Chapter 10 #4
I brace both arms around her, hips rocking forward slow, letting her take every inch.
When I'm finally buried inside, her pussy clamps down, milking me, and I almost black out.
God, she’s perfect.
Perfect for me.
Made for this.
I can't hold back.
Not for a second.
My rhythm starts slow, measured—one, two, three, like I’m back on the drill field.
That lasts maybe eight seconds.
She arches against me, hips chasing every thrust, and suddenly we're both gone.
It's a scramble. Dirty, animal, obscene.
Every bounce slams my cock deeper, harder, until the slap of skin-on-skin is louder than the noise of the bar. Even the shelf behind her starts to rattle, bottles of bleach and cheap vodka shaking like they're rooting for us.
I bury my face in her neck, breathing her in—every note of cinnamon, sugar, heat-soaked Omega pheromone, all of it designed to switch off the part of my brain that doubts, that plans, that wants to hold back.
I’m just in need, now, and so is she.
She moans, high and perfect, every time I bottom out.
Tries to muffle it in my shoulder, but the next thrust always tears it loose.
“God—yes—Theo, don’t stop—” She’s babbling, but so am I. I can’t keep my mouth shut, not when every inch of her is flexing and clamping down, yanking me right to the edge.
“Fuck, I won’t. You’re so tight, so fucking good—take it, Omega, take every inch—”
She squeezes me so hard I see stars.
I kiss her, desperate and deep, tongues colliding like we’re still fighting for dominance, even as her pussy gives up and just pulses around me, greedy for everything I can give.
The rhythm turns frantic.
Messy. Barely controlled.
Every thrust is a promise and a threat: I’m not leaving you empty, not a single drop.
She sobs my name, every muscle shaking, and I can feel her getting close—her thighs locked, nails digging red lines down my spine. She wants to win, but she wants to lose even more.
Somewhere between the ache in my cock and the shudder in her breath, I realize I might crack under her if I don't keep talking—keep claiming—because every time I open my mouth she gets tighter, wetter, more out of her mind for it. More out of control.
She can actually be mine.
Ours.
We could have someone like her and I’d actually be fine with it.
I grip her hips, pinning them to the edge of the shelf.
My jaw is at her ear, teeth grazing the delicate skin, and I snarl, “Remember what I promised you, Omega? I told you I was going to ruin you. Make you forget anyone else ever existed. Make every fuck you ever had taste like sawdust compared to me.”
She chokes a laugh, but the sound is sharp, broken, edged with need. She’s begging again, voice splintering.
“Do it, Theo, god, just—please. I want it, I want you, I fucking need—”
“Need who?” I snap, arms locking her tight, grinding hard enough to bruise. I want her to remember this on the drive home, on the walk up her stairs, in every shift of her body for days.
She gasps, “You—fuck Theo, I need you, I want—don’t stop—”
Her hands are everywhere, scraping down my shoulders, clawing at my back, desperate to get closer, even as I’m already inside her, already so deep it’s a miracle she hasn’t split from it.
Each thrust is a dare, a challenge—more, harder, faster—and her body meets it every single time. I slam into her, the clap of skin and the wet, obscene squelch of her cunt echoing against the closet walls.
I bite her neck, sharp enough to leave a hickey but not enough to mark her solid
“Fuck—yes—there—right—” the words collapse into a sob. “Theo, I’m gonna—oh my god—”
I don’t let up.
If she wants to be ruined, she’ll get it, and then some.
Her eyes roll back and her whole body stiffens, all that wild energy winding tighter and tighter, and I know she’s close, so close, and I want to see her explode.
I want her to come so hard it scrambles her memory palace, so when she wakes up at three a.m. the only word left is my name.
So I push her, harder, faster—one arm banded around her lower back, the other tangled in her hair. I bury my face in her neck, scenting her, branding her, and the taste of her sweat-slick skin and the sugar-animal tang of her Omega pheromones makes my brain short-circuit.
I fuck her like I’m possessed.
Like she’s the only thing keeping me from flying apart at the seams.
She says my name again, but this time it’s different, ragged and high, and her pussy clamps down—so tight I see white at the edge of my vision. I can’t hold it, can’t even try.
Her back bows, tits crushed to my chest, and the world tilts.
I slam in once, twice more, and then we both break.
Orgasm hits so hard it knocks the air out of my lungs.
Her pussy clamps down, ruthless, and she’s screaming for me, every pulse milking my cock for more. I cum so deep and hard it feels like my brain is short-circuiting, like every bad thing I ever felt is getting flushed out and replaced with her.
Heat fills her, every spurt setting off another aftershock. My cum leaks everywhere—down my length, across her thighs, soaking through the last shreds of lace. I watch it happen, a little obsessed.
The sight makes me want to start all over.
But I can barely move.
We’re both shaking—her hands limp around my neck, my arms barely holding her upright on the counter. I rest my forehead against hers, both of us panting, sweat and air and sugar clinging to every inch of skin.
Nobody talks.
The only sound is the slow drip of cum onto the counter and the way we both gasp for breath, trying to get our hearts to remember how to beat slow again.
Finally, Reverie laughs. A real one this time—shaky, delighted, 100% unashamed.
“Jesus Christ,” she says, “I think I see the Milky Way right now.”
I grin, can't help it with her.
She’s genuinely funny.
“Pretty sure you’re seeing stars because I just fucked you so hard you lost your brain cells.”
She pokes me in the ribs, but doesn’t let go of my neck.
“That’s not a complaint, you maniac.”
“Didn’t sound like one.”
I stay inside her, just a little longer, because something about the slick mess and the way she’s still holding onto me makes it impossible to move.
I breathe in her scent, watch the way color rushes back to her cheeks.
She’s sticky, glazed, wild-eyed, and perfect.
Yeah, she’s gonna ruin me.
And I’m fine with it.
Oddly enough.
For a second, we’re just quiet—both of us listening to the distant bar, the flickering light, our own blood hammering so loud it drowns out the rest of the world.
Then she snickers again, grabs the back of my head, and kisses me so hard I almost get hard all over.
I have to pull out for my sanity because I feel my knot forming, and as much as this connection feels like a fated wonder of lives aligning, I don’t want to freak her away by bringing her into a pack life she didn’t ask for.
Especially when I have no clue what Nash had been talking about with the whole, she’s our Omega, stuff from earlier.
Not like I’d mind.
I laugh into her lips, happy, high, completely untethered for maybe the first time in years.
This is a bad idea.
A dangerous idea.
But as I slide out, watching my cum leak out of her, I know I’d do it again a hundred times.
That’s the real Christmas miracle…that, and potentially having Reverie Bell be our Omega…even temporarily.