Chapter 26
DEVOTION, DUSTED IN FLOUR
~WENDOLYN~
My head falls back against the worn wooden table, a gasp tearing from my throat as ecstasy courses through me, wave after unrelenting wave.
Fingers dig into the edge, knuckles whitening, anchoring me against the storm Silas unleashes with his tongue. Legs splayed wide, trembling, the remnants of flour dust my skin like faint snowfall, mingled with sticky trails of whipped cream he laps away with deliberate hunger.
He's buried between my thighs, devouring me as if I'm the rarest delicacy, and I've shattered beneath him at least three times already, each climax building on the last, leaving me boneless, breathless, alive in ways I never imagined possible.
Pleasure this intense, this sustained—it's foreign territory.
Gregory's pack never ventured here; their touches were perfunctory, mechanical releases for their urges alone, leaving me hollow, yearning for more than fleeting friction.
I'd resort to hidden vibrators during those feverish spells nearing heat, cranking up suppressants to dull the agonizing emptiness, the biological scream for true connection.
But this?
Silas's mouth works me to the precipice again, tongue flicking with surgical precision, lips sealing around my clit in a rhythm that drags me under. It's a revelation, a disguised benediction after the stolen interlude with Bear in that cramped changing stall, where I'd ridden him to oblivion.
Now, Silas feasts, and my body sings, every nerve alight, no toys required, no suppressants to numb the blaze.
He draws back at last, his final licks savoring the last tremors, leaving me panting, exposed.
The dress clings uselessly, rumpled and hiked up, doing zilch to conceal the lush swell of my hips, the dip of my waist, or the insistent peaks of my nipples straining against the thin fabric, begging for visibility, for touch.
Silas rises from his kneel on the bench where our baking chaos unfolded, his light blue eyes dark with satisfaction, a sheen of my essence glistening on his chin.
He mutters, voice gravelly, "We probably don't have much time," and my gaze drops to his hands fumbling with his zipper, the rigid outline in his jeans broadcasting his arousal, thick and unyielding, a promise of what's next.
"Did you ride Bear in the changing room?" he asks, casual as if discussing weather, but the heat in his tone betrays deeper curiosity.
I blush, stumbling over words in a flustered stutter.
"How—how do you even know we did anything?"
He chuckles, low and knowing, unzipping with unhurried grace.
"I'm observant, Wendy. I remember details, and I'm far from oblivious, unlike Aidric.
" His cock springs free, generous and veined, the thick shaft making my eyes widen in appreciation.
"I'm fairly certain Calder suspects, too, but we all recognize he's content seeing you receive the devotion you merit.
He won't interfere. Though he'd relish irking Aidric's temper, no doubt. "
The admission hangs between us, charged with the pack's intricate web of affections and rivalries. Silas's length bobs, imposing, and I can't tear my gaze away, heat pooling anew in my core despite the lingering aftershocks.
"You're... substantial," I breathe, voice laced with awe.
He smirks, a flash of white teeth against his sandy hair falling into those piercing eyes.
"Beckett surpasses me in girth, which is why I deduced your encounter stopped short of full penetration…otherwise, your stride would betray the tenderness."
My cheeks flame hotter, but defiance sparks.
"What, planning to ensure I waddle from this shop, courtesy of your impressive endowment?"
That smirk deepens into something predatory as he closes the gap, hands seizing my thighs, yanking me to the table's edge.
His tip nudges my slick folds, inches from entry, and my pupils dilate, breath hitching at his bold assurance, so unlike the tentative hesitations I've known.
"If enthusiasm overtakes me, perhaps," he murmurs, dragging his length along my seam, coating himself in my wetness, the friction eliciting a tremble and an impatient moan from my lips.
"But guarantees elude me in such fervor. "
He teases relentlessly, sliding up and down, gathering my arousal until I'm quivering, hips arching in silent plea. Laughter rumbles from him, deep and teasing.
"Craving it, Wendy?"
"Fuck yes," I gasp, the admission raw. "I can't recall such fervent intimacy with any pack."
He leans forward, lips brushing mine in a whisper of contact.
"Proceeding too swiftly?"
I shake my head, fervent.
"This rhythm suits our bond—no evasion, no ambiguity. I detest the uncertainty, the constant speculation about affection or value. You render it effortless, loving, and coupling in apt instants."
His kiss descends then, tender and profound, a vow etched in the gentle press, affirming my place as their axis.
"You're our universe now," he breathes against my mouth. "We'll demonstrate the solace of welcoming an Omega like you into our fold."
"What do you imply?" I manage, only to dissolve into a moan as he eases inside, inch by deliberate inch, our shared gasps amplifying the intimacy until he's fully sheathed, locked in my heat.
He stills, savoring the union, then whispers, "We believed Omegas superfluous, our choice resolute. Yet your presence reunites us seamlessly, the binding element rendering this natural."
Thrusts commence, measured at first, building to a cadence that spirals our ecstasy.
"This sensation—exquisite," Silas groans, his hips driving forward with a new, urgent rhythm, every thrust measured to maximize the friction, the fullness, the raw connection between us.
He shudders, grasping my hips, and the involuntary tremor that ripples through him is so honest, so unguarded, it sends an answering pulse straight through my core.
"Haven't claimed an Omega, anyone, in ages," he chokes out, forehead dropping to rest against mine.
"Maybe that's why I'm this impatient, why I can't stop, but fuck, you fit me—" he thrusts again, the motion deep and deliberate, "—like you were made for me. For us."
I clutch his shoulders, nails digging in, every sense keyed up to the brink of overload.
Silas's scent—honey and eucalyptus, sweet and sharp—fills my every breath, mingling with the ozone tang of sex and the lingering vanilla from our baking disaster.
The air's thick with it. He captures my mouth, tongue plunging in tandem with his hips, his growl resonating into my chest, vibrating us both to pieces. I arch against him, breasts swaying, nipples aching for friction, and he doesn’t hesitate — his hand slides up, palm rough and warm, kneading me through the dress, pinching just enough to make me see stars behind my eyelids.
He breaks the kiss, panting. "You're incredible," he says, voice ragged with disbelief and reverence, like I'm some myth come to life. "I could do this forever. Fuck, Wendy. Let me—"
"Don't you dare stop," I gasp, winding my legs around his waist and pulling him deeper—harder.
The sound that tears out of him is pure, unfiltered Alpha, animal, and helpless at once.
I grin, delighting in how easy it is to unravel someone so composed.
The pleasure is relentless—he's relentless—never giving me time to surface before the next wave crashes over me, higher and harder than the last.
And then it’s cresting, building, a seismic shudder winding up from my toes. My vision whites out as I lock around him, muscles rippling, the orgasm so intense I'm nearly deafened by my own scream.
Silas groans, the sound raw, triumphant, and as I clamp down, he pulls out fast, spraying heat across my mound and belly.
The sensation is obscene, primal, the sight of him painting me reigniting the pleasure until I collapse, boneless, barely aware of the mess or the way the table sags under our combined weight.
But he’s not done.
Silas gathers himself in a heartbeat, stroking himself, and then presses his cock—still huge, still iron-hard—against my swollen folds again, dragging the head up and down as if re-memorizing the contours he just conquered.
He watches, the blue in his eyes nearly eclipsed by black, utterly fixated on every twitch and gasp that escapes me.
“You could take more,” he murmurs, almost to himself, and I shiver at the promise in it. He dips down, mouth sealing over my nipple through the dress, sucking and biting until I buck into him, then moves to the other, leaving wet, dark marks that’ll linger for hours.
He glances up, lips slick.
"I want you every way you’ll let me," he says. The words, so possessive and naked, send another pulse of need through me. I reach for him, guide his cock to my entrance, and he slides back in—slow this time, tender, as if he’s savoring the feeling of me around him.
The words ignite me further, our bodies syncing in a dance of escalating bliss. I clench around him, drawing guttural sounds from his throat, my nails raking his back as release beckons.
We crest together, his withdrawal spilling warmth across my mound, and I sit up, fingers encircling his knot, kneading with practiced care until his breaths steady, ragged.
My breath still races in shallow bursts, chest heaving as the aftershocks of ecstasy ripple through me, leaving my limbs heavy and my skin flushed with residual fire.
Silas's knot pulses under my fingertips, firm and insistent, and I knead it with deliberate pressure, feeling the tension ease from his massive frame as he leans into the table for support.
His eyes, those piercing light blue depths, lock onto mine with a mix of satiation and lingering hunger, his sandy hair tousled from where my hands had gripped it moments ago.