My sexual experience falls into three distinct categories, none of which have offered anything like the sensual feast before me.
The closest comparison comes from distant memories of my youth, before Max, the same years that included falling in love—and lust—with Dan.
But we were young, still figuring ourselves out.
The passage of time renders my gauzy recollections unreliable when it comes to figuring out what to do—where to begin touching, tasting, indulging—now.
Then, there are the times I spent eking out pleasure on my own, either in stolen moments or when parted from Max, one or the other of us on business trips and I had more time to indulge.
My deep experience of playing with myself, with and without toys, doesn’t exactly translate to enjoying pleasure with a partner, leaving me less sure of how to explore passion in company.
Third, and last, there’s Max’s heats: me, Max, and whomever he invited.
Yet all Max’s heats shared certain elements in common.
I focused mostly on getting him through it as fast as I could.
Any pleasure I stole for myself during the process was a side benefit, served with a side of guilt.
No matter how many times Max assured me he was okay with me finding joy with his unbound omega self or one of his heat partners, I was always at least partially aware of his distaste for the whole thing.
For the first time in decades, I’m with a man who will remember and enjoy the memory of what we do together without guilt or pressure.
I mean to make the most of every moment.
It doesn’t matter that, if this goes well—and I refuse to accept any alternative—I’ll have more opportunities. Since Max’s death, a clock has been in the back of my head, a constant reminder that life offers no guarantees.
Enjoy today, because we never know what tomorrow has in store.
Enjoy Corin laid out before me, not just because it’s the first time, but because we’re both alive to find joy in each other.
Oh, I will feast on him.
Especially while I have him at my whim, because I know alphas in general, and Corin in particular, love control. I’m sure he’s already planning to turn things to his advantage, regaining the upper hand.
I start by telling him to roll over.
He gives me a side-eyed glare, then turns to lie on his belly.
He shifts to the center of the bed, his head turned to the left.
Still splayed out like a starfish. His body hides his cock from me, but not the bulge of his balls and a hint of his knot.
Intriguing as these are, I’m more drawn to the breadth of his shoulders, the curve of his buttocks.
The view is as lovely from the back as the front.
Clearly delineated muscles line his upper back and arms—the source of his unexpected strength. Nicely-rounded buttocks and long legs complete the picture.
Easing my way onto the bed, I jerk as the mattress settles under my weight, creaking and crunching, but soon tune those out.
I swing one leg over his body and settle with my knees to either side of his hips. My bottom rests just below his. The skin on his thighs is unexpectedly soft, but the coarse hairs tickle as they brush against my skin when I move.
Following his example from this morning, I map him with hands and kisses—though I mix both, rather than hands and then kisses.
Nor am I as dedicated as he was to exploring from head to toe or the reverse.
There will be other opportunities for me to touch and caress, surely, and the clock is ticking on how long he’ll stay under me.
I focus on hitting the highlights first, ensuring I get as many as possible in before he wrests back control. I may be a hypocrite, having told him it’s about the journey while centering my attention on all the top destinations myself, but I don’t think he’ll mind much.
My first choice is to stroke and shape his curvy backside.
As with his thighs, his skin proves softer than expected.
Slipping a hand down, I cup his balls and weigh them: nice and heavy.
Maybe I run a finger or two around his knot in the process, given the deep groan that escapes him, but I stay away from the rest of his cock. Time enough for that later.
Keeping my knees planted, I lean forward, running my hands up his back. All those lovely muscles, tensing and straining under my touch. His shoulders beckon. My fingers itch to trace their expanse, slipping around the curves where shoulders link to arms, digging in to mark the lines of bones.
Laying almost flat atop him, I rub my chest against the stretch of his back, seeking to ease the ache in my breasts as I measure his shoulders.
My nipples are tightly rucked, and pressing on his muscles only increases their tenderness.
As he groans, fingers twitching, I soak in the strength of bones and muscles I’ll be able to feel but not see when we’re face-to-face, imagining how they’ll look with my fingerprints from holding hard as he fucks me.
Then, I nestle my head into the curve between neck and shoulders. Rub my cheek against him. Scent mark him, even if I can’t smell it, because he can.
Another groan escapes him. His torso expands and contracts with the motion of his lungs, pressing up against me.
An irresistible urge prompts me to lick his neck, the traditional place for mating bites, something I gave up ever having way back when—but now, new possibilities open.
As a beta, my bite won’t do anything unless an alpha or omega bites me first. I can only accept and seal a mate bond, not initiate, but I can taste his skin: sweet apple cider with no trace of alcohol.
I could get drunk on him regardless.
“Johanna!” The half-complaint, half-demand, combined with the tension in his muscles, makes clear his ability to resist taking command is ebbing.
Much as I’m enjoying my exploration of his back, I want some time to admire his front.
“Oh, very well,” I pretend to pout as I shift off him and kneel to the side. “Roll over”
“So generous.” He does, cock now fully engorged, a glistening drop at its tip. There’s a small wet patch where he’d lain, but he has no trouble arranging himself in the same general spot. His head tilts to his right, my left, as before.
“That’s me: the soul of generosity.” I swing back over him and arrange myself in the same general position, right over his thighs. Now his cock presses against my slit. It’s not particularly long, but nicely thick.
While no thicker than some of the toys in my bedside table drawer, it’s been awhile since I indulged. Since before we knew Max was sick.
“Do you have any lube?” I ask.
“Bedside table.”
There’s nothing atop the table save the alarm clock and lamp, but I spy a small drawer with a brass handle.
I raise up long enough to lean over, yank the drawer open, and grab a lube bottle laying atop interestingly shaped items in soft cloth bags—something to check out another time—then toss the lube on the bed within easy reach.
As I turn back, I catch him glancing at the clock. He’s marking time, counting down minutes!
“Ah, ah, ah.” Shaking a finger, I pivot the clock face away from him. “You’ll just have to trust me.”
He doesn’t say anything, but glares at me from his prone position—though the curve to his lips suggests amusement.
Both vanish, and his neck arches as I move to sit just above his groin, careful to keep my full weight from resting on him. Now, his cock bobs against my buttocks, leaving the whole of his chest at my disposal.
A mix of gray and black hairs grow thickly across his upper chest then narrow into the trail leading down. They’re soft when stroked with the grain, prickly against, so no matter which way I rub, it’s a mix—just like him.
He’s growling or purring, his chest vibrating under my hands. The reverberations should be confined to the area immediately around his lungs, but somehow, extend down his torso to where my clit presses against him.
My pleasure in exploring him remains, my desire to touch and kiss in no way diminishing, but the pulsing in my clit reminds me I haven’t come in a long time.
And I want it.
Competing desires pull me in different directions. As before, I lay down atop him. This time, my aching breasts rub against hair-covered pecs, and my head nestles against the crook of chin to collarbone.
As I lick the spot right over Corin’s collarbone, pure, sweet apples burst on my tongue.
“One minute left.” He warns, flexing in a way that makes my toes curl in anticipation.
My turn to growl.
I slide down, grabbing the bottle of lube as I go, only to abandon it a second later in favor of sucking his cock for a few wonderful seconds—just long enough to lap up his savory sweetness.
Although he growls with satisfaction, he grabs me and, somehow, suddenly, he’s poised on top.
“Not a good idea, darling.” He’s panting, eyes dark. “Even when I was a young man, it took me a long time to recoup after coming. This is the only erection I’m getting tonight, and lovely as I’m sure your mouth is, I’m not ending there.”
“One is fine—it’s all we need.” I lean up to press a kiss against the corner of his mouth, whispering against his lips. “Make it count.”