CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO #2
Her hands shake slightly as she pulls off the hoodie, the shorts. She stands before me in nothing but skin and vulnerability, this fierce little omega who commands eight Alphas like it's nothing.
"Beautiful," I tell her, meaning it. "Now lie down."
She obeys, and the sight of her spread out on the bed, waiting for my next command, nearly breaks my control. But she needs this to be slow. Needs to be taken apart piece by piece until there's nothing left but sensation.
I strip efficiently, watching her watch me. Her pupils dilate when I step out of my jeans, already hard and ready.
"Bo," she breathes.
"Shh. No talking unless I ask you a question."
Her mouth snaps shut, but her body speaks volumes. The way she shifts restlessly, thighs pressing together. The way her nipples tighten in anticipation.
I stretch out beside her, not touching yet. Just looking. "You're going to do exactly what I tell you. Understood?"
She nods.
"Words, Reese."
"Yes."
"Good girl."
The praise makes her shudder. Interesting.
I start with feather-light touches. Fingertips trailing down her arm, across her collarbone, around but not quite touching where she needs it. She tries to arch into my hand, but I pull back.
"Be still," I command.
She freezes, muscles trembling with the effort.
"That's it." I reward her with a kiss to her shoulder. "Just feel."
I map her body with deliberate patience. Learn which spots make her gasp (the hollow of her throat), which make her writhe (the inside of her thighs), which make her curse (the dimples on her lower back and the dead-center of her spine).
By the time I finally touch her where she's wet and aching, she's nearly sobbing with need.
"Please," she breaks, forgetting the no-talking rule.
"Please what?"
"Please, Bo, I need—"
"I know what you need."
I slide two fingers into her, and she cries out. She's soaked, clenching around me immediately.
"Not yet," I tell her, stilling my hand. "You don't come until I say."
"I can't—"
"You can." I work her slowly, steadily, bringing her to the edge over and over only to pull back. "You're stronger than you think. And right now you need someone else to be in control."
She's babbling now, begging, promising anything if I'll just let her finish. But I wait until she's completely undone, until there's nothing left but raw need.
"Now," I tell her against her ear, my own breath rough with desire, and she shatters.
The orgasm rips through her so hard she arches completely off the bed. I work her through it, drawing it out until she's oversensitive and pushing at my hand.
Before she can recover, I'm between her thighs, lifting her hips. "Again."
"I can't—"
I thrust into her, and her protest becomes a scream. She's so tight, so perfect around me. I set a pace that's relentless but not rough, deep steady strokes that hit exactly where she needs.
"Wrap your legs around me," I tell her, and she does, changing the angle so I'm even deeper.
"Oh god, Bo—"
"That's it. Let me hear you."
She's loud now, abandoned, all that careful control completely gone. This is what she needs—to be taken out of her head, reduced to pure sensation.
I can feel my knot starting to swell, that Alpha instinct to claim and mark and keep. But I hold back, wanting to draw this out, to completely wreck her in the best way.
"Please," she gasps. "Your knot, I need—"
"You'll get it."
I flip us so she's on top, straddling me. "Ride."
She moves on instinct, finding a rhythm that has her head falling back. I grip her hips, guiding her, watching her chase her pleasure.
"That's my girl," I growl. "Take what you need."
She comes again, clenching around me so hard I have to work to suck in a deep breath.
That's when I let go, let my knot expand, locking us together.
She gasps at the stretch, the fullness, then melts against my chest as I clench my eyes and grit my teeth, coming into her so violently I almost pass out.
When it passes, we lie there, tied together, breathing hard. I stroke her back as aftershocks ripple through her.
"Better?" I ask when she finally stirs.
"Mmm." She nuzzles into my neck. "You're bossy."
"You needed bossy."
"I needed this," she admits quietly. "Needed you."
"I know."
She's quiet for a long moment. Then: "What happens tomorrow?"
"Tomorrow we go back. We face the team. We figure out how to move forward."
"And if we can't?"
"We can." I tilt her chin up so she's looking at me. "You know why?"
"Why?"
"Because we're not just eight rowers and a cox anymore. We're something else. Something more. And once we stop fighting that, stop trying to force ourselves into boxes that don't fit, we'll be unstoppable."
She studies my face. "You really believe that."
"I know it." I press a kiss to her forehead. "But tonight, we don't worry about any of that. Tonight, you just rest."
My knot finally softens enough to separate, and she winces slightly as I ease out of her. I clean us both up with a warm washcloth, then pull her back against my chest. She's quiet for so long I think she's fallen asleep.
"I should leave."
The words are so soft I almost miss them.
"What?" I go rigid beneath her.
"The team. Sable Ridge." She doesn't look at me, just traces patterns on my chest with one finger. "It's the logical solution."
"Reese—"
"No, listen." She pushes up on one elbow, and in the moonlight through the window, I can see she's serious. Dead serious. "Jackson claimed me without pack consensus. The administration is investigating. The team can't row properly anymore. If I leave—"
"No."
"Bo, be rational. If I leave, you can get a new cox. Someone who's actually a Beta. The investigation goes away because the mixed-designation issue disappears. Jackson's claim becomes irrelevant because I'm not there. The team can heal without me as a constant reminder of—"
"Stop." I grip her shoulders, probably too hard, but I need her to hear this. "Just stop."
"It makes sense—"
"Nothing about you leaving makes sense."
She laughs, but it's bitter. "I transfer schools.
My parents are thrilled. They find me some appropriate Alpha from their country club to mate with.
Someone with the right pedigree who'll give them grandchildren with the proper social standing.
You guys go on to win championships with a cox who doesn't complicate everything. "
The picture she's painting makes me physically ill. Reese married to some stuffed-shirt Alpha who doesn't know how she likes her coffee (one sugar, no cream) or that she bites her lip when she's calculating stroke ratings in her head.
"And everyone's better off," she finishes quietly.
"That's bullshit."
"Is it? Look at what's happened since I joined. The team is falling apart."