Chapter 29
Rennick
I’m barely holding on.
Noa—and this sinful mouth of hers—is rapidly discovering new ways to make the edges of my vision swim.
Every careful dip of her head, every deceivingly innocent swipe of her hot little tongue, every adjustment she makes to accommodate and match the accelerating rhythm of my rolling hips, has me gripping the cold edge of the bench like it’s the lifeline keeping me tethered here.
I said we’d figure this out together, just two inexperienced people feeling their way through it, but I should’ve known better. It didn’t take long at all for my mate to master me. Her lips wrapped around my cock have me believing in angels and I’m almost certain she’s one of them.
If she keeps sharpening her skills at this pace, sucking me down with this kind of desperate focus, like she’s trying to take my soul with her, I’m going to end up being launched into fucking orbit.
“You’re doing so well, baby.” The praise leaves me on an exhale, rough and barely above a reverent whisper, because she deserves to hear it. “Such a good omega, sucking on your alpha’s cock.”
It’s no secret omegas flourish under soft words and gentle hands from their alpha, and my girl is no different.
I feel the change in her immediately. Her shoulders soften. She opens wider without hesitation, letting tension melt from her jaw as she swallows more of me down.
“Fuck, Noa.” The curse breaks out of me before I can smother it.
Her eyes lift to mine at the sound of her name, glassy and shining.
Tears slide down her cheeks as she fights past her throat’s natural reflex.
The sight of Noa crying has always wrecked me, but these tears cut in an entirely different way.
They call to a shadowed part of me that hums approvingly at the way they fall.
I shouldn’t crave them, but I do because she’s giving me everything she can with the same consuming hunger I feel for her.
“That’s it,” I murmur, fingers curling into the stone. “Relax for me. Let me in.”
She obeys the command instantly, as if it’s been written in her very marrow.
Her throat softens again, allowing more of my dick to slide deeper into the sweet heat of her mouth.
The release coils low at the base of my spine, dangerous and far too close.
I’m trying to hold it off, to give her all the time she wants to taste me, but I’m already hanging on by a single fucking thread.
“You look so pretty like this, Noa,” I breathe, unable to stay quiet when her tears still catch the light coming from the bathroom’s window.
Needing to also touch her, I willfully break her earlier rule about keeping my hands on the bench and reach for the newest teardrop sliding down her flushed cheek.
It clings to my skin, and I bring my thumb to my mouth without thinking.
Noa watches as I suck the warm, salty drop from my finger.
She lets out a sound that is pure omega, a needy little whine that slices through both of us. I don’t know what summoned it; the way I licked away her tear or if it’s just her continued reaction to my praise—maybe both—but either way, it ignites something fierce in her.
Movements more confident than before, Noa leans in and takes more of me, lowering until her lips touch to the fingers she’s wrapped around the base, squeezing my knot in rhythm with every wicked pull of her mouth.
She stills, my cock now buried deep in her throat, and then swallows around me before pulling back in a rush of breath like she is resurfacing from being underwater.
“More.” Her plea is nothing more than a broken whisper.
My brows pull together in confusion. I don’t get a chance to ask what she means.
She reaches for the hand I’d forced onto the bench. She brings it toward her face, rubbing her jaw slowly along my palm.
“Touch.” The word stumbles out of her. “I need you to touch me, Ren.”
She leaves my hand cupped around her jaw and neck. She lowers herself down again, and this time there’s no teasing. She doesn’t ease herself in. Her lips part and she swallows my cock down in one long, hungry descent.
My entire body jolts, muscles locking, nerves firing violently. My fingers tighten reflexively at her throat, not enough to hurt her but enough that she can’t ignore the pressure.
She groans around me, a sound thick with approval, and I feel the vibration squeeze around my buried length and echo up my spine.
Does my sweet mate like it a little rough?
The realization is a spark to dry grass.
I test the theory. I shift my grip, sliding my hand across her throat so my palm cups the entire front, my fingers resting over her pulse. She swallows again, the movement gliding under my hand.
“Shit,” I exhale roughly, voice wrecked. “I’m close.”
My hold on her tightens, just enough to drag more of those little sounds from her—the needy, breathless moans I’m quickly growing obsessed with—at the same time, my hips thrust upward.
Heat detonates through me and my vision goes white around the edges, because this grip allows me to feel myself moving inside her throat, and it nearly tips me over the edge of no return.
With the last ounce of restraint I have, I slide my hand from her throat into her soaked hair and gather it at the crown of her head.
“Stop, baby.”
I pull gently but firmly. It makes her release me with a wet pop.
Gasping, she sits up on her knees, licking her lips like she’s chasing whatever taste of me lingers there. Disappointment, as clear as the sheen of tears still in her eyes, flashes across her face.
“You just said you were close,” she pants, breathless, “why are you stop—”
She doesn’t finish.
I reach for her with all the speed my wired body is capable of.
One moment she is kneeling, the next she is on her unsteady feet.
She sways, drunk on arousal, on the mix of our scents, on everything we’ve been doing, and I keep a steadying hand on her hip as the other grabs the hem of her drenched sweater.
She lifts her arms without thinking, trusting me. I pull it off her in one clean motion. It joins my discarded sweats across the shower in a sodden heap.
She stands there in nothing but her black thong, blinking up at me with wide, startled eyes. A small noise leaves her, half surprised, half out of breath.
I can’t help myself.
I bend down and claim her mouth in a fast, consuming kiss, licking into her like I need to consume her air more than my own. I can taste myself on her tongue, mixed with her sweetness, and it drags a sound out of me that I feel rattle my bones.
“I warned you,” I murmur against her lips before nipping at her bottom lip with a gentleness I barely have enough control to give. My tongue soothes away the sting of the bite. “Told you once I got my hands on you, I wasn’t letting you go until you were screaming my name, baby.”
My hands slip from her hips to the thin straps of her thong, fingers curling around the delicate cotton. It rips the second I pull, the sound sharp and loud in this glass enclosure.
The air catches in her throat, and I don’t think the ruined underwear even hits the ground before I’m lifting her.
Her back slides up the smooth tile until I have her at the height I want.
She ends up high above me, her pretty, glistening pussy now eye level.
Which is precisely where I want her—close enough that I can bury my face in her and drown myself in her sweet slick.
Her scent pours over me in a wave, rich and intoxicating, and it nearly steels my balance.
I give Noa no choice but to hook her legs over my shoulders. Her body trembles in my palms as I look up at her and she stares down at me, the flush in her cheeks no longer just arousal, but very human embarrassment. She feels too exposed. Too open.
I can’t allow that.
Not with me.
Not with the man who’s hers.
“Ren…” she starts, uncertainty clinging to my nickname.
Whatever she was about to say dissolves the second I lean in and taste her.
One slow, languid lick through her beckoning cunt and she breaks apart for me, crying out my name like it’s the only word she knows.
“Yes, just like that,” I breathe against her skin, my approving rumble vibrating against her sensitive flesh. “Scream my name, sweet one.”
I tease her first, licking slow, wide circles around her clit without touching exactly where she’s desperate for me.
The breathless, frustrated sounds she makes are a song composed just for me, feeding the pleasure already burning through my veins.
But it’s when her body bows off the tile, hips rising to meet my mouth the instant I finally claim that bundle of nerves with my lips, that my knees nearly buckle.
I’ve spent too long being the source of my mate’s agony when I was meant to be the one who showed her pleasure, who made her feel wanted and adored.
So every caress of my tongue, every slow lick, every careful graze of my teeth against the sensitive, wet flesh of her pussy becomes both a vow and apology I’m embedding into her one devoted touch at a time.
Her thighs clamp around my head, her body tightening and melting at the same time, the perfect contradiction of wanting more and being overwhelmed by what she’s already getting. I hold her there, tender and unrelenting all at once, and give her everything her body wordlessly begs for.
Her hips start riding my mouth with a rhythm she can’t control, desperation driving each frantic movement. She shakes in my arms, delicate fingers twisting in my hair, tugging hard as if she can drag me deeper into her sweetness.
I go willingly, greedily drinking down every drop her pussy weeps.
Her voice breaks around the warning she tries to give. “Ren! I’m gonna—”
But I already know.
My lips close around her throbbing clit, giving her the suction she needs to be pushed into the turbulent waves of her release. With a gasping shudder, she breaks open for me. Noa trembles in my hands, her body unraveling in a rush of sweet and devastating surrender.