Chapter 5 #2
And if she ever finds out what I really am, this mission will be over before it begins. This is bigger than her and me; this is bigger than us, and whatever this pull is that I feel between us.
I need to keep her distracted.
“On your knees.”
Her breath catches.
Yes, this is the right approach. Best way to keep her from fishing into my mind is to keep her high on alpha pheromones and dick.
So I bury my unease, the way my skin feels tight, and the way the lies don’t sit right.
Instead, I focus on the surface of my skin, on pumping out the scent her body can’t help but respond to.
She drops to her knees.
Her submission is fucking heady. And she likes it. Likes being told, ordered, what to do. My hands go to my belt, undoing the buckle again. She wets her lips, watching without blinking.
I can smell her arousal. Doesn’t matter that I’m playing a role, my body is the real deal, even if my mind sits slightly apart, holding a thread to the underlying me, the zeta.
I never felt jealous of alphas before, nor of any other dynamic.
I was happy being me, unique, even if that meant I was alone.
And the missions? I fucking craved missions, the adrenaline rush, the thrill of doing things ordinary citizens couldn’t, infiltration, espionage, fucking over the bad guys and coming out on top. That shit makes you feel alive.
Today, though, I fucking hate alphas, with their sense of entitlement that might well be justified because they’re at the top of the genetic lottery.
They get this. Omegas. The ones who are arguably at the bottom of the genetic lottery, who likely only survived the carnage that followed Awakening Day, when the virus was first released, by virtue of their innate ability to soothe alpha aggression.
The bottom?
Fuck that.
They should be at the top. Revered. Fucking worshiped.
But Esme doesn’t want to be worshiped, not in the literal sense. What she craves is rough domination. She’s high on what I just did to her, and she wants some more.
Her impatience loads the air between us—eager little thing.
I set the tablet away briefly so I can shuck down my pants.
My dick is hard and sensitive. I have to smother a groan.
She sways a little and her lips part. I consider binding her wrists at her lower back again, then elect to leave them free.
Why deny myself the pleasure of her soft caresses?
Then I pick up the data tablet and ignore her.
Well, I pretend to.
Her little hiss is pure frustration. I bite down my smirk; it would ruin the vibe I have going on. “Something the matter?” I ask, not bothering to look up.
“No.” Her indignant tone is followed by a barely audible pant.
I take my cock in my hand and stroke it slowly to take the edge off. It’s not helping. I’m ready to nut just from breathing her aroused scent. But now I’ve started, I can’t fucking stop.
She fidgets.
Hopefully, this is distracting her more than me. The data tablet could be upside down, and I wouldn’t notice.
Her tiny whimper finds a direct line to my balls. Maybe I should just go ahead and come… let her clean me up?
No, I want her lips on me again, that skilled tongue weaving its magic, you know, just in case it was a fluke last time: verification purposes and all that. “Go ahead.”
“No, thank you.”
I chuckle. “Fine by me, baby. I thought your pussy might need a break after I stretched it out around my knot. But—”
She growls. It’s cute. My hand is pushed away, and she swallows me to the knot with a sigh of contentment.
I nearly drop the damn tablet.
Fuck. Her mouth, her lips, that tongue lavishing the underside of the head with every bob, her soft hand cupping my balls, fondling them, and her other hand performing a slow, twist-of-the-wrist caress in perfect sync with her sucking me off.
So. Crazy. Good.
I’m playing a controller. The description is in the name. I’m supposed to be in control, not nutting within seconds of her giving me head.
Except, she is practiced at this.
And suddenly that pisses me the fuck off. Fist in her hair, I peel her off. Her glazed eyes stare up at me, lips all puffy where they’ve been wrapped around me. Jealousy and possessiveness light up every synapse in my brain, so fucking fierce it nearly renders me blind. My nostrils flare.
Mine.
I’m going too deep, too fast. The cloning is sucking me down into an abyss.
These emotions are not mine. They’re foreign.
I don’t normally get into the mindset so fast, and, to be blunt, it’s a little alarming.
Usually I need to be stuck in a clone for an extended period of many weeks before it starts to leech into the underlying me.
I growl. It’s low and aggressive, and it goes on and on. Her reaction is pure submission. Her head falls to one side, offering her throat to me to bite. Vulnerable before me.
I feel powerful in a way I never have before.
Goddamned motherfucker. One of us is not going to survive this.
Esme
The sound that tears from his throat is terrifying. His grip on my hair is brutal. The look in his eyes, before I had the sense to drop mine, still burns behind my lids.
He’s not just an alpha. That much is clear. He’s a controller. That makes him something else entirely. But even for a controller... there’s more.
Something deeper.
Something darker.
My body convulses—quaking, helpless.
He’s not even touching me. Not really. Just his fingers, fisting my hair. But it’s enough. I shatter, tipping straight into climax like he owns every nerve I have, every thought, every feeling, all of them, all his.
He gives me a rough shake, the rumble emanating from his chest sinking low, feral, final.
God help me. His power scorches the air, blazing through me like wildfire. I can’t breathe.
I’m still coming when he rises, shoves me face first into the couch, then drops down behind me and slams me full of his cock. I’m definitely not quite ready. Still sore from before. But it hurts so good: a deep, achy pleasure, his knot already lodged.
He roars out his release. I offer him everything he desires, and not a drop of resistance. I stay where he put me, lain on the couch like something claimed. Only surrender, only him and the use he might have for me.
He grabs my hips in a bruising hold, rips his knot from me, and then brutally stuffs it back in again.
Shock rips through me—agony and then bliss, untamed and absolute.
It drowns everything else and sets me convulsing yet again.
Not satisfied with doing this once, he does it again and again.
I’m nothing but a toy to him, something to use, to break for his pleasure.
The brutality of his penetrations finds a twisted switch within me.
This is what’s been missing all my life, what I’ve craved without knowing.
He breaks me. And I never want him to stop.
It takes a moment for the words spilling from his lips to cut through the haze of his pounding strokes.
“I’m going to ruin you… This pussy. Mine.
No other alpha will feel your lips around his cock…
No other will touch you… I want their names.
The names of every man or woman who has ever touched you.
Every alpha, beta… Even the fucking omegas…
I don’t care who they are. I don’t care about their rank.
I’m going to fuck them up for daring to put their hands on what’s mine…
Your hands are mine… Your lips are mine.
Your pussy, one hundred percent mine… And this tight little asshole that’s begging to be taken. All of them are mine.”
“They’re yours,” I pant. I’m in freefall. I’m drowning in him even as he’s the tether that keeps my head above the water, saving me.
And he fucks me despite the knot. I feel so open, used—the best feeling in the world. The slap as flesh meets, the bruises his hands will make. I welcome all of it. I welcome the delectable stretch. I want to be remade and put back together for him and only him.
I can feel myself teetering. Heat? Forced heat. There are two ways of doing it, and rough fucking is one of them. Except I should have tipped over by now. But I don’t. I hang, caught in this jagged edge of denial.
The sense of danger creeps back in, swelling in my gut. Wrong, twisted, coiled tight, begging for release that never comes. And yet something else is burrowing into my chest, an awareness.
Of him?
Feral.
Untamed, lurking under the facade.
A hidden part revealing. A monster awakening.
For me?
Panic rises, pushing into the dreamscape of bliss. Who is this man? Why do I feel like he’s so much more than what he seems?
He stills with a roar. The bulge of his knot impossibly grows, pressing into pleasure trigger points that command my body to respond. I’m tumbling and tumbling, over and over, spasming and twitching under him as he holds me still and pumps me full of seed.
An alert blares. The ten-minute warning to be ready for boarding the drop ship for deployment.
He mutters a curse. “Well, this very fucking inconvenient.”
I’m barely conscious and still twitching with my climax, but a giggle bubbles up.
His palm lands against my ass with a sharp spank that makes my pussy clench over him.
I groan and giggle again.
“Think this is funny, huh?” he mutters without heat. And then he pulls out.
A gush of cum spills out. I clamp my hand over my pussy with a wail of protest, trying to stem the flood.
He pitches to his feet, shucks up his pants, grips me under the arms, and lifts me bodily. Then he turns me in the direction of the bedroom and lands a sharp spank against my ass. “Dressed now.”
“I need a shower!”
“Not a fucking chance.” His fingers close over the back of my neck.
He yanks my back to his front. “Get dressed. Now,” he purrs against the side of my throat.
“No time for getting clean. Besides, I want you smothered in me. I want you full of my cum. I want your pussy sore and gaping where I stretched you.” His voice dips lower.
“I want you to feel where I’ve been until I’m back inside you again. Understood?”
Oh God. His orders should disgust me, shouldn’t they? But they don’t. It’s like he’s peeled me open, read every twisted craving I didn’t know I had, and handed them back to me, one by one… all wrapped in a filthy command and tied with a fat knot.
His fingers tighten against my throat. His lips move to my temple. “Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
He grunts, and I don’t know what to make of the noise, whether it’s satisfaction or amusement. “I’ll deal with that little slip later…” He releases me, propelling me forward.
I suck a deep breath in and push my way through into the tiny closet area beside the bedroom. My fingers are shaking as I fumble for my underwear.
He snatches the panties from my hand and tosses them back in before fixing me with a glare. “Did I tell you to put underwear on?”
“No.” I bite my lip to smother the smile that wants to burst out.
“Then don’t.” He passes me my form-fitting combat suit with a smirk. “I don’t want anything else between your skin and my hands. Also, if I need you again while we’re out in the field, I don’t want to waste time on layers.”
The five-minute warning alarm begins to blare.
He dresses fast, peeling out of his ship-side casuals and shoving into his form-fitting combat gear.
I drink him in even as I fumble into my own.
The man is a work of art, all lean, ropy muscle sculpted into perfection.
Normally, alphas carry scars. History etched into flesh.
But he doesn’t have a single blemish. Is he merely lucky?
Exceptionally skilled? Or new to the field?
There’s no time for questions, nor to dwell. I shrug into my suit and zip it up to my throat. He’s watching me with a predatory glimmer in his eyes that says he wants to peel it straight back down and devour me.
The armor clings like a second skin, but my breasts feel strange without any added support. “I need a bra—”
“No. Boots on, now.”
I huff a breath. Shove my boots on and grab my helmet off the rack. My eyes bounce between the task and drinking him in. Damn. Zeb in combat armor is downright sinful. Like it was designed to showcase his masculine beauty.
He bends to grab his backpack, giving me the perfect view of his ass: tight, powerful… It’s little wonder I’m sore.
He straightens, catches me staring, and smirks.
I shrug and offer my best fake innocent expression.
“Bad omega,” he admonishes.
And, damn, if his growls and rough hands hadn’t already wrecked me, the dimples when he smiles will for sure.