Chapter Six #2
It took everything I had to answer. “Please,” I whispered.
He didn’t need more invitation.
He leaned in again, mouth finding mine, tongue pushing deep. His hands framed my hips, holding me steady as he ground against me. The friction was perfect, just this side of painful.
He moved lower, mouth trailing down my chest, over my stomach, teeth scraping a path along the sharp ridges of my ribs. He kissed the line of my hip, then the crease where thigh met groin, and I thought I might die from how badly I wanted him.
He bit the inside of my thigh, just above the knee, then looked up at me. “You ever had an alpha do this before?”
I shook my head, not trusting myself to speak.
He smiled, softer this time. “Good. I want to be your first.”
He spread my legs wider, then leaned in, and for a second I thought he was going to take me right there, hard and fast and desperate.
But instead, he went slow.
He licked a stripe up the inside of my thigh, then bit down just enough to leave a mark. His tongue was hot, wet, and when he finally reached my cock, he just hovered there, breathing me in.
I felt dizzy, drunk on the anticipation.
Then he took me in his mouth, all at once, and I nearly blacked out.
The sensation was overwhelming—heat, pressure, the rough scrape of the scruff on his jaw and the soft, slick slide of tongue. He sucked hard, then backed off, then sucked again, each time drawing a whimper from my throat.
He let me go with a pop, then licked his lips. “You taste good,” he said, and the rawness in his voice almost undid me.
He went back to it, working me with his mouth and hand, slow at first, then faster, building a rhythm that had me bucking up off the table. The edge was close, too close, and I tried to warn him but he just gripped my hips tighter, holding me in place.
I came hard, stars bursting behind my eyes, the whole world narrowing down to the heat of his mouth and the iron grip of his hands.
He swallowed, then stood up, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. His eyes were darker now, almost black.
He leaned in, kissed me again, and I tasted myself on his tongue. He held me there, bodies pressed together, the world outside erased by the warmth and the smell of sweat and sex.
He kissed my forehead, then whispered in my ear. “We’re just getting started.”
I believed him.
And I wanted more.
I should have expected what happened next, but I’d never been with an alpha before. Not like this. Not even close.
Rawley’s hands locked around my waist, and with a single pull he dragged me back to the edge of the table. My jeans and underwear were already down around my knees, but that wasn’t enough—he wanted all of me, and he took it.
He hauled me up and off the table just long enough to peel my pants down past my boots. The rubber soles squeaked on the linoleum as he ripped the pants off one leg, then left them dangling from the other like a warning.
He looked me over, pupils wide, nostrils flared. “You’re perfect,” he said, so soft I almost missed it.
He kissed me again, biting at my jaw, my ear, my neck. Every nerve was live and burning, every inch of skin aching for contact. He worked his way down my body with a kind of brutal tenderness, hands mapping my spine, my ribs, the hollow at the base of my back.
He pushed me back onto the table, chest down, and for a split second I worried he was going to be rough, too rough, but then he put his hand on the center of my back and just held me there, letting me breathe, letting me know that I was still in control, if only a little.
He leaned over me, the heat of his body blanketing mine. “You ever been fucked like this?” he asked.
I shook my head, face pressed to the wood, hands scrambling for purchase against the slippery varnish.
He bit the top of my ear, then nuzzled the spot, as if to apologize. “I’m gonna ruin you,” he promised.
God, I wanted that.
He stepped back, giving himself room. I heard him unbuckle his belt—slow, deliberate, each clink of metal loud enough to make me shiver. The sound alone was almost enough to tip me over the edge a second time.
I craned my neck to watch as he pulled his shirt off in a single fluid motion.
His torso was even more impressive without the barrier—shoulders like a plow horse, arms slabbed with muscle, chest dusted with dark hair and a scatter of old scars that told stories I’d never have the guts to ask about.
His abs weren’t just defined; they looked carved, the grooves catching in the shadow as he moved.
He undid his jeans and let them fall, then kicked off his boots. His cock was already out, hard and heavy, so thick it made my heart stutter.
He must have seen the way I looked at it, because he grinned. “You sure you want this?”
“I need it,” I said, voice gone hoarse.
He nodded, like he’d just received final orders from a superior, and went to the stove.
For a second I thought he was going to stop—maybe have a change of heart, maybe decide I wasn’t worth the risk—but then he came back with a bottle of cooking oil, the label still sticky from the last time I used it to fry potatoes.
He dribbled oil onto his palm, then worked it between his hands, warming it. The smell of canola filled the air, sharp and almost sweet. He knelt behind me, then spread my legs a little wider.
He pressed one slick finger against my hole, circling, teasing. The sensation was electric, a jolt of cold and heat at once. He didn’t rush it, just kept working the rim, easing the tip in, letting me adjust.
“You good?” he asked, voice just a little softer.
I nodded, grinding back against his hand.
He slid the finger in, slow and steady, and the stretch was better than I’d dreamed. He worked it in and out, scissoring gently, then added a second finger, twisting just enough to make me gasp.
He took his time, stretching me open, getting me ready. Every so often, he’d bend forward and kiss the small of my back, or drag his tongue along my spine, making me shiver.
When he thought I was ready, he pulled his fingers out, then lined his cock up against me.
“Ready?” he asked.
“Yeah,” I said, barely able to get the word out.
He pushed in, just the tip at first, and the stretch was incredible—almost too much, but not quite. He held still, giving me time to adjust, his hands braced on either side of my hips, his body trembling with restraint.
“You’re tight,” he said, voice strangled.
“You’re huge,” I answered.
He laughed, the sound dark and wild. “You like it?”
I nodded, forehead against the table, hands digging grooves into the wood.
He pushed deeper, slow at first, working his way in inch by inch. When he bottomed out, I felt it all the way to my teeth. The sensation was so intense I couldn’t breathe for a second.
He stayed there, letting me get used to the fullness, one hand stroking down my back, the other tangled in my hair.
“Fuck, you feel good,” he murmured.
I started to move, rocking back against him, desperate for more friction. He took the cue and began to thrust, slow and deep, his hips slamming into my ass with each stroke.
The table creaked beneath us, the sound echoing off the kitchen walls. The chicks in their box went quiet, as if even they knew this was a moment to witness in silence.
He leaned over, chest pressed to my back, mouth at my ear. “You’re perfect,” he said again, and this time I believed it.
He kept fucking me, pace picking up, every thrust sending sparks through my whole body. The air filled with the scent of sex and oil and sweat, a cocktail that made me dizzy and needy and alive.
He reached around and grabbed my cock, stroking it in rhythm with his thrusts. I was already so close that it only took a few pumps before I was coming again, harder than the first time, the force of it almost knocking me off the table.
He groaned, then slammed in one final time and froze, muscles locked. I could feel his cock pulse as he came, hot and thick, filling me up in a way I’d never felt before.
He collapsed over me, chest heaving, breath hot against my neck.
For a long time, neither of us moved. I just lay there, face mashed against the cool wood, his weight pinning me in place.
Eventually, he pulled out, then gathered me up in his arms and turned me around to face him. He kissed me, softer this time, mouth gentle and warm.
“You okay?” he asked, searching my face.
“I’ve never been better,” I said, and meant it.
He grinned, then carried me—actually carried me—off the table and into the living room, where he sat down with me on his lap. I curled against his chest, feeling his heartbeat slow from a jackhammer to a steady, comforting thump.
He stroked my hair, then kissed the top of my head. “You’re mine now,” he said, voice soft but final.
I didn’t argue.
The house was quiet, except for the chicks, who started peeping again as if nothing had changed.
But everything had.
I’d never felt more wanted, or more alive.
And I never wanted it to end.
We sat like that for a long time, the only sound the soft peeping of chicks in their box and the wind outside pressing at the glass.
My ass ached, my muscles trembled, and I was leaking his cum down the inside of my thigh. I should have felt exposed, raw, but all I felt was safe.
He kept me on his lap, rocking just a little, as if I was something fragile he’d found and wasn’t ready to let go of. Eventually, he spoke, voice quiet but certain.
“You ever want to stop, you tell me.”
I leaned in and kissed him, tasting the salt and sweetness on his lips. “I don’t want to stop.”
He smiled, then nuzzled my neck. “Good. Because I want you. Every damn day.”
The words made me warm all over. I curled in closer, letting the heat of his body sink into my bones.
After a while, he shifted, and I felt his cock start to harden again under me.
“You don’t quit, do you?” I teased.
He shrugged, but his hands started roaming, squeezing my ass, kneading my thigh. “Not when it’s this good.”
He lifted me up, turned me to straddle his lap and then lowered me onto his hardening cock. The first push was brutal. Not because I didn’t want it, but because Rawley was so big, and he didn’t hold back.
He pushed into me slow, giving me time, but the burn was instant and all-consuming. I clawed at his shoulders, back arching, legs spread wide, desperate for the pain to become something else.
He paused, buried deep, and cupped the side of my head, turning my face so I had to look at him. “Breathe,” he whispered, voice gruff with need.
I did. Each breath stung, but I wanted more, needed more.
He pulled out halfway, then drove back in, setting a pace that was punishing but perfect. The old couch shrieked under every thrust, the whole house echoing with the slap of skin and the low, animal sounds that spilled out of us.
Rawley grabbed my wrists, pinning them my back with one giant hand. With the other, he dug into my hip, holding me in place so I couldn’t escape even if I’d wanted to.
“You’re mine now,” he growled, lips at my ear. The same words he’d used before, the same deep impact.
Those words undid me.
I moaned, high and needy, grinding down against him with each punishing stroke. The pain faded, replaced by a fullness that bordered on holy. I wanted him to wreck me, to keep going until neither of us could walk straight.
He pounded into me, harder and faster, my legs gone numb from the force. The house could have collapsed around us and I wouldn’t have noticed. All that existed was the stretch and the slick, the smell of oil and sweat, and the relentless pressure of his cock splitting me open.
He shifted, angling deeper, and I saw stars. My whole body seized, pleasure detonating in every nerve. I came again, harder than before, the orgasm wrung out of me like a confession.
Rawley roared, then slammed into me one last time and froze. I felt him pulse inside me, heat flooding my guts, every drop claimed and marked. The sensation was so primal, so total, I nearly blacked out.
We stayed there, panting, my body draped over his, sweat and spit and cum gluing us together. I felt him soften, then slip free, and the emptiness was so intense I wanted to beg him to fill me again.
He let go of my wrists, then brushed the hair from my face, thumb gentle on my cheek. For a second, he looked at me like I was the only thing in the world that mattered.
“You okay?” he asked, voice almost tender.
I nodded, not trusting my own voice.
He grinned, then bent down and kissed me, soft and lingering. His beard scraped my chin, but the contact made me shiver. We kissed, deep and slow, and for a moment it was just us, the ranch, and the future we were building together.
He held me, one hand stroking my back, the other keeping me pinned tight to his chest.
Eventually, the exhaustion caught up with me. My eyes drifted shut, and I let myself drift, trusting Rawley to keep watch.
The last thing I remembered was the sound of his heartbeat, steady under my cheek, and the way the moonlight painted our bodies in silver, tangled together on the battered old couch.
I belonged here.
With him.
And tomorrow, we’d do it all again.