24. All That Glitters is Probably Pyrite #2
He reached between Cass’s thighs, found the wet, clenching heat, and pressed one finger inside.
Cass gasped, hands flying to Riot’s shoulders. “Ah—”
“That’s familiar, right?” Riot worked deeper, crooking his finger. Searching. “You remember this?”
Cass’s breath hitched as Riot’s finger found the bundle of nerves that had made him swear on the bathroom floor. His whole body jerked, a whine escaping through clenched teeth. “There—that’s where—”
“I know where.” He added a second finger, and the stretch dragged a broken sound out of Cass that went straight to Riot’s cock. “Now move. Show me what you need.”
For a moment, Cass just breathed. His thighs trembled on either side of Riot’s hips as his fingers dug into Riot’s shoulders. Then, slowly, he lifted himself.
The first movement was wrong. Too shallow. Riot’s fingers barely shifted, and Cass made a frustrated sound, his face screwing up with concentration. He tried again, but sank too fast, too deep, gasping at the sudden pressure.
Riot’s free hand still gripped his hip, steadying him. “Find what feels good.”
“I’m trying—” Cass’s voice cracked with effort. “My legs are shaking, I can’t hold—”
“You can.”
He let out a sound that was half sob, half determination, then Cass rocked forward, clumsy and still searching, as he changed the angle of his hips. His eyes blew wide and his mouth fell open. “Oh!”
Found it.
“There.” Riot kept his hand still, letting Cass grind down onto his fingers at his own pace. “That’s yours. Chase it.”
And Cass did. It was still clumsy at first—the rhythm of someone learning a new language in their body, stuttering over syllables they’d never spoken.
But he kept going. Every roll of his hips ground his bare ass against Riot’s cock through the fabric.
Every downward movement pressed Riot’s fingers against that spot and dragged a sound out of Cass that was more animal than human.
And the sight of it—this beautiful, terrified, brave Omega riding his fingers, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes, his teeth sunk into his lower lip to muffle the noises he couldn’t stop making.
This is the most erotic thing I have ever seen in my entire miserable life.
“More,” Cass gasped. His rhythm was getting desperate, his hips stuttering. “I need—it’s not—please—”
“You have a little freak in there, huh?” Riot pressed a third finger against him and waited, letting him feel the stretch coming. “You need three fingers to cum for me, princess?”
Cass’s eyes went wide, just for a second, and then he sank down.
The sound he made was devastating. Like pain and relief tangled together so tightly they were the same thing, and his body clamped around the intrusion like it was trying to decide whether to fight or surrender.
His head fell forward against Riot’s shoulder, his whole body shaking.
“Too much—” he whimpered. “It’s too—”
“Breathe.” Riot’s free hand cradled the back of his skull, holding him close. “You’re being so fucking good for me, Cass. You can take it.”
“I know—” Cass’s voice broke. “I know—it’s so much—”
“Don’t move yet. Just feel it,” Riot groaned against his ear. “You feel how good that is? To be filled? Don’t you want more?”
Cass nodded and trembled against him. His breath came in shallow hitches against Riot’s neck, and Riot could feel the wet heat of tears soaking through his shirt collar.
But Cass’s hands hadn’t let go of his shoulders.
After a long moment, something in Cass unclenched.
Not just physically, Riot felt it in the way his breathing slowed, the way his weight settled more fully into Riot’s lap, the way his inner walls stopped fighting the stretch and started accommodating it, fluttering greedily.
Then, without any instruction, Cass started to rock.
Small movements. Careful. His face was still hidden against Riot’s neck, and the sounds he was making were quiet —private little gasps and bitten-off moans that Riot felt more than heard, vibrating against his skin.
Every movement dragged his fingers deeper, and every time Cass’s body jolted, his ass ground down against Riot’s cock through the fabric, the friction a delicious torment that had Riot’s hips bucking up involuntarily.
The pressure was becoming a problem. A serious, the-Berserker-is-not-going-to-tolerate-clothing-much-longer kind of problem.
Riot’s jaw was locked so tight his teeth ached.
Every grind of Cass’s weight sent fire through his spine, and the gold was flickering at the edges—brightening, trying to take over, trying to drown out the part of him that was still thinking in sentences instead of imperatives.
But the feeling of it all, the slick heat coating his hand, the tight, rhythmic clench, the way Cass’s body trembled like it was alive with electricity. .. it was everything.
“Riot—” Cass gasped against his neck. “I can’t make it—I need—more. Please. More.”
Riot teased a fourth finger against his stretched rim, gathering slick, and pressed just enough to hint at the burn. “You want this? One more to really fill you up?”
Cass sobbed, hips grinding harder. “Yes—fuck, Riot, please—give it to me, I need it—”
Riot pushed in, the fourth finger joining the others in a slow, relentless slide.
The stretch was obscene, Cass’s body yielding with a wet give, so tight it bordered on pain for them both.
Riot growled at the sensation, heat and pressure crushing his fingers like a vice.
“That’s it, take what you need, princess. ”
“I can’t—my legs—please—” Cass’s voice fractured, a desperate plea muffled against Riot’s neck, his thighs quaking like storm-shaken branches.
“Cum for me. Let me feel you cum, princess.” He could feel Cass teetering on the brink, his inner walls clenching erratically around his fingers, like a star on the verge of collapse, pulling everything inward.
“I need—” Cass sobbed, chasing his release in frantic bounces. Slick flooded Riot’s palm, the scent blooming thick and sweet, intoxicating the air. “Shit—I mean—ah—fuck! Riot, I’m going to—cumming!”
Cass came with a raw, guttural cry that Riot felt in his chest. His body seized, clamping down on Riot’s fingers as his cock pulsed between them, untouched, spilling hot against both their stomachs.
The tempo of it, the desperate clenching, the waves of heat, the way Cass’s whole body shook like he was coming apart at the molecular level, slick gushing around Riot’s hand in rhythmic pulses…
Mine. That’s mine. All mine.
Riot worked him through it. Slower. Gentler now, or as close to gentle as he could manage—which meant his fingers were still moving, still pressing, still wringing shudders out of Cass’s oversensitive body until the Omega went boneless against his chest.
For a moment, they just breathed together.
Cass slumped against him, heavy and trembling with aftershocks.
His face was buried in Riot’s neck, every exhale was hot and damp against Riot’s skin, and the scent coming off him had gone soft—temporarily sated, the sharp edge of heat-need smoothed into something warmer. Calmer.
I should stop here and let him rest. But Riot was still hard.
He eased his fingers out carefully, and the sound Cass made at the loss—a small, bereft whine—nearly ended his resolve.
“You didn’t…” Cass pulled back just enough to look at him. His face was a ruined masterpiece, tear-streaked, flushed, lips bitten red. But his eyes were clear. Present. Seeing. “You’re still...”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not.” Cass’s hand slid down Riot’s chest, passing over his heart, his ribs, his stomach. Riot’s muscles twitched and jumped under the touch, and when Cass’s fingers reached the waistband of his pants, they both stopped breathing.
“You don’t have to—”
“I want to see.”
Four words. Simple. Steady. There was no hesitation, despite the flush climbing up his throat.
He wants to see. He’s asking to see. He—
Riot’s hands weren’t quite steady as he unfastened his pants.
The relief of pressure alone nearly made him groan, and when he freed himself, he heard Cass’s sharp intake of breath.
Those teary eyes were fixed, fascinated, his curiosity overriding his fear in a way that was so fundamentally Cass it made Riot’s chest ache. “Can I touch it?”
Can he touch it? He’s asking permission to touch my cock like he’s at a fucking petting zoo. I am going to lose my mind.
“Yes.” The word came out hoarse.
Cass’s fingers made contact, and Riot’s hips jerked before he could stop them. The touch was feather-light. Exploratory. Cass traced the length of him with his fingertips gently, like mapping the shape of something unfamiliar.
“It’s warm.” Cass sounded surprised. His fingers wrapped around the shaft. “And it... moves. When I touch here—” His thumb grazed the underside, found the thick vein, and Riot’s vision went gold-white.
“Fuck!” Riot moaned.
Cass flinched, but he didn’t let go. “Is that good? The way your body just did that—is that the same as when I—?”
“Yes.” Riot was gripping the floor, literally gripping the hardwood with his free hand, his nails biting into the grain. “That’s the same.”
“So when I move like this…” Cass’s grip tightened, and Riot’s spine arched as he stroked once. It was clumsy, too tight, the wrong angle and it was still the best thing Riot had ever felt. “...you feel what I feel? When you touch me and I can’t think?”
“Yeah.” Riot’s voice was barely functional. “Something like that.”
Cass stroked again, adjusting his grip, and this time the angle was better, the pressure more intentional. His tongue darted out to wet his lips, and the unconscious gesture, combined with the sight of his hand around Riot’s cock, sent the Berserker lunging against its leash.
His mouth. Put him on his knees. Push into that sweet, wet—
Riot caught the thought and crushed it, but Cass must have seen it in his face, because his hand slowed.