Chapter 4
Kieran
The private room is small and dark. The second the door closes behind us, Everett's scent fills the space like someone poured it in from the ceiling.
There's nowhere for it to go. No other alphas to dilute it, no crowd noise, no bass heavy enough to cover up what just happened; which is that I am alone in a room with the man I came here to destroy and I just came in his hand on the floor and said please to get there.
I need to get my shit together immediately.
I'm fine. He caught me off guard with the edging, that's all.
I let him have one round because I wasn't expecting him to pull that move.
Now I know what I'm up against. I'm twenty-six, a JD, an omega with a plan.
I'm not going to lose it just because some alpha got me off before I was ready.
Bodies do what they do. It doesn't mean a damn thing.
The room has a bed, wide and low, dark sheets pulled tight. There's a side table with water and supplies. Not much else. The walls are padded, soundproofed. No audience. Just me and him. I need to stop thinking about his hand on my cock.
Everett is watching me from just inside the door.
He hasn't grabbed me, hasn't pushed me toward the bed, hasn't done any of the things I expected an alpha to do once he got an omega alone in a room.
He's just standing there with his sleeves still rolled up and his mask still on and his jeans visibly tented and he's waiting to see what I do.
Reading me. Like I'm a witness he hasn't decided how to cross-examine yet.
Fine. If he wants to watch, I'll give him something to watch.
I pull my shirt over my head and drop it on the floor.
His scent sharpens. He liked that. I walk to the bed, sit on the edge, and look at him.
My jeans are still unbuttoned from what he did on the floor and I'm hard again.
Or still. My heat is turning everything into one long ache.
Slick is already pooling under me on the sheets.
I don't hide it. I want him to see how wet I am, and I want him to know it doesn't mean he wins.
"Are you coming over here," I say, "or do you need an invitation?"
Up close and personal like this, alpha pheromones roll off his bare skin, make my mouth water, make my hole clench. I press my thighs together and keep my face blank.
He comes to the bed and stands over me. I grab his belt and pull him closer.
His cock is thick and hard. I palm him and watch his jaw tighten under the mask.
Good. Not as controlled as he wants to be.
I unzip him, get my hand inside, wrap my fingers around him.
He's big. Bigger than I pictured. Hot in my hand.
The sound he makes when I squeeze is low and rough.
I want to hear it again. That's not revenge. That's just greed.
"Sit down," I tell him.
He doesn't move for a second, and I can feel him deciding whether to let me run this.
Then he sits on the edge of the bed and I push him back and climb on top of him.
His hands land on my thighs and for a second we're just looking at each other, breathing hard, his cock pressed up against my ass through the last layers of fabric between us.
I reach back and shove my jeans down far enough to get them out of the way and the air hits the slick on my skin and I shiver.
Everett's hands slide up my thighs to my hips and his thumbs dig into the crease where my legs meet my body.
The touch is so close to where I need it that a whine slips out of me before I can catch it.
"Take yours off," I say, pulling at his pants, and he lifts his hips and helps me shove them down and then his cock is out, flushed and hard and curving up toward his stomach, and the base is thick where the knot will swell later.
Just looking at it makes my body clench so hard a fresh rush of slick drips down onto his thighs.
"Jesus," he says, looking down at the mess I'm making on him. "You're dripping on me."
"Deal with it."
He laughs, low and mean. "Oh, I'm going to."
I reach back, take his cock in my hand, line him up, and sink down onto him.
For a few seconds, my mind blanks out. He's thick.
I'm so wet there's barely any resistance, but the fullness—God, the fullness after hours of being empty and aching—makes my vision go white at the edges.
I brace both hands on his chest and breathe through it.
My thighs are already shaking and I haven't even moved.
"Fuck," Everett says beneath me, and his voice has lost some of its composure for the first time tonight. His fingers are digging into my hips hard enough to hurt. "Fuck, you're tight. You feel — Christ."
I like that. I like that I took words away from him for a second.
I roll my hips, slow, testing, and he groans.
His head tips back against the mattress and I watch his throat work as he swallows.
I could laugh because I'm doing this to him.
This is what I came for. This is the alpha who dismantled my team's case without breaking a sweat and right now he's flat on his back with his cock inside me and he can't finish a sentence.
I start to ride him. Slow at first, grinding down on every stroke, angling my hips so he hits the spot that lights me up.
It's good. So good. His cock fills me again and again while I set the pace, control the depth.
He watches me from below, hands tight on my hips, jaw clenched, breathing heavier with every roll.
I'm in charge. This is my show. He's just the cock I'm using to get what I want.
If it's the best I've ever had, if the stretch makes me moan every time I sink down, if my slick is running down his shaft and soaking his balls and the sheets, that's just biology.
"Look at you," he says, and his voice has that mean edge back, the one from the floor.
He's watching me ride him with an expression I can't fully read behind the mask but his mouth is slightly open and his hands are flexing on my hips.
"You wanted to be in charge so badly. This is your idea of winning? "
"Shut up." I grind down hard and he grunts. His hips thrust up to meet me and the impact makes me gasp.
"Because from where I'm sitting, it looks like you're fucking yourself on my cock and trying really hard to pretend you're not loving it."
"I said shut up."
"You're so wet I can hear it." He's right.
I can hear it too, the obscene slick sounds every time I lift and drop, my body so ready for him that there's no friction at all, just wet heat and the sound of it filling the small room.
"Every omega on this floor wanted to be where you are right now and you're the one who got it, and you still can't just let yourself enjoy it. You have to make it a fight."
"Maybe you're not that — fuck —" He thrusts up into me hard and I lose the rest of the sentence and my rhythm stutters.
"Not that good?" He does it again, snapping his hips up while he holds mine down, and the angle drives him so deep I feel it in my stomach. "Finish your sentence."
I can't. I can't finish the sentence. He's fucking up into me now, matching my pace, then pushing past it.
My rhythm falls apart. Every time I try to control the speed, he drives up harder.
I'm making sounds I can't stop—wet, desperate noises every time he bottoms out.
My thighs burn from the effort. My cock is hard, leaking onto his stomach.
Slick is everywhere, on my thighs, his thighs, running down to the sheets.
The room smells like sex, our scents tangled together.
I'm losing this. My body is taking over, one thrust at a time.
Then the first real wave of peak heat hits me and the room disappears.
It hits all at once. One second I'm riding him, fighting for control.
The next, a wall of need crashes through me so hard I freeze.
My whole body goes tight, then loose, then tight again.
I can't think past the emptiness, the ache, the animal certainty that I need to be fucked harder, deeper, now.
Everything I've been holding together just collapses.
"There it is," Everett says, and his voice sounds far away, or maybe I'm just not processing language very well anymore. His hands tighten on my hips. "That's your heat hitting. I was wondering when you were going to stop fighting it."
I'm shaking. Full-body tremor, starting in my thighs, rolling up through my gut and chest. I'm still sitting on his cock but I can't ride him anymore. Can't coordinate. All I can do is grind down, clench around him, make these sounds I'd be mortified by if I could think straight.
Everett sits up underneath me and wraps one arm around my waist and I grab his shoulders because I'm going to fall otherwise.
His mouth finds my neck, my collarbone, my chest, open-mouthed and hot, and his other hand slides down between us and wraps around my cock and I jerk into his fist so hard I nearly come off his lap.
"You were so in control ten minutes ago," he says against my skin, stroking me slow while I shake apart on top of him. "Where'd that go?"
I try to say fuck you but all that comes out is a long, broken moan.
His hand tightens on my cock. The orgasm is building at the base of my spine, but the heat says it's not enough.
Being on top isn't enough. I need more. I need to be pinned down, filled, fucked into the mattress. I don't have the pride left to fake it.
He knows. I don't know how but he reads it in my body or my scent or the way I'm clinging to him and shaking, and he lifts me off his cock — the loss of it makes me actually whimper, this pathetic desperate sound — and flips me over onto my stomach so fast the room spins.
My face hits the mattress and his weight settles over my back and his cock slides back into me in one long push and I scream into the sheets.
I scream into the sheets. Nothing sexy about it. Just a raw, punched-out noise I couldn't stop if I tried. He's so deep inside me at this angle, deeper than when I was riding him. His weight pins me flat. I can't move. I can't see his face. All I can do is take what he gives.
"That's it," he says against the back of my neck, and he starts to fuck me, and I'm done.
Whatever fight I had left is gone. He's driving into me with long, hard strokes and every one pushes a sound out of me that I can't control, these high, broken moans muffled by the mattress, and my hands are fisted in the sheets and my cock is trapped between my stomach and the bed and I'm so wet the sheets are soaked beneath me and I have never in my life felt this out of control and I have never wanted anything this much.
"You feel incredible," he says, and his voice is rough, fraying, not as steady as he wants it to be. "Tightest omega I've ever — fuck, you keep clenching on me like that —"
I'm clenching on him. Can't stop. Every time he pushes in, I bear down, trying to keep him deep. His knot is swelling at the base. Every time it catches on my rim, my whole body jerks.
"I'm going to knot you," he says, and his voice has gone rough and raw like even he is losing his composure, and his pace is changing, going shorter and harder, keeping himself deeper, and I can feel the knot thickening with every thrust.
I try to say something—yes, do it, please, anything—but what comes out is a sob.
Just noise, animal and desperate. Tears burn hot on my face under the mask and I don't care.
The plan, the revenge, the case—none of it matters.
The knot is pressing into me, stretching me open.
It hurts, and it's so good. I'm pushing back against it, my body begging even while my brain is gone.
The knot locks and I come so hard I can't see.
My whole body seizes up, clenching down on the knot, and I come harder than I've ever come in my life.
My cock pulsing against the sheets, my hole locked tight around the base of him, and it doesn't stop.
It just keeps going and going. I'm crying and I'm coming.
I can't breathe, and Everett is groaning against the back of my neck, his hips shoved tight against my ass as he spills inside me, and the knot is so big, he's so deep, I can feel him throbbing inside me and the pressure of it triggers another wave and I'm sobbing into the mattress with my fingers twisted in the sheets while my body takes and takes and takes.
The aftershocks last a long time. Small contractions make both of us twitch and gasp.
The knot keeps us locked together while my body milks him for everything.
My face is wet from crying. The sheets are soaked with slick, come, sweat.
I can feel his heartbeat through his cock inside me, or maybe it's my own pulse. I can't tell and I don't care.
Everett's weight is warm and heavy on my back. He presses his mouth to the spot behind my ear and breathes there for a while, and I lie face down on the ruined sheets and try to remember what I was doing here.
Revenge. I was here for revenge. I was going to take this alpha apart and walk away with the satisfaction of knowing I broke his control.
He's still inside me. Knot swollen, cock twitching, arms bracketing my shoulders.
I'm full, wrecked, and my body is so content the revenge story won't stick.
It slides off like water. Underneath is something I don't want to look at: I've never felt this good, and the person making me feel it doesn't even know my name.
I close my eyes, press my face into the sheets, and wait for the knot to go down. I try not to think about how badly I'm going to want it again when it does.