Chapter 46
JAMIE
I drift awake, blood hot and cock throbbing.
I’m not sure whether my morning wood is from my dreams of Morgan chasing me and fucking me into the earth again, or from her fingers trailing along my lower stomach, but it doesn’t really matter as she purrs, “Morning, sleeping beauty,” and grips the base of my cock.
“M-morning,” I stammer.
“Want some more extra credit?” she croons.
“Yes,” I moan, wriggling into her hand.
“Good boy. Come put that cute little prick of yours to good use. I want something inside of me.”
Morgan lounges back on a pile of pillows, legs wide, and I settle obediently between them.
“Fuck, you feel so good,” I moan, hips twitching.
“Don’t hold back,” she says with a slap to my ass.
I yelp and plunge into her with embarrassing eagerness. Even though I’m thrusting this time, Morgan is still very much in charge.
She cradles my head and presses my mouth against her breast, and I obediently latch on, raising a hand to massage the other.
“So eager to please,” Morgan purrs, and the sound goes straight to my cock.
She edges me, then a second time, and a third time. When I physically can’t stop myself from thrusting, she pulls me tight against her with an iron grip, trapping me there.
Her head tips back with pleasure as her inner muscles tighten, making doubly sure I won’t be going anywhere. She takes a shuddering breath and groans, the rhythmic contractions of her climax finally giving me release.
And it is true, spine-melting, mind-bending release.
So, I think that means it’s getting towards the end of my heat.
Or maybe locking has some of the same benefits as knotting—in retrospect, it makes sense that male omegas would have a kind of vestigial knot.
And fuck, it feels good when she squeezes around me…
Morgan’s hand slides into my hair, a deep purr rumbling under me as I rest against her chest. It keeps that glowy, tingly sensation of the afterglow going, offering a longer respite from my heat’s insatiable neediness.
When her inner muscles finally loosen, she slides me further up her chest and carries me to the shower, depositing me there.
She somehow found time to start thawing the water bottle with the collar’s key in the bathroom sink and to set out another outfit for me.
“I’m locking you in here,” she says. “Clean yourself well, clean that collar well. There’s leather soap on the counter. Be wearing it when you unlock this door. There’s a time-delay safe there for you to put the key in when you’re done. Pick a good passcode, and don’t forget it. Understood?”
If I hadn’t just cum so hard, my cock would be hardening at those words. I might have a competence kink. Or just a Morgan kink.
“Yes, alpha.”
Her eyes flash. “Careful,” she warns, and she pulls the door shut.
Anxiety instantly prickles under my skin. On a visceral level, it feels wrong to be in a different room from her. As I dump the key out of the water bottle and unlock the collar, the anxiety tightens, churning in my stomach.
A chill ripples across my skin, leaving gooseflesh behind. I guess that makes sense—the bathroom is colder than the bed, and my blood is resettling. I step into the shower and crank the water all the way hot.
Yesterday I was burning up, but now I can’t stop shivering. Even the hottest water still feels lukewarm, so I rush through my shower, sure to scrub all the dirt and sweat away from my neck, then wash the collar as quickly as I can while still being thorough.
Waiting for it to finish drying is torture, so I pull out Morgan’s hair dryer—which looks more like a ray gun with its hollow-tube design. Even the hot air washing over my body isn’t enough to warm me up, but at least it dries the leather faster.
I set the safe’s code to Mom’s birthday because I’m too agitated to come up with anything better.
When I tighten the collar back into place and snap the padlock shut, the anxiety eases slightly.
Today’s outfit is flowing silk pants in a scarlet floral pattern with a crop sleeveless top and a jacket so short it’s basically just sleeves and a hood.
I’ve never worn a crop top before. But I like it.
Except for the part where I’m freezing, but I could probably be in a parka and it wouldn’t matter. Anywhere without Morgan feels frigid.
There’s still a chance she cranked the AC or I’m imagining things, so I try to not analyze the implications as I emerge from the bathroom. I also try to not sprint through the house, desperately searching for her, and I mostly succeed.
I follow her scent straight to the kitchen, and when the sight of her sends a wave of warmth through my body, I can no longer deny the effect she has on me.
Just a symptom of my heat, I assure myself.
“Took you long enough,” Morgan says with levity, but she looks as relieved as I feel.
Breakfast is artisan bagels again, this time with herb-infused cream cheese and smoked salmon.
All it takes is the sight of Morgan licking a stray bit of cream cheese from her fingers, and my cock is throbbing again.
I’m sure she can’t see, but her nostrils flare, scenting it. The mere thought cranks my arousal up another two levels.
Fuck, there’s no hiding it from her.
A moment later, she shoves breakfast aside and lays me back on the kitchen island, rimming me like I’m the main course.
The things this woman can do with her tongue, good god.
I predictably cum all over myself, and she licks me clean with predatory satisfaction, then deposits me back on my feet.
I’ve only just regained my balance when she offers to complete the tour of her estate.
When we reach the infinity pool on one of the higher terraces of the property, memories of the last time we were in the water shift my scent again, and she rides me on one of the deck chairs.
We bask in the sun until I’m recovered enough to stand, but we only make it two rooms over before she lifts me up and pins me against a glass window, kissing me hungrily and crushing my cock between us, the worry of whether the glass will crack with her force making me ache with pleasure.
After that, it’s outdoors to the putting green at the top of the property, where she makes a joke about holes in one and then she’s knuckling mine again.
My own inner beast is perfectly content with this arrangement, and I don’t feel like I’m going to shift again, but I’m still definitely in heat.
There’s something raw in Morgan too, her eyes honest and hungry. She’s not holding back.
Past the putting green is a zip line of all things, and as the adrenaline turns me on again, Morgan leaves me hanging in the harness and devours me, tongue working greedily around my cock. I climax twenty feet off the ground.
By the end of the tour, Morgan has taken me in every way, shape, and form, working me to gasping, aching climax, mingling it with her own pleasure. I now have a vivid memory of every element of the estate, but my lust-addled brain retained zero sense of how they all connect in space.
It’s dinnertime when we find the kitchen again—or, I should say, a kitchen. This is a different gorgeously appointed luxury kitchen. Morgan opens what looks like a cabinet door but is actually a fridge and pulls out a bottle of some fancy electrolyte drink, tossing it to me.
“Better stay hydrated,” she says with a hungry sweep of her tongue across her fangs.
Fuck.
She makes a game of sucking me off, but only while I’m actively drinking. There’s a lot of sputtering and gasping. I cum hard. Again.
I somehow convince Morgan that we should watch a movie—I think I say something about giving me a break to rehydrate properly—so she leads me to a subterranean theater lined with leather armchairs and trimmed with red velvet.
We don’t even make it five minutes into the movie before I say something about buttering popcorn and she’s giving me a wrap-around hand-job and I’m cumming again. At least my crop top is short enough that I don’t ruin it.
Morgan decides that analyzing my current refractory period is much more interesting than the movie, and after ample trials, she determines it’s right around thirty seconds, leaving me pleading for mercy.
If I thought I was addicted to Morgan before…
Fuck. Fuck.
But for once, I’m not crashing as I come down from my heat. Even while I’m still unclaimed, Morgan seems to be the antidote. Well, Morgan and like… a hundred orgasms.
#
MORGAN
I give Jamie all of a five-minute break before my fingers creep up his thigh again.
“Mercy,” he reminds me with a ragged laugh.
“Fine. Mother did always say I was too rough with my toys…”
He shivers.
I kiss his cheek. “You take so much for me so well…”
His breath catches, and he nestles back into me. But the shift is his scent isn’t arousal this time. It’s…
Safety. Contentment. Vulnerability.
I’m learning his scent, all the intricacies of it.
The compounds are too volatile, too subjective to study, but there’s early evidence that for alphas and omegas, pheromones enable complex communication.
That said, I have all the evidence I need sitting here in my lap.
I wonder if his sense of smell is as sharp as mine, or if mine’s enhanced by all the years my beast has spent bubbling right under the surface.
Last night was…
Fuck, he looked pretty, all scratched up and dazed out.
To not gnaw through that collar, to not take him anyway, was… impossible.
The hardest thing I’ve ever done.
I can’t do it again.
And what he said yesterday… I love… everything you do to me.
I don’t think Jamie even realized, I don’t think he had any intention of following those first two words with that one, singular word that would change everything, but… still. Those first two words scared me.
It’s dangerous if he falls for me like that.
But not nearly as dangerous as if I fall for him.
So I’m distracting myself with Jamie’s pleasure, focusing on the present, on every little scent and twitch and sound, etching it all into memory.
Because at the end of this week, memories will be all I have.