Chapter 15 #2
He does it again. Slower this time. Deliberate. Grinding his cock against me, letting me feel every inch of his length. The pressure. The promise of what's coming.
My hips buck involuntarily. Seeking. Wanting. My body betraying every rational thought in my head.
"That's right." His hand fists in my hair. Yanks my head back. "Feel what you do to me? How hard you make me?"
He grinds again and I whimper. Actually whimper. The sound humiliating and desperate and I can't stop it.
Heat pools low in my belly. My cock leaks in my pants. Everything is too sensitive. Too much. The drag of fabric. The pressure of his body. The way my pulse pounds between my legs.
"This is your fault," he growls. "Walking around looking like that. Smelling like that. Making me want things I shouldn't want."
His free hand slides around to my throat. Doesn't squeeze. Just holds. Claims.
"You think you're so innocent," he continues, voice dark and mocking. "So pure. But your body knows better, doesn't it? Your body knows exactly what it wants."
"Zero, please—"
"Please what?" He releases my hair, brings that hand down to my jeans. Pops the button with practiced ease. "Please fuck you? Please ruin you? Please show you what happens when you tease an alpha?"
The zipper drags down. Loud in the relative quiet.
"I'm not—I wasn't teasing—"
"Liar." He shoves my jeans down. Rough. Impatient. The denim bunches at my thighs, trapping my legs. "Everything about you is a tease. The way you look at me. The way you bite your lip when you're nervous. The way you smell—"
He breathes in deep. Nose pressed to the back of my neck. And the sound he makes is almost pained.
"Fuck," he breathes. "You smell so good. So fucking perfect."
His hand slides between my legs and I jerk, hypersensitive, every nerve ending on fire.
"Jesus Christ." His fingers explore. Rough. Demanding. Finding the slick that's already gathering. "You're so wet for me. Already dripping. And I've barely touched you."
Shame burns through me. Hot and overwhelming.
"Don't—"
"Don't what? Don't point out that your body wants this?" He presses a finger inside. Just one. Just testing. "Don't notice that you're slicking for me like a good little omega?"
The word makes something inside me clench. Tighten.
"That's what you are, isn't it?" His finger crooks. Finds something inside me that makes me see stars. "An omega. In a house full of alphas. Did you really think we wouldn't notice? That we wouldn't smell it?"
"I didn't—I was taking suppressants—"
"Not anymore." He adds a second finger. The stretch burns. "Now you're just raw. Exposed. Vulnerable."
He scissors his fingers. Stretches me. And it hurts. Burns. My body trying to accommodate the intrusion.
"Zero—that hurts—"
"Good." But his other hand gentles on my hip. Almost tender. A contradiction to his words. "Pain means you'll remember this. Remember me. Remember who you belong to."
"I don't belong to anyone—"
He pulls his fingers out. I hear him working his own jeans open. Metal. Fabric. The whisper of denim sliding down.
"You're about to."
His cock presses between my cheeks. Hot and hard and too big. Even through the slick, I can tell this is going to hurt.
"Wait—Zero, I've never—"
He goes still. Completely still. His hand on my hip tightens.
"Never what?"
"I've never—" The admission catches in my throat. "I'm—"
"Virgin." The word comes out dark. Possessive. Not a question. A claiming. "Fuck. You're a virgin and you've been walking around my house. Teasing me. Teasing my brothers."
I can't speak. Can't defend myself.
"You know what that means?" His hand tightens on my hip. "Means I get to be your first alpha. Get to show you exactly what it's like. Get to ruin you for anyone else."
"Zero—"
"You won't be able to walk right for days," he growls against my ear. "Every step, you'll feel me. Feel what I did to you. And every time you see me in the hallways, you'll remember this. Remember how I took you apart."
His cock presses against my entrance. Demanding.
"Should have told me sooner," he continues, voice rough with want. "Should have warned me. Now I'm going to make sure your first time is something you'll never forget."
His fingers slide up and down my wet asshole like a tease before the head of his cock is there again, pushing forward.
"This is where you belong," he growls. "On your knees. Taking an alpha's cock."
I try to breathe. Try to prepare.
It doesn't help.
He pushes in. Hard. No warning. No mercy.
The pain is immediate. Blinding. My body stretches around him, burning, tearing, trying to accommodate something too big, too much.
"Zero—fuck—"
"Shut up and take it." He doesn't stop. Doesn't slow. Just keeps pushing deeper. Inch by brutal inch. "This is what omegas are made for. What your body was designed to do."
Tears spill down my cheeks. I can't stop them. The pain is overwhelming. All-consuming.
"Look at you." His voice is cruel. Mocking. "Crying already and I'm not even halfway in. Pathetic."
He grips my hips. Fingers digging in hard enough to bruise. And slams forward.
Buries himself completely in one brutal thrust.
I scream. The sound torn from my throat. Raw. Broken.
"There we go." He holds himself deep. Grinding. Making sure I feel every inch. "All the way in. Taking your first alpha cock like you were born for it."
"It hurts—"
"Good." No sympathy. No gentleness. "Pain means you'll remember who took you first. Who you belong to."
He doesn't give me time to adjust. Just pulls back and slams in again.
Hard. Fast. Brutal.
"This body?" He punctuates each word with a thrust. "Mine. This tight little hole? Mine. Every drop of slick? Mine."
The bench creaks under the force. My hands scramble for purchase on the leather. Finding nothing. No escape.
"You've been teasing us for days," he snarls. "Walking around. Smelling like that. Making me crazy. Well, now you're getting exactly what you deserve."
Each thrust drives the air from my lungs. Pushes me harder against the bench. My cock trapped between my body and the leather, the friction almost painful.
"Say it." His hand fists in my hair. Yanks my head back at a painful angle. "Say you're mine."
I can't. Can't speak. Can't breathe.
"Say it!"
"Yours—" The word breaks. "I'm yours—"
"Damn right you are." He releases my hair. Both hands back on my hips. Using them for leverage. Fucking into me harder. Deeper. "My omega. My property. Mine to use whenever I want."
The pain starts to blur. Shifts into something else. Something overwhelming. My body adjusting. Accepting. Even as it hurts, even as I'm crying, there's something building.
"Feel that?" His hand wraps around my throat. Squeezes just enough to make breathing difficult. "Feel your body responding? Even though you're crying, you're getting hard. Your hole is clenching around me. Begging for more."
He's right. God help me, he's right.
My cock is leaking. Throbbing. Every brutal thrust hitting something inside that makes sparks shoot up my spine.
"This is what you are," he growls against my ear. "An omega. Made to take cock. Made to be bred. Made to belong to an alpha."
His rhythm gets faster. Harder. Chasing his own release without care for mine.
"You're going to come on my cock," he orders. "Going to come while I use you. While I claim what's mine."
His hand moves to my cock. Strokes roughly. No finesse. Just friction and pressure and demand.
The combination is too much. The pain. The pleasure. The humiliation. The overwhelming sensation of being filled, used, taken.
"Zero—I can't—"
"You will." His hand moves faster. His cock hitting that spot inside me over and over. "Come. Now."
The orgasm crashes through me. Violent. Devastating. I come hard, spilling over his hand, my body clenching around him so tight it must hurt.
He grunts. Slams in one final time. Buries himself deep and comes. Hot. Pulsing. Marking me from the inside.
But then he pulls out with a hiss. Rough. No care for the way it makes me gasp.
I feel his come start to leak out immediately. Running down my thighs. Mixing with slick and the traces of blood from being torn open.
He steps back. I hear him fixing his clothes. The rustle of fabric. The whisper of a zipper. The clink of a belt buckle.
I don't move. Can't move. Just stay bent over the bench, jeans around my thighs, shaking, feeling more exposed than I've ever felt in my life.
My heart pounds in my chest, my raw asshole throbbing with the quick beat.
Everything hurts. My body feels wrecked. Used. Changed.
"Clean yourself up." His voice is cold now. Distant. Like nothing just happened. Like he didn't just take my virginity on a weight bench in his basement. "And stay the fuck out of the basement."
I want to say something. Want to ask why he sounds like that. Want to understand what just happened.
But my throat is too tight. My voice won't work.
Footsteps.
The music cuts off mid-song. The sudden silence is deafening.
The door at the top of the stairs opens. Closes.
And I'm alone.
Shaking. Dripping. Wrecked.
My legs won't support me when I try to stand. I have to grip the bench, use it for leverage, force my body to cooperate.
My jeans are soaked. Ruined. I pull them up anyway, hissing at the friction against oversensitive skin.
My hands shake as I fix my clothes.
My mind is blank. Static. White noise.
What just happened?
What did we just do?
I make it to the stairs. Up each one slowly. My legs threaten to give out with every step.
The house is still dark. Still quiet.
No sign of Zero.
I lock myself in my room and slide down the door until I wince as my ass hits the floor. I pull my knees to my chest, trying to remember how to breathe.
My body is still humming. Still sensitive.
And yet…
Still wanting more.
And that's the worst part.
Not what happened.
But that I want it to happen again.