31. Sovereign #2
“Breathe.” His voice was wrong. Too deep. Forced through a cage. “Push out.”
”I can’t—you’re so—Riot, it’s too—” Cass squeaked out, his lower lip trembling as he felt a cramp building and Riot trying to push in and it was all too much happening.
“Push. Out.” It wasn’t a request.
Cass pushed out. Something shifted. The pain eased from impossible to a lot, tears streaming down his face, and he exhaled through his teeth. Riot kept trembling. Cass kept trembling. But something in Cass’s mind told him it would be okay so he nodded at Riot to keep going.
Riot pressed forward. Every inch was a negotiation between Cass’s body and something it had never accepted before—the pain constant, grinding, his breath coming in hitches that were half-sob.
It wasn’t getting better. It just kept being.
He wanted it to feel good. He wanted the pleasure to arrive the way it always did with Riot’s fingers—sudden, bright, the spot lighting up and the pain dissolving.
But this wasn’t that. This was his body stretched past anything it had done before, a deep, burning ache that had nothing to do with the spot and everything to do with it being too much.
“Riot…” His voice was small. Not frightened. Just honest. “It really hurts.”
“I know.” Riot’s forehead dropped against his, his gold eyes close enough that Cass could see himself reflected in them. Riot’s whisper shook, “I know it does. I’m sorry. I’m so—fuck, Cass, you’re so—”
Cass blinked away more tears and touched Riot’s face again, tracing the freckles across his cheekbone with a trembling finger. “It’s o-okay…I just need—” he searched for the right words for the strange feeling beyond the pain, “I didn’t know you could be this close to another person.”
A sound came out of Riot that wasn’t a word. He pressed a kiss to Cass’s palm and his hips shifted, just slightly, and the angle changed.
Something inside Cass unclenched. There wasn’t a good feeling yet, but it was like his body was giving up the fight. Yielding. Accepting the intrusion the way a bruise accepts pressure—still tender, still aching, but no longer resisting.
Riot sank the rest of the way in.
Cass’s mouth opened and nothing came out except a stuttered gasp.
He was full. So full it felt like Riot was in his chest, displacing his organs, rearranging him from the inside.
The pain was still there as a deep throb that pulsed with his heartbeat, but now there was something underneath it.
Not pleasure. Not yet. Something like rightness.
Like a key in a lock that was the wrong size but the right shape.
“Tight.” Riot gritted out.
He couldn’t finish the sentence. His jaw locked. His arms trembled. The gold was blazing but his hands—his hands were gentle on Cass’s face, thumbs wiping tears, and the contradiction of it, the tenderness fighting through all that desperate hunger, made Cass’s eyes flood.
“Move,” Cass whispered. “You can move.”
Riot moved.
The first stroke hurt. A dragging ache, the friction strange and overwhelming. Cass’s hands gripped Riot’s shoulders hard enough to leave marks.
The second stroke hurt less. His body adjusting, the slick felt like it was doing something, making it…
not easy, but possible. A faint warmth began to stir deep inside, like the first hint of dawn breaking through fog with not quite pleasure yet, just the promise of it, easing the edges of the discomfort.
The third stroke found the edge of the spot that made Cass feel good, like the ghost of sensation that flickered like a candle in the dark. It sent a tiny shiver through him, but it was fleeting, teasing, leaving him wanting more.
“There!” Cass gasped. Riot adjusted the angle, his hands gripping Cass’s hips, and his next stroke hit it dead-on.
The pain didn’t disappear. But a bright, sharp shock detonated in the middle of the ache, and the two of them tangled together until Cass couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began.
His back arched. The sound he made bounced off the cellar walls.
That initial burst of pleasure spread slowly, like ripples in water, warming his core and making his skin tingle.
“Shut the fuck up.” Riot hissed as his hand slammed over Cass’s mouth. His hips snapped forward, chasing the angle, and the gold was blazing. “You want Sage to hear what I’m—fuck—what you sound like when I—”
He couldn’t finish the sentence. His hips moved again and the spot lit up and coherent thought left both of them.
The pleasure deepened now, no longer just sparks but steady pulses that radiated outward from that perfect point of contact.
Cass felt it coiling in his belly, a growing tension that made his muscles flutter involuntarily, each thrust stoking the fire a little higher.
It wasn’t smooth. It wasn’t pretty. Cass’s body kept clenching at the wrong moments, making Riot groan through his teeth.
His hips tried to find a rhythm and kept stuttering, losing it, finding it again.
His hands couldn’t settle, gripping Riot’s shoulders, then his arms, then the sleeping bag, then back to his shoulders.
He was making sounds he’d never heard himself make, and they were loud, and Riot kept clamping his hand over his mouth and he kept pulling it off to kiss Cass and swallow his loud sounds like he could drink them.
With every adjustment, every shared breath, the sensation layered on: a low hum in his veins that started to sync with Riot’s movements, turning discomfort into something electric that made Cass’s toes curl and his pulse race.
“Don’t stop—I need you…” The words were tumbling out and he couldn’t control them. “I want…mmph…Riot, I want—”
Riot’s hands gripped Cass’s hips and wrenched him onto his lap, the new position pushing deeper and Cass felt it somewhere impossible and his mouth said something his brain hadn’t approved.
“Make me cum!”
The words came out of his mouth and his face went nuclear.
He’d learned it on a bathroom floor, repeated it in wonder, and now he’d just said it, his voice low and it didn’t sound like him at all.
But saying it amplified everything; the tickling ache surged, a fresh wave crashing through him, making his body clench tighter, the heat pooling lower and spreading like molten liquid through his limbs.
Riot stared down at him. “Say that again.”
“I—” Cass’s face was on fire. “I didn’t mean to say—”
“Say it again.”
“Make me…make me cum?”
Riot kissed him, holding Cass’s face, and the kiss was slow and deep and shaking, and Cass felt something wet hit his cheek that wasn’t his own tears.
Then the gentleness broke again, and Riot’s hips drove forward with a force that shoved Cass across the sleeping bag, and his hand found Cass’s throat.
Not holding. Gripping. Thumb against his pulse. He squeezed.
“Mine.” The word came from somewhere in Riot’s chest, like someone who was starving declaring a feast he found his own. His free hand found Cass’s and pinned it against his belly and Cass could feel it. The push from inside.
“Oh, that’s not—mmhm—” Cass let out something between a moan and a scream. The pressure on his throat added an edge, heightening every sensation, each thrust sending jolts that made his vision blur and his body arch higher, chasing more.
Riot squeezed harder and his hips found something brutal.
Deep, punishing strokes that hit the spot every time, each one shoving Cass across the sleeping bag, and the sounds coming out of him were muffled against Riot’s lips again, but they were loud, they were desperate, they were responding to how good it felt.
The build intensified, relentlessly: each stroke stacked kindling on a bonfire.
Cass felt it gathering in his core, spreading to his thighs, his chest, his fingertips—a full-body hum that grew louder, tighter, making him tremble as the edge approached, tantalizingly close but not yet tipping over.
Cass sobbed into Riot’s mouth as he felt himself climbing higher and higher, like he would snap at any moment. His nails raked down Riot’s back hard enough to draw blood.
The sound Riot made was inhuman. Pleased. Like the Berserker was purring.
“That’s it, princess. Mark me up—” He bit Cass’s lower lip and slammed into him. “You hear how wet you are? Hear that? That’s you—that’s your greedy little cunt dripping all over my cock—”
His hand slammed back over Cass’s mouth when the next scream started.
“Shut up. Shut up or I’ll find something else to put in your mouth—” He drove in hard enough that Cass’s body slid across the sleeping bag and his vision went white.
“Gonna fuck you until you can’t remember your own name—gonna fill you up until it’s leaking out of you—until you smell like me for days, until every Alpha in that fucking compound takes one sniff and knows you’re owned. ”
Cass yanked Riot’s hand off his mouth and gasped between the thrust, “I can—I can remember my—it’s Cassiopeia and you’re—oh fuck—Riot, you’re being so—”
“So what?” Riot’s teeth found his ear, bit down.
“Mean? Filthy?” His hips ground in deep—not thrusting, just pressing, his cock buried to the root, and he rolled his hips in a slow, devastating circle that made Cass’s eyes roll back.
“You love it. Your body’s telling me you love it.
Every time I say something nasty you clench so hard I see fucking stars, princess—”
Cass bit off a whine behind closed lips, because it was true.
It was true and he didn’t understand why but every crude thing out of Riot’s mouth sent a pulse straight through him—each one ratcheting the pleasure higher, turning the storm into a hurricane, winds whipping inside him, pulling everything toward that inevitable peak.
The rhythm went ragged. Riot’s mouth pressed against Cass’s ear, “Mine, you’re mine, this is mine, nobody else gets this—nobody else gets to hear you scream like that—I’ll kill anyone who—fuck—anyone who touches what’s mine—”