Chapter 34 #2
“So,” I say, deliberately lightening my tone, “how many meetings does it take with a proper Omega before the relationship can be consummated? Asking for a friend, of course.”
Logan nearly chokes on his water, clearly caught off guard by my sudden change in direction. “I—what?”
“Well, we’re starting over, aren’t we?” I continue innocently. “I assume there are protocols, proper procedures. The Enclave was very specific about such things.”
Understanding dawns in his eyes, followed by a heat that makes my pulse quicken despite myself.
“Traditional courtship would suggest at least three formal meetings,” he says, his voice dropping to a register that sends a shiver down my spine.
“Followed by a chaperoned outing, then a formal request to the Omega’s family for permission to proceed. ”
“How tedious,” I observe, maintaining my composure despite the warmth spreading through me. “And if the Omega in question isn’t particularly traditional?”
Logan’s lips curve in a smile that’s pure predator. “Then I suppose the timeline might be accelerated.”
“Accelerated how?” I press, enjoying the way his pupils dilate at my directness.
“That would depend entirely on the Omega’s preferences,” he replies, his voice controlled but with an undercurrent of something raw and hungry. “A proper Alpha would never presume.”
“A proper Alpha,” I repeat, rising from my chair with deliberate slowness. “And are you a proper Alpha, Your Majesty?”
Logan’s eyes follow my movement, his expression shifting from playful to intent. “Not by anyone’s definition,” he says, echoing my earlier words.
“Good,” I say, circling the table to stand before him. “Because I’m about to behave in a manner that would scandalize the entire Enclave.”
“Is that so?” Logan remains seated, looking up at me with a mixture of curiosity and heat. “And what manner would that be?”
I gather my courage, channeling the boldness that has carried me through far more dangerous situations than this. “Get on your knees,” I command.
Logan’s eyebrows shoot up, genuine surprise flashing across his features. “I beg your pardon?”
“You heard me.” I hold his gaze, refusing to back down despite the thundering of my heart. “On your knees, Alpha.”
For a moment, I think I’ve miscalculated.
Logan’s expression is unreadable, his golden eyes searching mine as if looking for the meaning behind my sudden assertiveness.
Then, slowly, a smile spreads across his face—not the calculated charm of a prince or the benevolent authority of a king, but something far more intimate. Something just for me.
“How scandalously forward,” he says, his tone mock-offended even as he rises from his chair. “We’ve only just met. What kind of Alpha do you take me for?”
“The kind who knows what he wants,” I reply, holding my ground as he towers over me. “The kind who isn’t afraid to let an Omega take control.”
Logan’s eyes darken, his scent sharpening with unmistakable desire. “And is that what you want, Maya? Control?”
The question cuts through our game, striking at the heart of what lies between us. Control—the thing I’ve been fighting for since the moment we met. The thing he took from me once, and now seems willing to give.
“Yes,” I say simply, honestly. “It’s what I’ve always wanted.”
Something shifts in his expression—understanding, perhaps, or acceptance. Without another word, he sinks to his knees before me, looking up with an expression that steals my breath. There’s no resentment there, no wounded Alpha pride. Only heat and something that looks dangerously like adoration.
“Like this?” he asks, his voice rough with desire.
I nod, suddenly unable to speak past the tightness in my throat. The sight of Logan—Alpha, prince, king—on his knees before me is more powerful than I expected. More affecting. More right.
“What would you have of me?” he asks, his hands resting on his thighs, making no move to touch me without permission.
I reach out, my fingers tracing the line of his jaw, feeling the slight roughness of stubble against my skin. “I want you to show me what that clever mouth can do,” I say, surprised by the steadiness of my voice despite the heat pooling low in my belly.
Logan’s eyes darken further, his lips parting slightly. “With pleasure,” he murmurs, his hands moving to the hem of my dress. “May I?”
The request for permission—so simple, so fundamental—sends a rush of warmth through me that has nothing to do with physical desire. This is what I wanted from the beginning. Not submission, but choice. Not control, but agency.
“Yes,” I say, the word both permission and command.
His hands slide beneath my dress, warm against my skin as they trace up my legs with exquisite slowness.
His touch is reverent, careful, as if I’m something precious rather than something owned.
He maintains eye contact as his fingers reach the edge of my undergarments, a silent question in his golden gaze.
I nod, unable to find words past the desire tightening my throat.
Logan hooks his fingers in the delicate fabric, drawing it down my legs with a deliberate patience that makes my breath catch.
I step out of the garment, suddenly aware of my vulnerability—standing in the palace atrium, the king of Melilla on his knees before me, my most intimate places about to be exposed to his gaze.
But there’s no fear in this vulnerability. Only power. Only choice.
Logan’s hands return to my legs, gently urging them apart.
I comply, widening my stance as his hands slide upward, pushing my dress higher until it bunches around my waist. The cool air against my heated skin makes me shiver, or perhaps it’s the hunger in Logan’s eyes as he looks up at me from his position of supplication.
“You’re beautiful,” he murmurs, his breath warm against my inner thigh. “Perfect.”
Before I can respond, he leans forward, pressing a kiss to the sensitive skin where thigh meets hip.
I gasp, my hand moving instinctively to his hair, fingers tangling in the golden strands.
He takes this as encouragement, trailing kisses along the crease of my thigh, moving inward with maddening slowness.
“Logan,” I breathe, the name both plea and command.
He smiles against my skin, then finally, finally puts his mouth where I need it most. The first touch of his tongue sends electricity racing up my spine, drawing a moan from deep in my throat.
My fingers tighten in his hair, holding him in place as he explores with careful attention, learning what makes me gasp, what makes me tremble.
“Like this?” he murmurs against me, the vibration of his voice adding another layer of sensation.
“Harder,” I direct, finding my voice despite the pleasure threatening to overwhelm me. “More pressure.”
He complies immediately, his tongue firmer against my most sensitive spot.
The change draws another moan from me, louder this time, echoing slightly in the high-ceilinged atrium.
Some distant part of my mind worries about being overheard, but the thought dissolves as Logan slides a finger inside me, curving upward with perfect precision.
“Yes,” I gasp, my hips moving of their own accord, seeking more. “Just like that.”
Logan hums his approval, the sound reverberating through me like a physical touch. He adds a second finger, stretching me deliciously as his tongue continues its relentless attention to my clit. The dual sensation is overwhelming, pleasure building at the base of my spine with startling speed.
I look down, needing to see him, and the sight nearly undoes me—Logan Corellian, king of Melilla, on his knees before me, his golden eyes closed in concentration as he pleasures me with single-minded focus.
His free hand grips my thigh, steadying me as my legs begin to tremble with approaching release.
“Look at me,” I command, my voice breathless but firm.
His eyes open immediately, golden gaze meeting mine with an intensity that steals what little breath I have left. The connection—intimate, unguarded—pushes me closer to the edge.
“Don’t stop,” I manage, my fingers tightening in his hair. “I’m close.”
Logan redoubles his efforts, his fingers curving to hit that perfect spot inside me as his tongue flicks rapidly over my clit.
The pleasure builds, coiling tighter and tighter until it’s almost unbearable.
I’m trembling now, my thighs shaking with the effort of remaining standing, my breath coming in short, desperate gasps.
And then I’m falling, pleasure crashing through me in waves that leave me crying out, my body clenching around his fingers as my vision blurs at the edges. Logan doesn’t stop, doesn’t slow, drawing out my orgasm until I’m gasping his name, tugging at his hair in wordless plea for mercy.
Only then does he ease back, pressing a gentle kiss to my inner thigh as his fingers withdraw carefully. I sag against the table, my legs no longer trustworthy, my heart pounding so hard I can feel it in my throat.
Logan rises smoothly, steadying me with gentle hands on my waist. His chin glistens with evidence of my pleasure, his eyes dark with desire yet to be satisfied.
But there’s something else in his expression too—a tenderness that makes my chest ache in a way that has nothing to do with physical release.
“Was that satisfactory, my lady?” he asks, his voice rough but his tone playful, slipping back into our earlier game.
I laugh breathlessly, still floating in the aftermath of pleasure. “Quite satisfactory, yes. You have a talent for following direction.”
“I live to serve,” he replies with a smile that’s both teasing and genuine. “Especially when the directions come from such a commanding source.”
I reach up, wiping my essence from his chin with my thumb. “A king who serves,” I muse. “How revolutionary.”
“Only for you,” Logan says, the playfulness fading into something more serious, more real. “Only ever for you, Maya.”