24. Sterling
STERLING
M y back arches as a strangled moan tears from my throat, my entire body trembling as pleasure slams through me. My inner walls clench down around his fingers, tight and aching and desperate, the release flooding me so fast I forget how to breathe.
I’m shaking. Gasping.
I can feel how wet I am, slick dripping into his palm—and he just takes it, like it’s something sacred.
His eyes are on me, so hungry and reverent it makes my skin feel like it’s glowing.
I don’t think anyone’s ever looked at me like this.
I’m bare. Raw. My cheeks burn with the flush of release, and my whole body is still trembling from the aftershocks.
This is not how I imagined my night going an hour ago.
I was curled up in my nest, happily hermiting, watching Netflix, and trying to figure out what the hell is happening with my life.
Now I’m sitting in Cass’s lap—Cass, who has just, for the second time since I met him, fingered me into one of the most intense orgasms I’ve ever had.
Not that I’ve had that many.
Which…is exactly where the panic starts to creep in.
That stupid, quiet fear that my inexperience is going to ruin this. That once he realizes how new I am at this—how much I don’t know—it’ll be a turn-off.
I want this. I want him.
But if he pulls away—if he rejects me because I don’t know what I’m doing—I don’t think I could handle it. Not right now. Not with him.
I barely catch my breath before the words tumble out—soft, shaky, terrified of how they’ll land.
“I’ve never…” My voice falters. “I mean—I’ve only had sex with one other person. And only a few times. We didn’t, you know…do everything.”
I pause, hating the way the next part makes my voice go small.
My face goes scarlet. I can feel it crawling down my neck, into my chest. But I don’t stop.
“I don’t even know if I’d know how to do it right.”
Because I want him to know me. All of me.
Cass’s hands flex on my waist, big and trembling, and love the possessive way his fingers dig into the curve of my hip.
“Jesus,” he breathes, like the air just got knocked out of him.
I feel him. Pressed against the inside of my thigh, thick and hard and burning hot through his jeans.
His voice is raw when he asks, “Are you telling me you’ve never…been knotted?”
I nod. Tiny. Hesitant. My heart hammering in my throat.
His breath stutters—and then something shifts. Fills the space between us.
Cass’s scent and eyes burn with possessiveness. Fierce and sudden and undeniable.
He looks at me like I’m made of lightning. He groans and the sound fills my core with more slick.
His grip tightens around my hips. “Do you have any idea how fucking hot that is, sweetheart?” His voice is frayed, torn at the edges, filled with need.
I shiver, unsure, biting my lip. “It’s not…weird?”
Cass leans back just far enough to look into my eyes, his gaze molten.
“Weird?” He shakes his head and cradles my face in his big, calloused hands, his thumbs brushing gently over my cheeks like I’m something breakable. “No, Sterling. It’s not fucking weird. It’s a goddamn gift. You’re a gift.”
Then he kisses me. Slow. Deep. Reverent.
Like a vow.
Like I’m something he’s been waiting his whole life for.
“You can’t do this wrong,” he whispers against my mouth, and when he rolls his hips up, I feel him—hard and thick, pressing against the soaked heat between my legs.
“Do you feel that?” he rasps, wrecked.
My breath catches. Everything inside me coils tighter.
“You do that to me, Sterling. You make me fucking crazy.” Electric sparks radiate from my core as he pushes up into me.
“I’m the luckiest fucking Alpha in the world to have you offer yourself to me.”
Sliding his hands from my hips slowly, they glide up over the curve of my ass, squeezing both cheeks firmly, before continuing along the flare of my hips and up the dip of my waist until his huge palms settle around my ribcage.
He pulls my upper body toward him, guiding me until my back arches and my breasts are right at his mouth.
Then Cass takes one nipple between his lips and sucks—hard—drawing a sharp cry from my throat.
“You like that, little bird?”
“Yes,” I gasp. “Again.”
He doesn’t make me beg. He shifts, trailing his mouth across my sternum, nipping lightly at my skin as he makes his way to the other breast.
When he reaches it, he flicks his tongue over the tight peak—once, twice, again and again—sending a fluttering sensation straight to my core.
Then he pulls it deep into his mouth, sucking with slow, deliberate heat, and I moan again, melting into him.
My body slumps against his, and he holds me easily, letting me grind mindlessly against the hard ridge of his cock beneath his jeans.
It’s huge. I can tell by the way it feels pressed against me, thick and unrelenting.
And then his hands are everywhere—big, rough, possessive—sliding over my bare skin like he’s mapping every inch of me. Like he’s trying to memorize it.
He’s warm. Scorching, even. His body heat seeps into mine, sinking into my bones.
His fingers tangle in my hair, fisting the messy bun on top of my head as he drags my mouth back to his.
And I can’t stop touching him.
He’s solid beneath my fingers, all muscle and heat and restraint, like he’s holding himself back, like he’s trying to keep some fragile grip on control. But I don’t want that.
I want all of him. I want the fierce unrestrained Alpha.
“Cass…please,” I whisper, my fingers digging into his shoulders, gripping him like he’s the only thing keeping me tethered to reality.
He doesn’t answer with words, instead he wraps his arms around me and stands—lips never leaving my skin or lips—lifting me up with him.
A startled gasp leaves my lips, my legs instinctively wrapping around his waist, my body pressing against his in a way that has me flushing hot all over again. He brings his hands to grab my ass before they move to my thighs. I feel pulled open. I feel everything.
The hard planes of his chest press against my soft curves. His fingers tighten on my thighs, and the thick length of him grinds between my legs—right where I need him most.
I whimper against his neck, overwhelmed, but he doesn’t stop moving.
“Easy, little bird,” he hums, voice low and full of restraint.
He carries me from the living room through the darkened hallway, straight toward my bedroom. Toward my nest.
No one’s ever been in my nest before.
He doesn’t even glance at the laptop still playing Netflix. Just nudges it gently out of the way with his foot, careful but focused.
When we reach the edge of my nest, his steps falter slightly. His grip tightens.
Then—carefully—he sets me down.
I crawl in automatically, the comfort of it wrapping around me like a blanket, instantly calming my nerves. But when I look up at him, he’s still standing there. Not moving.
I blink at him in confusion.
He must see it on my face because his voice comes next—soft, low, reverent.
“If you want me in your nest…you have to ask me, songbird.”
Dominant. Respectful. So Alpha.
My heart stutters.
“Cass,” I whisper, reaching for him.
And that’s all he needs.
He moves in like a tide—slow and certain—his weight settling beside mine, everything feeling softer, closer, charged with something electric and primal.
The blankets are piled high, the pillows arranged in a way that feels safe, comforting, right.
Cass lowers himself onto the edge of the nest, stretching out to his full, imposing height. He’s still fully clothed, and I feel utterly exposed.
The overwhelming passion from a moment ago has quieted, but it’s still there—simmering just beneath the surface. I’m hyper-aware of him. The way his body takes up space. All muscle and hard angles, an Alpha in every way.
His scent—sea breeze and something wild—wraps around me, thick and untamed. It has my breath coming faster, my thoughts unraveling. I don’t know what I want—only that I need him.
I’m filled with a hollow, aching kind of longing that’s quickly turning sharp.
My chest rises and falls too fast, my pulse thrumming with anticipation. Not nerves. Desire.
I want this. I want him.
He watches me for longer than feels comfortable. Staring like he’s trying to memorize every inch of me.
Then, finally: “Come here, beautiful.”
His voice is rough, commanding, and before I can move, he rolls onto his side and grabs my ankle with one of those ridiculously large hands.
In one smooth pull, he drags me down until I’m beneath him, his weight braced above me on his elbows.
From this angle, his head is level with my abdomen. I can barely breathe as he dips his head lower, so close to where I ache for him most, and takes a long, deep breath.
His inhale stutters.
“Fuck, little bird,” he growls. “You smell so fucking good.”
Then he shifts down slightly—until his face is right between my legs—and buries his nose there.
It’s so intimate, so overwhelming, I almost push him away out of instinct.
But he doesn’t let me.
I’m completely bare beneath him, while he’s still fully dressed.
The contrast should make me feel vulnerable—but instead, it just turns me on more. There’s something wildly arousing about the way he’s taking his time, staying in control, worshipping me with nothing but his mouth and hands.
“Come here,” Cass murmurs again, voice thick with desire.
Then his mouth is on me—starting at my knee, trailing upward in a slow, reverent path. He drags his teeth lightly along my skin, nipping and licking as he moves higher, and I arch into the touch with a gasp.
He doesn’t stop.
He licks up my inner thigh with the kind of care that makes my stomach flip and my heart stutter. Like he’s savoring every inch.
My legs fall open without thinking. I’m panting, aching, my body ready and begging for more.
He presses a kiss to the inside of my thigh, his stubble scraping my sensitive skin, the scent of evergreens and stormy seas addictive.
I gasp, my fingers twisting in the blankets beneath me.
“Cass—”
“I need to taste you.”
My breath catches.
I should feel shy, hesitant, but I don’t.