Chapter 10 #3
Denim grinds her open and I can feel how ready she is—nothing but wet, want, fire.
She’s got both arms locked around my neck, legs spreading wide, shreds of pantyhose tickling the backs of my hands. My dog tags dangle and clink against her chest with every stuttered rock of our bodies. The closet is too damn small for this, but I don't care.
I want to fuck her against every surface, leave her so marked up the next Alpha who looks at her gets scared off for good.
The lighting above us sputters. Throws our shadows sharp and wild across the shelves, like we're the only living things in this whole damn building. Somewhere, out in the bar, the jukebox is doing its best to murder a Christmas classic.
I pull back, just enough to growl into her mouth.
"You got a preference on protection?" My voice comes out wrecked, barely there.
She snorts.
Like, an actual snort.
"That’s not what you want to ask right now, is it?"
I freeze, then laugh. A sound I haven’t heard from my own lips in a whole long while.
Can’t help it.
Because, yeah. She’s right.
I want her raw. I want her dripping on my cock, nothing between us.
I want her to remember for a week that she let a strange Alpha fuck her silly in a closet and she craved every disgusting second of it.
I want my scent in her, on her, all through her.
The realization hits like a punch to the gut—I want to fill her. Can't remember the last time I genuinely cared about leaving my mark.
Something about Reverie makes it a biological imperative.
She meets my gaze, absolutely fearless.
"So, Alpha. What is it that you actually want to ask?"
Her voice is shredded—daring, but soft at the edges, like she wants me to confess something filthy just so she can echo it back.
Fine.
She asked for it.
"When was the last time you were fucked right?" I rasp, one hand slipping up to cup her jaw, now, thumb tracing the flushed line of her cheek.
She goes still, and I almost wonder if I fucked up.
Then she smiles, real and broken all at once.
"Years," she says. Doesn't even bother to lie. Just looks me dead in the eye, like she's proud of being this fucking honest with a stranger.
Years.
Fucking hell we can’t have that.
I want to break whoever left her so hungry. I want to erase every memory of them until this is the only one left…and then make more with her. Like having her bent over a bar counter, needing so bad she can't even fake a laugh.
My cock is leaking now, every pulse a warning shot.
I rock into her, denim catching at her slick, dragging a whimper from her throat.
She arches up, chasing me.
"You think you can fix that?"
My turn to grin.
"You kidding? I'm about to ruin you for every other Alpha in the county."
She hums, chin tipping up.
"You should aim higher. State minimum, at least."
The banter is electric—frenzied, desperate, like if we keep talking we won't shatter from want. But it’s not slowing me down.
I slip both hands under her ass, lift her just enough to wedge myself even tighter to her. Her dress crumples, riding high, and the ruined lace of her panties splits further under my knuckles.
“Just so you know,” I mutter, dragging my lips up her neck, “closet sex isn’t romantic. I’m not slow. Not gentle. Not when I want something this much.”
She shivers—clamps down on my waist with her thighs like she wants to rug-burn every inch of me.
"Good," she bites back. "Because the last thing I want is to pretend this is some sweet, gentle affair. I’m not that type of Omega. At least, not in this moment."
Her hands go from my neck to my hair, fisting hard, nails scraping the skin. I can’t tell if she’s holding on for comfort or leverage. Her lips are at my ear, hot and wild.
"Honestly? This isn't my usual style at all. But right now? I want it. I want you to take what you want. Don't hold back."
Damn.
I can't remember the last time anyone asked for more from me.
She wants everything I’ve got—and she wants it right now.
The bar noise is soft, muffled, like it’s happening in another galaxy. The only sound that matters is our bodies, slick against denim, breathless moans, the rhythm of our panting getting ragged.
Light stutters above us, shadows flicker, but I keep my focus locked on her—her pupils blown wide, her chest heaving, the flush that starts at her neck and creeps down between her perfect, heavy tits.
I bite her lip again, then her jaw. She gasps, breathless, but there’s laughter in it too.
“Jesus, military Santa. Did you ever go through actual sensitivity training, or did they just teach you how to destroy?”
“Both,” I admit, nipping her earlobe. “But one’s a hell of a lot more fun.”
She cackles, low and mean, then lurches forward to bite my shoulder through the shirt.
Not hard enough to hurt, just enough to mark.
My cock jumps again. If I don’t get inside her, fast, I might actually lose my mind.
She feels it, too. Her hands drop, scramble for my belt.
"You gonna make me beg, Theodore Wright, or do you just like hearing yourself talk?"
Full name, in that bratty, too-smart tone.
I see you, Omega.
It almost breaks me.
I want to just—fuck…I don't know, hoist her fully off the counter and slam her against a wall.
Instead, I grab her wrists, pin them above her head for a beat, let her feel my control. She shudders, core clenching, slick running free over my cock through my jeans.
Then I let go, just as quick, because I like her wild.
I want to see what she does next.
She claws at my shirt instead, pulls me down until our foreheads touch.
She’s panting now, a little wrecked and a lot glorious.
“If you wanted someone gentle…” I start, but she cuts me off.
“I wouldn’t have suggested we fuck in a closet, Theo, if I was yearning a gentle Alpha who doesn’t scream ‘territorial obsession with a pinch of mania attached,” she whispers knowingly against my lips and tugs on my bottom lip, pulling as our eyes are locked.
“I want this. Need you. The one who can’t keep his hands off me, who talks mean but tastes sweet, who’s about to make me forget every name but yours. ”
Her breath is sugar and lightning and pure, giddy war.
I nuzzle her, lips grazing the pulse at her throat.
“I’ll do it. I’ll fuck you so good you’ll forget your own address.”
Her laugh is shredded at the edges.
“Great. I hate my address anyway, but it is a cozy little apartment that has a decent rent price so I really can’t complain.”
She hits me with a look—hungry, desperate, all-in.
“Last warning, soldier. I’m not fragile. I’m not glass. Just fuck me already—stop treating me like a possession and show me what you really want, Theodore Wright.”
Full name again. Like a challenge coin, thrown at my feet.
That’s it.
I snap.
Her legs are around me, locked tight at my hips. My hands roam everywhere—up her thighs, over her waist, cupping her tits through velvet and lace and sweat-wet skin. She moans, leans into every rough touch, and I’m pretty sure the shelves rattle with it.
Everything is blue-white light, bar shadows, and the thunder of my own blood.
I kiss her again, crushing, brutal, just to make sure she knows it’s not pretend.
She claws back.
Tongue, teeth, the full arsenal.
When I break for air, both of us are shaking.
I have no idea if this is even real anymore.
I don’t care.
Her pussy is leaking, slick coating my denim, every grind another drag of pure heaven.
If the closet collapses, let it. I’ll just fuck her on the rubble.
I'm done pretending I have a single drop of chill left in my bloodstream.
I fumble at my fly—knuckles shaking, hands clumsy because her mouth is on mine and her body is wet and waiting.
The sound the zipper makes is criminal, slicing through the closet like a gunshot. For a second, the whole world holds its breath.
I shove my jeans and boxers down just far enough for my cock to spring free.
Instant relief, sharp and blinding.
I'm so hard it actually hurts.
I grip the base just to keep from embarrassing myself all over her stomach, and watch Reverie's face as she gets a load of what she's up against.
Her eyes go round, then she breaks into the filthiest, most approving grin I’ve ever seen.
“Oh,” she whispers, and it’s like a benediction. “Yeah. Okay. That’s…um, wow.”
If I could bottle this moment and mainline it directly into my ego, I would.
I'm not shy about it.
I stroke myself, slow, let the precum bead at the tip—slick, sticky, already mixing with the mess she’s made of her ruined panties.
The next time I press against her, she’s so wet it’s like velvet dipped in honey.
I line up at her entrance, teasing a little, just to watch her squirm.
She wants it.
She wants it more than I do, if that's possible.
I brace one hand on the counter so I don't slam her right through the drywall. Other hand wraps under her thigh, lifts her, spreads her open. The cold of the shelving is slicing across my lower back, but everywhere else is pure heat—her pussy, molten and desperate, already grabbing for more of me.
I pause, just a second, just enough to look her dead in the eyes.
“Last warning,” I murmur. “You really want this? You really want me to go hard?”
She doesn’t hesitate.
If anything, her grip gets tighter.
She locks eyes with me—full Alpha stare-off, not backing down.
“I love a consenting Santa Claus who’d I’d enjoy calling Daddy,” she taunts.
And then, clear as crystal, she says:
“Stop treating me like a fragile possession and fuck me right, Theodore. Now.”
Oh, she’s ordering me around.
It’s the hottest thing I’ve ever heard.
If you could get someone pregnant with a sentence, she’d own me already.
I growl—no, honestly, it’s a noise fit for Halloween, not Christmas—and push the head of my cock inside her.
The stretch is instant.
She’s so tight, so slick, it’s almost hard to move at first. Her body fights me, then surrenders, one shiver at a time.
Her head snaps back, mouth open, eyes half-wild.
She makes a sound—half gasp, half battle cry—and claws at my shoulders.