4. Graeme
Graeme
A s an alpha, the promise, always, from the time you were old enough to understand your place in the world, was that someday, if you were blessed, you would find your fated mate.
That wolf, whoever they were, would know you inside and out, be attuned to you, even to the beat of your heart, and would stand forever at your side.
If, however, an alpha didn’t find their soulmate, then they could mate with a friend—a beta or gamma they were truly fond of, which could be risky if their fated alpha ever showed up.
Easier than that was to declare for and bond with an omega.
I had always thought the idea of taking an omega, bonding with one, as my father had, making someone a possession, was archaic.
But as I devoured Avery’s mouth, tasting him, sucking on his tongue, making him open and take every mauling kiss, one after another as he writhed against me, I realized I was at war with myself.
Half of me knew owning an omega was wrong, but the other half, the animal part, rejoiced in the idea that not only was the man mine, because he was my mate, but that on paper, in the eyes of all lupine-kind, he would belong solely to me.
I needed to bite him, mark him so everyone would know, even before a contract was signed and filed, that he was claimed. I broke the kiss to breathe, to swallow gulps of air as I panted above him, and I realized, as my brain cleared, he was quickly working open his trousers.
“What are you––”
“Take this,” he ordered, passing me a small packet of lube that was warm and so had to have come from somewhere next to his body.
“Why are you carrying lube in the breast pocket of your tailcoat?” I asked gruffly, not liking the implications one bit.
“Because you never know when you’re gonna get lucky,” he answered with a sexy leer, taking off his jacket and laying it over the washing machine before shoving his pants to his ankles. His hands were all over me in seconds.
I should have been admiring the man’s smooth burnished-gold skin, his flat stomach or long, cut cock, and I was, but the words coming out of his mouth were designed to enrage me. “You mean to say you come to these things and have sex?” I nearly yelled.
He shrugged. “I have, not often, but the lube is more for after, if I go to a bar. You’d be surprised how many guys will do you in a bathroom when you’re wearing a tuxedo.”
I felt the heat flush my face. “Listen to me”––I nearly snarled, the jealousy bitter on my tongue––“I will gut anyone who––”
“Yeah, mate, I get it,” he placated, snatching the packet back, kissing me quick and dirty before he dropped to his knees, shucking my pants and underwear down my thighs just far enough to allow my already hard, leaking cock to bounce free.
“Baby, lookit you,” he murmured appreciatively before he took me down the back of his throat in one fluid motion.
I had to brace myself with a hand on the washing machine, and I tried to get his name out, but it sprang from my lips garbled and slurred.
Impossible to even form words with his hot mouth milking my cock, back and forth, the suction perfect, the squeeze and drag, his tongue, his teeth, all of it exquisite and maddening.
Just imagining the amount of practice needed to have such confidence and technique—I’d never had a more skillful blowjob—was enough to make me homicidal. There had to be countless men who had experienced the ecstasy that was Avery Rhine’s delicious mouth.
“Fuck” was all that ground out of me as my cock slipped from between his lips. He laved my balls, slurping noisily before returning his attention to my shaft. He took hold of my hand, the one not braced on the washing machine, and put it in his hair.
When I flexed my hand, tangling my fingers in his thick dirty-blond hair, he moaned loud and decadent, and I shoved in deep, fucking his mouth.
In moments I was feeding him my dick, again and again, rocking forward, lost in the sensation until he shoved me back, stood up, put the lube packet in his mouth, ripped it open with a practiced ease that made me grind my teeth, and squeezed the entire contents onto my cock, one-handed, cupping the back of my neck with the other to pull me down for a kiss.
I was a good kisser, I knew what I was doing, but Avery was a great kisser, and he explored my mouth, nibbled on my lips, rubbed over my tongue with his sinfully, languorously, all the while stroking me from balls to head, building a need in me that had my body pulled tight like a bow before he turned, pressed my wide head to his pink puckered hole and pushed back against me just enough that I slipped inside his body.
“You’re not—I don’t want to hurt you,” I moaned, not wanting to cause him a moment of pain, knowing I was big, having been told enough times, having more than a few lovers who hesitated before taking all of me inside them.
“You won’t hurt me.” He whispered the promise, turning his head, offering me his mouth. “Now fuck me.”
Hunger and yearning crashed through me, and I yanked his head back, expecting a cry but getting only a low, seductive chuckle.
It hit me hard, like a punch in the gut. I wasn’t in control, he was, and I needed to take back the power, dominate him, or stop.
“Please, my alpha.” He murmured the words I needed. “Make me yours.”
I thought for one terrifying second I was going to shift to my wolf right there as I pinned him over the washing machine with a clawed hand around the back of his neck, while the claws on the other, gripping his left hip, pierced his skin and drew blood.
He whimpered and moaned, lifting his ass for me as I drove forward, thrusting hard and fast, burying myself to the balls, rutting deep, in relentless strokes, using him, taking my pleasure, desperate to make him mine, body and soul.
Slipping from his stretched channel, I manhandled him down to the floor, put him on his hands and knees, and then shoved back inside him, pounding hard, our skin slapping together lewdly as he called my name in a rough, guttural whisper.
“Work your cock,” I ordered, curling over his back, slowing my movement, no longer pistoning into him, instead dragging my length almost free of his channel before stuffing him full. “Make yourself come.”
The muscles in his ass clamped down around me as I took hold of his silky hair again, and yanked back and sideways, ready to mark him.
I wanted to sink my teeth deep into the hollow between his shoulder and neck, but he pulled free and turned his head for a kiss, catching his lip on my canines.
I tasted his blood as he savaged my mouth.
The moment I took over the kiss, his moan became carnal and decadent and full of longing.
“Graeme,” he keened when he broke away for air. “Please, just fuckin’ have me.”
His words, fractured and aching, rife with longing, pushed me over the edge, and I was rough with him, using him hard, letting myself go as I never allowed or trusted.
He was mine, made for me, so I knew he alone would respond exactly as I would to him. I was precisely what he needed, wanted, had to have, and he was the same for me.
He came hard, spurting over the rug, jolting under me as he collapsed, facedown, only his ass in the air as I buried myself to the hilt, the feel of his muscles working, clenching and unclenching, so tight and perfect, the spasms coming in waves bringing me to climax moments later.
My orgasm wrung me out, and I pumped into him, rutting through the aftershocks of both his and my own, draped over his back after long moments, unmoving, sated and wishing I could wrap him in my arms and fall asleep. The urge to take him home with me and put him in my bed was nearly overwhelming.
“I’ll never be able to look my mother in the face again,” he groaned, his low chuckle the sexiest sound I’d ever heard in my life. “Holy shit. I can’t believe I got cum on the rug in her laundry room.”
I licked over the place where I wanted to put my mark, and in that moment I knew he’d saved me from a complete breach of decorum and propriety.
An alpha who couldn’t contain themselves was considered weak and undeserving of a mate.
He’d shielded me from that judgment, and while I was thankful, it was also cause for concern.
It meant that in the heat of passion his brain was still working, whereas mine was not.
What did that say about my control versus his?
I had easily surrendered to my base animal-wolf nature.
He had remained utterly human. How was an omega more composed than an alpha?
“I think maybe I should take the rug with me and get it cleaned.”
Why in the hell was he talking about a rug? He’d just been claimed by his alpha.
“But first off, we gotta get out of this room without anyone seeing us. I think I should leave first.”
Leave? Leave me?
He wasn’t going anywhere without me. Not ever.
And this, my reaction, was exactly why alphas declared their intentions and contracts were signed before mates were ever left alone together.
This. This recklessness. This was what happened when pheromones were released and an alpha took control of a willing and beautiful omega.
Because he didn’t bear my mark, but he smelled ripe and ready, fecund, an omega ready to mate, to be claimed and marked.
“Avery––”
“Can you do me a favor and get the club outta my ass?” he asked playfully.
I slid gently free, horrified that I’d caused him any pain. “I didn’t mean to hurt––”
“Baby, you so did not hurt me,” he purred, rolling over as I sat back on my haunches and stared down at him. “It was great. I hope we can do it again.”
“You hope we—pardon me?”
He sat up, leaned sideways and opened the door of the dryer. His snicker was evil as he pulled out a white T-shirt and clicked the door shut before using the article of clothing to clean the gush of fluid seeping from his ass.