Chapter Twenty – Darius
The world outside dims as I sit there, accelerating until it’s practically a world of night. Nothing but the dim, flickering candle light illuminates the dining room, giving it a haunted glow. I stare hard at the table, at all the food that won’t be eaten because the two of us can’t be in the same room as the other.
I hardly move after she storms off; I can’t. If I do, there’s only one thing I’m liable to do, and I won’t let myself.
She’s not here to stay. The omega, Mercedes, made that clear from the very start. Somehow she strong-armed Nic into giving her some money, her own account, and an easy out of this arrangement whenever she pleases.
I was never as gung-ho on bringing an omega to our home, not like Nic. Doing what I do, having seen what I’ve seen, I now know you can’t trust people. People only disappoint. Everyone outside of this pack and my family would betray us, hurt us, if the money was there.
The world runs on money. It truly does.
An omega tearing my pack apart from the inside… I never thought I’d see the day, but as it turns out, I was right all along. Right not to trust her. Right to dismiss her. Mercedes will not be here forever. She will run. She will take that money and leave us, abandon us without qualms. We are nothing to her, so she’s nothing to me.
How many times have I told myself that since her arrival? Since the day I caught her in my office, spreading her scent on my things? Even now, even after days of cleaning, I still get a whiff of her every now and then when I’m sitting in my office, and just like that it becomes stupidly difficult to focus on anything.
How the hell could I focus on a single thing when a fractured remnant of her scent makes all the wires in me cross?
My eyes move to the seat she was in before she got up and left. I breathe in through my nose—a mistake, on my part—and get a full taste of that sweet, strawberry-induced scent. By the time I breathe again through my mouth, it’s too late; certain parts of me have already started to react to that scent.
That fucking scent is enough to drive me mad.
Mercedes has no right to smell so goddamned good. So alluring. So tempting. It’s like that smell goes straight to my dick. I can feel it in every part of me.
I don’t know how long I sit there, by myself, a frown on my face as I wrestle with the inner alpha in me, but it must be a while. By the time I hear someone’s footsteps approaching, I’ve finally calmed myself down.
Or, at least, I think so.
Nic stands there, his arms folded over his chest as he puffs himself out to appear confrontational. Unnecessary on his part; I already know why he’s here. The omega has him wrapped around her little finger, and he’s too love-struck to realize it. If he wasn’t family, if he wasn’t pack, I wouldn’t stand for such an expression being leveled toward me.
“What,” he overenunciates the word, pausing to give an added dramatic flair to the question, “the hell is your problem?”
My jaw grinds. “I don’t have a problem. The omega is the one with the problem.”
“The omega is upstairs, beside herself because of you. And her name’s Mercedes—which you already know—so why don’t you cut the shit, Darius, and tell me the truth: what the hell are you thinking?”
I narrow my eyes in his direction. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me. Why are you so… why’d you have to be such a dick to her?”
“You shouldn’t care so much. It isn’t as if she’s going to stay long-term. You know it, I know it, we all know it. It’s better for us all if none of us get attached—clearly, you’ve been thinking with the head below your shoulders when it comes to her.”
“Yeah,” Nic admits. “Maybe she does want to run, but you know what? If we can show her she belongs in this pack, with us—with all of us—maybe she’ll stay. Why are you so against an omega for us?”
I frown harder as I mutter, “I can’t control an omega or what she does to us. If we let her in, then she gets the key to destroying us from the inside-out. I failed this pack four years ago. I won’t fail it again.”
Bringing up what happened four years ago makes Nic’s arms fall to his side, and he comes over to the chair beside mine, gripping its back as he shakes his head once. “That’s a shitty excuse, and you know it. You think we’re the only pack with some messy baggage? I’m still alive. We all are. Life is about moving on, not dwelling on the past. Life is about living.”
His words have some wisdom to them, but I’m hesitant to outwardly agree. Even if we let the omega in, even if… certain things happen, she could still decide to run and break us all in the process. And since the offer Nic gave included a clause that said she could end the agreement whenever she wanted, we would have no recourse in chasing her and bringing her back.
We have no leverage, no leg to stand on. We’re at her mercy. I’m the only one who is able to see the nearing spark of a flame touching the first wooden beam, about to ignite the whole damn bridge we stand on.
“Did you know Warren told her about his parents?”
I blink. No, I didn’t know that, but how could I? I try not to discuss the omega or her relationship to the others. I have been putting as much distance between us as possible—if I can’t make it easy for all of us, I can at least make it easier for me. Apparently, I’m the only one in this house with an ounce of brain matter.
“Darius.”
Nic saying my name snaps me out of my thoughts, and I’m slow in lifting my stare to his face. The way my packmate watches me, how he studies me, makes me feel like some sort of middle school experiment, like a chemical reaction is happening and he doesn’t quite understand it, but he’s mesmerized all the same.
“How can you…” He trails off. It’s like he recalculates what to say, because the next time he speaks, he’s quieter and gentler, “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Tell you what?”
“I’m your brother. I should’ve been the first to know—besides you two, I mean.”
With a shake of my head, I mutter, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Now, Nic is agitated all over again. He prickles near me, his fingers curling around the back of the chair a bit harder. “Bullshit. You know exactly what I’m talking about. I calmed her down the best I could, but Mercedes is up there thinking something is wrong with her. You’re physically hurting her by denying her. I don’t get how you can sit there and act all aloof and dismissive when you have to be feeling the same way.”
“I don’t.”
My brother is slow to tilt his head at me. “Come on. This whole thing you’re doing, how you’ve been acting… you weren’t thrilled to bring an omega into this house, but you promised me you’d try. This isn’t trying. This is avoidance, and if it is what I think it is, then it shouldn’t even be possible.”
“And what, Nic,” I hiss out his name, “do you think this is?”
“You’re her scent match.”
His words strike a chord in me, and my chest rumbles before I can stop the sound from coming out. Hearing my brother say it aloud—hearing it said aloud for the first time ever—makes the beast in me smug. Content. Happy, even.
“I heard that,” Nic says, pointing out the sound I just made. “I don’t get it. You shouldn’t be able to keep yourself off her. You should want to be with her all the time—”
Scent matches are a thing of fairytales, but apparently they still happen sometimes. It’s like fate has a laugh every now and then, making two souls the perfect fit for each other. Normally omegas smell good to alphas, and vice versa, but a scent match is that times a thousand. An invisible string, tying that alpha and omega together.
They’re like an urban legend nowadays. Only the hopeful and the romantic believe in them.
That’s not me. I’m not hopeful, and I sure as shit ain’t a goddamned romantic.
“You’re acting like it’s a bad thing,” Nic says. “It’s not. It’s good. It should be a sign to you that she’s meant to be in this pack, she’s supposed to be ours. She’s your scent match, brother, so stop acting like you can’t stand to be around her. Just let her in. Show her you’re not as big of an asshole as you seem.” When I don’t respond, he goes on, “What harm can it do?”
I run my tongue over my teeth, seething as I sit in that chair. Of course my brother would be happy for me, thrilled that the omega he chose without me ends up being my perfect scent match. My fated mate, as cliched as it is. Sure, it should be a joyous occasion, but I’ve never liked being told what to do, thanks to the über alpha in me.
And as for the harm? We already know what’s going to happen. Mercedes isn’t staying forever. She’ll leave, and each of us will be shattered when she goes, to the point where we might never be able to return to the way we were once she’s gone.
“Does she know?” I ask.
The way he looks at me tells me the answer, but he still goes ahead and says it regardless, “No. She doesn’t know. Maybe she never heard of scent matches at Solus. Either way, you’re hurting her by denying her. I’m sure you’re hurting yourself too, in the process, even if you don’t want to admit it. I know you’re pack leader, but you need to nut up and get your shit together, bro, otherwise I fear this pack won’t be a pack for much longer.”
A warning, different than a threat, but one that rattles me nonetheless.
Before Nic leaves me alone to stew, he says, “Put the food away, will you? We can eat it tomorrow so it doesn’t go to waste.” And then, without another word, he’s gone.
I’m hurting her, and myself, by denying the bond that fate put upon us without our consent. I already knew how hard it was for me. I guess I just thought… well, my main concern was with me and my pack, not Mercedes.
I don’t want to hurt her. I’m not some psycho who takes pleasure in causing pain like that. Still, I don’t know. I just don’t know.
After a while, I get up and put the food in Tupperware, stacking them in the refrigerator in the darkness of the candlelight. When I go to grab her plate, mostly untouched since we pretty much fought the entire time, I have to pause and smell her lingering scent on the chair.
Sweet and addicting, like sugar. A candy-coated omega with a hint of strawberry. The combination shouldn’t work on paper, but to me, to my nose—and to my body—it works, all right. It definitely fucking works. It’s the best thing I’ve ever smelled in my life.
A growl leaves me, a desperate sound that I’m glad no one is around to hear. My willpower has kept my body in check, mostly, but every now and then primal instincts slip through, like that growl.
I scrape off her plate into the trash and put it in the dishwasher, after mine. Once everything is cleaned off the table, I grab myself a glass and pour myself some whiskey. I’m normally not a drinker, but tonight of all nights, I need a little something.
Besides, it’s late and I didn’t eat much. Why not fill my belly with something else instead? Something that might help me relax.
I retake my seat at the head of the dining room table, with my glass of whiskey, only after I take off my suit jacket. I blew out the candles before sitting down, so I sit in the utter darkness as I sip from the glass.
It’s late. I should throw in the towel and go to bed, but my mind is wired. I can’t stop thinking about what Nic said, and beyond that, I can’t stop thinking about the girl. I may have gotten good at avoiding her, but giving my mind something else to think about? Not as good. At work, at home, even in my bed, thoughts of Mercedes creep in whenever I’m not paying attention, and then it takes every bit of self-restraint in me to stop myself from obsessing.
Fuck. Why couldn’t Nic bring home any other omega? It wouldn’t be nearly as hard for me.
I take another sip as thoughts of Mercedes dominate my mind. The way she looked at me with those big, brown eyes, like she hated me, fills me with unease and anxiety, even now. I didn’t take pleasure in how I handled things with her, but thinking back…
Hindsight is twenty-twenty, as they say. If I could go back in time and never come home and find her in my office, I would. That set us on the wrong foot, and finding that list she was looking up…
How long do we have with her? How long until she leaves? Will she use us to get her through her first heat, or will she disappear before then?
I’m not sure which one is worse.
I finish up my glass and get up to get more—instead of pouring myself another, I take the bottle with me into the dining room.
I typically don’t drink. We really only have a selection in the house for when we host our parents. Even though it takes a lot to muddle my mind thanks to my size, I still prefer to be in control, to have full use of my faculties. But tonight, I could use the numbing effect. Tonight I could use the distraction.
My dinner, as the night progresses, is simply whiskey. I wish I could say that each sip helps me in thinking of anything other than Mercedes, but it doesn’t, so I can’t.
Mercedes didn’t dress up for her date with me. If anything, she dressed like she was trying to push me away instead of pull me in. Her hair had a semi-wet look to it, like she hadn’t even washed it. From the beginning of the date, it was clear she didn’t want to be there any more than I did.
Nic is crazy. I’m not the only one who’s good at hiding things. I mask my desire with indifference while she masks hers with anger. She and I are alike, in that way.
I’m thirty-two. I might not be the eldest Alabaster, but that doesn’t stop our mother from begging us to settle down. Our mother is a beta, while our father is an alpha. Theirs is a pack of two.
Not every alpha ends up with an omega—biologically, it takes a bit more work to make sure things… fit. There simply aren’t enough omegas for every alpha. It’s why alphas typically run in packs and share omegas. Plus, if you have multiple alphas in the household working, it’s far easier for the omega to stay home and nest.
Is that what Mercedes wants? Somehow, I doubt it. She doesn’t strike me as someone who wants to be locked in a house while the world passes by.
Then again, I don’t really know her, so who can say?
Eventually, I start sipping straight from the bottle, forgoing my glass entirely. I near the end of the bottle when my head begins to buzz a bit—it’s the sign I should stop, but then again, maybe a bit more is just what the doctor ordered. I finish up the bottle and stand. My shoulders might slump a bit more than usual, but whatever. I’m alone. No one is here to witness me in this state. Who cares?
I make it to the kitchen and set the empty bottle on the island. I’m about to grab me something else to drink when my ears pick up the sound of someone coming down the stairs. And then, a few seconds later, that sound gets louder as whoever it is takes a tumble.
Buzzed as I might be, I’m still pack alpha. I need to see who it is and make sure they’re all right.
The moment I make it to the hall where the grand staircase is, I’m hit with the scent of distress—and given how deliciously sweet that scent is, I don’t need to see her at the bottom of the stairs to know it’s Mercedes.
When I come upon her, she’s trying to stand, but she whimpers and sits back down on the bottom step. I reach her and kneel down, and I try to touch her—I don’t know why. Regardless, she pulls back from me, and I feel the sting of rejection in my soul.
“You’re hurt,” I whisper. “Tell me where.”
“My ankle,” she whispers back. “It hurts when I put weight on it.”
“I can take a look at it.” I go for her again, and she stiffens a second time, so I add, “Let me carry you. I just want a look at your ankle, that’s it.” I hope I sound reassuring, but I don’t know. I’m not… good at this sort of thing.
Through the darkness, she nods, and I don’t hesitate a second longer before scooping her up in my arms and cradling her against my chest. She weighs nothing to me, and she fits perfectly in my arms. Carrying her is the opposite of a burden, but I’d never admit that out loud. Some things are better kept to yourself.
As I walk to the kitchen, I say, “You should’ve turned a light on.”
“I know.” Her voice is small and twinged with pain, which I instantly hate. “I’m so stupid.”
“No, you’re not. Everyone is clumsy sometimes.” I set her on the counter, near the stove, and once she’s out of my arms, I go to turn the light on over the sink. It’s just a single light, dim enough it doesn’t blind either of us, but it gives enough light that we can both see what we’re dealing with.
And what am I dealing with? An omega with an injured ankle. An omega wearing short fuzzy pajama bottoms and a matching fuzzy shirt.
So much leg exposed… it’s unbelievably difficult for me to not stare at those legs and imagine wrapping them around my body while I—
Fuck. Too much to drink tonight. That is definitely a thought I shouldn’t have.
With the light on, I gently take her injured ankle in my hands and feel for any broken bones, any protuberances that shouldn’t be there. She winces when I run my fingers over the outer part of her ankle.
“It doesn’t feel like anything’s broken,” I tell her. “My guess is you just twisted it. A few days of rest and you should be fine.” I stop feeling up her ankle, but I don’t withdraw my hands from her. I can’t. For some reason, I need to touch her, need to feel the warm skin of her legs under my palms.
I try to take on my typical stern voice and demand to know, “What were you even doing?”
“I was hungry,” she whispers. “I didn’t eat much dinner, since… you know.” I do know. I remember all too well what happened between us a few hours ago. The disaster of a date. “I didn’t know you would be down here.”
“It’s a good thing I was,” I mutter.
She frowns at me, and the expression is too cute to take seriously. “I would’ve gotten up eventually. I can handle myself.” With an extra puff of her lips, she asks, “What were you doing down here?”
The empty bottle of whiskey sits on the island, in plain view of her, so it’s no use lying. “Drinking.”
“Drinking?” she echoes. “You don’t look like someone who drinks a lot.”
I drag my eyes up her legs, over her torso, and meet her inquisitiveness with a heavy stare of my own. “I’m not.” My hands are still on her legs, feeling her warmth seep into me and breathe new life into me.
Fuck.
I abruptly pull away from her and get a new plate out of the cupboard. “I’ll reheat some food for you.” It’s a bit of a chore, to get some of everything out of the Tupperware I so recently packed everything into, but I manage to make her a plate very similar to the one she made for herself earlier. I throw it into the microwave and then grab her a bottle of water and some ibuprofen.
I set the bottle next to her and offer her two pills, which she eyes warily.
“For the pain and swelling,” I say. “Take them. They’ll help.”
Mercedes stares at the pills like she doesn’t trust them, like she doesn’t trust me—and I don’t blame her. I haven’t given her any reason to trust me or even like me, and that was the point. Why bother making things harder for myself? Maybe it’s the whiskey in me, but right now I don’t feel like I’m too close to her when I lean over her and drop the pills into her hand.
If anything, I’m not close enough.
She tosses the pills into her mouth, and I unscrew the water bottle for her and hand it to her, which she takes and drinks a sip from. I set the cap beside her and go to the microwave once it beeps, and then I fetch her a fork and give it to her.
After setting the water down next to her, her fingers brush against mine when she accepts the plate from me. “Thank you,” she whispers. It must kill her to act so nonchalant toward me right now, just as it kills me to stand there and act the same.
A scent match . It doesn’t feel real, but it is. Here she is, my goddamned scent match, and she doesn’t even want to be here. She doesn’t want us. The only thing she wants to do is run, and it’s a knife in my heart.
I stand a foot away from her as I watch her eat, and she dutifully eats everything on her plate, hardly ever looking at me as she does so. It’s like I’m not even there, just a shadow and not a person… not the alpha who should be her mate.
Fuck. That whiskey was a bad idea.
Then again, it isn’t like I expected her to fall down the stairs. I wasn’t lying in wait, preparing myself to take care of her or anything. This was all purely happenstance. Everything. It all was—so what does that say about us? That we keep finding ourselves in these types of situations with each other?
Neither of us say a word as she eats, and when she’s done, I take the plate from her and put it in the sink. I’ll deal with it later. For some reason, I need to be right back at her side as quickly as humanly possible.
I stand before her legs, towering over her even though she sits on the counter. Finally, those big brown eyes are angled in my direction, and she stares up at me through heavy, thick lashes. Her full lips are parted ever so slightly, and I’ve never felt such a need to make someone mine before.
Of course, as an alpha, I’ve had my moments. I’ve been drawn to omegas and their alluring scents. But this is different. This is so much more than that. This isn’t just about the need to fuck.
It’s about laying claim.
It’s about taking what’s mine.
“Why,” she breathes out, “were you down here drinking?” Mercedes hedges the question, speaking it so innocently, that it has to be an act. She has to know… but if she doesn’t, I might as well let her know the truth. It’s too late an hour to lie.
“Because of you.”
She sucks in a hard breath as she quizzically stares up at me. “Me? But I… I thought you’d be happy the date was terrible.” And then she looks away and adds in a hushed whisper, “You don’t want me here, anyway.”
The dejected tone she has makes me sigh and lean my hands on the counter next to her, on each side, boxing her in without meaning to. “I…” My words feel inadequate, so I stop saying them.
Everything I can possibly say isn’t enough. I’m no poet. I’m not as in-touch with my feelings as Nic. I’m not as out there as Warren, so I’m not comfortable just saying whatever’s on my mind. For the first time in my life, I feel so out of my element, as if I was thrown into an alternate reality and knocked off my feet.
So, instead of saying anything, I simply lean my head down and press my forehead against hers.
She doesn’t turn away, even though she could. Her eyelids close, and she lets out an uneven, ragged breath. That hot breath blossoms across my face, and my chest rumbles with the innate desire to swallow every part of her up.
I lift a hand and sweep the hair off her shoulder, to her back, and in the next moment I move my forehead off hers, dipping my nose to her neck and breathing her in—this time unfettered. Her scent is so much stronger, pure, undiluted with time and space between us. She turns her head slightly, allowing me a better angle to bury myself in the crook of her neck.
Her scent gets stronger, and I’m pretty sure amongst the sweet, sugary scent the air is filled with a twinge of her arousal, her body naturally responding to mine even though, if she had her way, she’d be nothing but a stranger to me.
My other hand inches toward her hip, and the hand that swept her hair aside falls to her thigh. My body moves on its own, and the added taste of her arousal in the air hardens my cock faster than the speed of light. It’s an instant turn-on, an immediate craving to satisfy her in a way only I can.
My lips rub against her neck, sending a shiver down her spine and a whine to surface from her chest. Though I fight it, though I try to keep it down, in that moment, it’s simply not possible for me to pretend, so the word slips from between my lips in a husky growl, “ Mine .”
Her perfume thickens in the air, and I respond by parting her thighs and moving my hands to her ass, quickly jerking her body to the edge of the countertop. I now stand between her spread knees, with her small body curved against my chest.
A satisfied growl erupts from me, and I say again, firmer this time: “Mine.”
A soft moan slips from her mouth, and I respond to that moan by nipping at her jaw with my teeth. My canines ache to sink into her neck and bite her, to mark her so that the entire world knows she’s mine, so her scent will always have mine mixed in; it’s a way for other alphas to know she’s taken.
Has to be the neck. It’s where the scent glands are. Otherwise it’s just a bite, not a mate mark.
But you don’t do something like that without permission. I might be a little buzzed, my inhibitions might be nowhere to be seen, but I know that much, and I won’t cross that line.
“My omega,” I whisper against her jaw, and she responds by tangling her fingers in my tie, gripping it so hard she might permanently crease the fabric. But I don’t care. Right now the only thing I care about is her.
I kiss her neck, right where her scent gland is, and she moans as my lips graze the sensitive spot. Her back arches and she presses her chest against me harder, and just like that everything in me crumbles like I’m a cookie taken off the pan too soon after baking. Soft and melty, the kind of cookie that can’t quite yet hold its own and stay solid.
The need to taste her is so strong within me it burns, the blood running so hot in my veins I feel like I’ll claw my own skin off and die if I don’t get that taste. So, I do the only thing a mindless alpha at the mercy of his omega can do: I slip a hand between us, between her legs, and feel for myself just how wet she is.
And, fuck, her panties are soaked, her pussy oozing slick in an effort to get a knot.
To get my knot.
I’d love nothing more than to bury my cock between her legs and fuck her until I knot her, and fill her up with cum while my knot locks us together, but it’s clear neither of us are in our right mind. If I did that, if we crossed that line… I don’t think I could survive if she left us.
But, with my hand between her legs, I also can’t help myself. I slip a finger inside her core, and she sucks in a hard breath, moaning right into my ear. My finger slides in easily, with no resistance whatsoever, and it’s only a second before I insert another finger. Two fingers of mine isn’t quite on the same level as my dick, but it’s enough for me to feel the walls of her pussy contract as her core seeks to pull my fingers deeper inside.
Her body wants to be fucked, to be taken, to be claimed by its rightful mate. By me.
Mercedes might fall apart for Nic and Warren, but this is instant. This is instinctual. Animalistic. This has been dictated by fate itself. How stupid we were to try to deny it. Try as we might, eventually the dam was bound to break. These waters were always meant to come rushing out.
I shudder against her neck, a possessive growl erupting from my chest as I murmur, “You’re so wet for me, Mercedes. So goddamned wet.” My fingers work her core, pumping in and out of her in an achingly slow rhythm that draws another moan from her slender throat. “Can you feel my fingers inside of you? Do you like that?”
I don’t know what I’m doing. It’s like a second Darius took over the reins and I’m nothing but a slave to his instructions. Everything I do, everything I say; it’s not me.
But it is. It is me, and she brings it out of me. This omega, my scent match, my mate, brings the alpha out of me in a way no one else ever did.
She whines, panting, practically mewling for more, and the sounds she makes make it hard to think straight. My cock is steel in my pants, practically a third leg, and it’s damn near impossible to ignore how hard it throbs with need.
I increase the speed with which my fingers pump in and out of her as I whisper, “You like it. You’re getting wetter by the minute, omega. I bet you wish you had a knot inside you. Am I right? Are you imagining my cock inside of you, pinning you in place while I fuck that tight, wet pussy of yours?”
The guttural moan that comes from her right then is answer enough. Her body trembles, and the moment I add my thumb to the mix—rubbing circles around her swollen clit—she explodes in a fitful orgasm. She cries out, her pussy gushing more slick, and I inhale the sweet aroma like it’s my last meal.
Fuck. She’s hot when she comes, and knowing she’s coming for me and me alone practically makes me come right then and there, with no further help from her required.
But I hold back any spontaneous orgasms on my part, whispering into her ear, “I need to taste you.” I pull out my hand from between us and lift my face away from her neck. We lock eyes the moment I insert the two fingers I just had inside her into my mouth, and as I run my tongue along them, my chest hums with approval.
Damn it. She tastes just as good as she smells.
If I thought I was mindless before, it’s nothing compared to how I feel after I taste her slick on my fingers. I manage to pull myself away from her enough to yank down her shorts and the panties underneath, letting them fall to the kitchen floor, immediately forgotten.
Although a part of me is worried she’ll put a stop to it, she doesn’t. I can’t say I don’t deserve to be shut down right now, but whatever willpower I had before is long gone now. The only thing I can think of is how badly I need to fall to my knees and bury my face between her legs.
So that’s exactly what I do.
No one else could get me to fall to my knees for them. Only Mercedes. Only my omega.
Goddamn it. Why is everything so overwhelming? Why can’t I think straight? The world around us keeps spinning while I remain zeroed in on her.
Once my face is surrounded by her open thighs, I breathe in deeply, memorizing the way her slick smells, how it glistens in the dim light. The pretty, pink folds of skin beckoning me to the pussy and the clit just beneath them. My intention is to make that space my home for a while.
Now that I’ve committed the sight and the scent to my memory, I close what little distance remains between my mouth and her apex. I kiss around her clit before pushing my tongue into her core and lapping up her sweet slick, and she moans and writhes against my face, her thighs squeezing against me.
It becomes clear neither of us are thinking straight. I’m a man on my knees and she’s a woman lost in ecstasy.
I feast on her, cleaning up her leaking slick before I put most of my focus onto that swollen nub of flesh at her apex. Her clit practically pulsates already, primed and ready to explode a second time, and she grinds her hips against my face, panting and mewling. One of her hands finds its way to my head, her fingers snaking into my hair and tugging gently.
Yes. Fuck, yes. This is right where I’m supposed to be.
Time ceases to matter. Truly, the only thing that matters is making my omega come again. I flick her clit with my tongue before sucking hard on it, and she bites back a cry, which causes me to growl against her, “I want to hear you. I need to hear you. Be loud for your alpha.”
The order is not spoken with dominance; it’s not needed. The moment the words are out of me, the sounds she makes fills the room with a sensual, melodious rhythm while I eat her out. She doesn’t try to be quiet again, and the sounds are the sexiest ones I’ve ever heard.
Her thighs tense around my face, and I can tell she’s close. I push her over the precipice, causing her to moan loudly and arch her back. Her whole body spasms for me, new slick leaking out of her pussy, and I lap it up directly from the source.
Omega slick is meant for an alpha’s knot. Not only does it taste sweet, but its properties help an omega’s body accept a knot without tearing itself apart.
I want to knot her so badly. I want to know what it’s like to be inside of her, to feel her wet, warm cunt squeeze around my cock while I gaze into her eyes and claim her as mine. I want her more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life—and that’s terrifying to a man like me.
I may be a little buzzed, I may have crossed over the line already, but fucking her isn’t in the cards tonight. Once I eat up her slick, I pull my face away from her apex and stand. The action is not the easiest, thanks to the raging erection in my pants, the knot begging to be formed, but I manage to ignore my lower half as I scoop Mercedes up in my arms and carry her out of the kitchen.
Into the hall, up the stairs; I dutifully carry her all the way to her bedroom, where I deposit her onto her bed, beneath the covers. And she lets me, not saying a word—though she does cling to me all the while.
I’m not a man who can easily admit he’s been a fool. I’m glad she’s delirious enough to not ask me too many questions right now. I need… fuck, I need time to think. Time to come up with a plan.
I tuck her in, wishing badly to lean down and press my lips upon hers, to give her a goodnight kiss, but if I do, I know whatever small fragments of willpower I have left will fade into nothing, and I’ll crawl into her bed with her.
And that… that’ll only lead to one thing.
So I don’t kiss her, but I do stare down at her through the darkness for a few moments before I turn away. As I shuffle to her door, I hear her whisper, “Goodnight.”
I stop near her door, her doorknob in hand, helping me remain steady. “Goodnight,” I whisper back, the ache in me even stronger now that I know what she tastes like and the sounds she makes when she comes.
I close the door behind me and lean against it for a few seconds, attempting to gather myself. Losing control like that wasn’t me. It’s as if I became a different person entirely, like she pulled the animal out of me and I had no say about it.
It’s what I didn’t want. Obsessing, craving, losing my mind; all things I sought to avoid. If I let myself go down that road, I can’t imagine how badly it’ll hurt when she leaves.
That thought sobers me up fast—at least until I make it back to the kitchen to clean up and retrieve my suit jacket… and her pajama shorts and the soaked panties underneath them. They’re filled with her scent, and though I know I should return them to her, place them outside her bedroom or toss them into the laundry, I don’t do either of those things.
No, they come into my room, where I’ll keep them tucked under my pillow.
I never knew how weak of a man I was until Mercedes came into this house, and I fear I’ll never be the same again.