Chapter 46
CHAPTER
FORTY-SIX
MYLO
Kissing Christine feels like trying to swallow the ocean. The more I drink, the more I crave, and there’s always overwhelmingly more.
Heat crackles in my bones, radiating outward, slicking my skin with sweat. Still, I need her touch, her warmth, and anywhere other than pressed up against her feels arctic, sending me shivering violently.
Her hands nearly circle my waist, and I finally let myself notice how much larger than me she is, how my kneeling across her only barely puts my mouth at the level of hers, how there’s so much of her to get tangled up in, lost in.
She could crush me, toss me, pin me.
I wouldn’t be able to get away.
I don’t want to.
Grinding against her, I’m already dripping. It’s less pleasure and more a brief reprieve from the wild, urgent need rising within me. There are no words for what I want, only my fingers tightening in her hair, my tongue pressing deeper, the whimpering moans I can no longer hold back.
My hands slide down, pawing at the slick nylon between us, needing more of her skin. She raises nails that have become claws, hooking them under the collar of her rash guard and tearing through. The string bikini underneath meets the same fate, freeing her breasts to meet my palms.
I wait for her claws to roam further, to strip off my bottoms or hers, but they just trace gentle lines along my ribs.
Urgency gathers faster than pleasure can relieve it, and my moans turn needy and impatient.
Christine laughs against my mouth, and I whine—then gasp as she moves to nip at my jaw, breaking the kiss and forcing me to catch my breath.
“Such a needy little omega,” she teases.
An indignant whine rises in my throat.
“But what do you want?”
“I want—” I know that I want: my whole body burns with it, with need.
“I want—” But there are no words for this craving, for the tangle of instinct and impulse, primal urges I don’t yet understand.
“I don’t know,” I whine, leaning heavily against her, still grinding desperately though it gives me no relief.
“Poor thing,” she croons against my ear.
I shudder, curling my nails into the skin of her shoulder.
“Do you need your alpha to take charge?”
“No,” I answer on reflex.
Her chuckle curls wicked around my neck. “Are you sure about that?”
Heavy breaths saw from my lungs. “No…”
“Say it.”
The alpha command in those words winds around my throat, loosening my clenched muscles, letting free a shameless whine.
Her tongue slides up my neck and across my jaw, as if tasting the effect she has on me.
“Please, alpha, I need it…”
“What do you need, sweet omega?”
I should hate it, how she calls me ‘omega.’ But it sends this soft, warm haze through my mind, this sense that all is good and right.
And then everything clicks into place.
“Please, I need you. Tee, I need you…”
A wicked purr rumbles deep in her chest and her claws curl into my skin, dragging bright red marks over my ass and spine as her hot, eager breath falls against my neck.
“And what do you need from me?”
Overwhelm and desperation flutter in my throat. “Everything. I need everything.”
The words snap the tether restraining Christine, and she grabs the back of my head, pulling me into another fierce kiss. Her other arm loops around my hips, holding me to herself as she stands, stumbles forward, and lowers to a patch of turf in front of the swing.
As my weight settles on my back, hungry teeth and claws rove their way down my body, biting at my nipples, dragging over shivering gooseflesh. She yanks my jeans and boxers over my hips and tugs them off my feet, not caring or noticing that my shoes go with them.
Some lingering thread of awareness in my mind thinks to protest, something about being outside, but it turns to vapor when her mouth slides around my length.
Her throat is hot and wet and tight, and I need more. The sounds flowing from my chest must make that clear, because her tongue slides over my balls and plunges into my ass with little warning.
There’s that momentary relief again, a chance for my muscles to relax and my moans to deepen. I pour down her throat, but it might as well be pre-cum for all it releases the building pressure.
Her hands slide under my lower back, lifting me so her tongue can slide deeper, the thicker base stretching me more.
I’m vaguely aware of one of her hands leaving me, sliding off her board shorts and tossing them aside, but it’s all I can do to breathe through the waves of pleasure and intensity as my back arches and my head falls against the dirt.
Her tongue curls inside of me, finding my prostate and teaching me all at once why people make so much ado about that bundle of nerves.
A desperate moan tightens in my chest, and heat blossoms from her tongue. The throbs of pleasure are almost painful, but it’s a moment of relief from the relentless need, and I can tolerate her withdrawing for the moment.
Christine rises over me, wiping the corner of her mouth with the back of her hand, silhouetted against the full moon.
"Oh, Mylo, look what you've done to me." She straightens to her full height.
My eyes drag up her length, finding her heels lifted to shift her weight onto her toes, her limbs even longer than usual, her nails curved to gleaming claws.
Her pointed ears have lengthened and they twist toward chirping crickets in time with the twitch of her now-triangular nose and short feline muzzle, giving the impression of a hairless cat.
Her slitted azure eyes glow like phosphorescent plankton, framed by that gleaming silver hair which seems woven with moonlight.
She is magnificent.
She is my alpha.
And between her legs, trimmed with soft blue fur, a pink length slowly throbs and emerges.
I thought I had felt heat. I thought I had felt need. But as I see my alpha’s cock rise for me, I realize I had felt nothing.
I had been nothing. And only now am I alive.
The warm pulse starts in my chest, slow at first, like a new heart beating for the first time. My cells seem to blossom and rearrange, awakening to unfathomable possibilities.
“Come,” she says gently. “Come see what I have for you.”
Her words draw me up to kneel.
She reaches a hand toward me—still hers, but larger, her nails now wicked claws. Her fingers graze my scalp, and every nerve in my body quivers at the touch.
Slowly, her grip tightens, and she pulls my lips toward her cock.
I open for her. Her tip pulses hot against my tongue, shaft not yet fully hard, and she slides to the back of my throat.
I’d never found the idea of sucking cock particularly appealing. Then again, I’d never seen my alpha.
The gentle pressure of her palm is a patient command that I eagerly obey, pushing forward until my lips brush that soft blue fur at her base.
My gag reflex is nowhere to be found. I lean back just far enough to gasp in a breath, then push over her length again, determined to impress my alpha, to surprise her with my skill.
But I should have known better. A soft laugh, edged with primal huskiness, falls over me.
“Oh, I knew you’d be an eager little slut…”
I whine my protest, indignant.
Christine’s grip on my scalp tightens, and she shoves my head down her length, holding me at her base until heat blossoms through my mind, softening my thoughts.
She pulls me back, lets me take a few quick breaths, then works me over her again.
Her cock pulses and thickens, lengthening down my throat as she strokes, and a swell throbs against my tongue, catching behind my teeth.
Her knot.
That urgency rises slowly. My hands rest on her thighs, then tense to grip her muscles, then curl and claw desperately down her skin.
Christine lets out a low, satisfied purr, reveling in the pain.
“That’s a good little omega. Get my cock nice and ready. For a slut like you, it should be easy.”
I hardly even have the dignity to whine this time, and the sound quickly becomes a desperate moan as I grip her ass and pull down to her base, choking around her length.
And then I get my reward: a catch of pleasure in Christine’s breath.
She grips my hair and pulls me all the way off her cock, purring at the drool that clings between her tip and my panting mouth. She uses her other hand to roughly wipe my lip, then carries that coarse touch up over my jaw, and I melt in her firm grasp.
Christine slides a hand down her stomach and palms her cock, pressing the tip against my cheek.
“It’s bigger than I remember,” she chuckles. “I hope you’re ready.”
A wave of heat unlike any other ripples through my brain, turning everything dark for a moment. That feverish feeling overwhelms me, and every little movement is tender, sore. I whimper with pain, swaying where I kneel.
Christine calmly drops to kneel across from me. A feline tail covered in fine blue fur and tipped with a tuft of silver sweeps around to land on her thigh.
She cups my face in her hands and leans her forehead against mine again. “Shhh. It’s alright.”
I want to believe her, but a sudden spike of pain cracks through my bones, as if ghostly screws drive into them from every direction.
“It hurts,” I sob, shaking, embarrassed at my display, but it seems twenty-eight years of denied pain suddenly refuses to stay buried.
“I know it does,” she soothes. “But you can take it.”
“I can’t.” Tears slide down my cheeks, burning like acid, and every shake of my lungs is a new crack of pain. “I can’t…”
Her grip on my face tightens. She tilts my eyes up to meet hers. “Take it for me, Mylo.”
The command smooths over me like a balm, easing the pain.
“You can take it for me.”
I manage a deeper breath and somehow stay in my body even as my bones twist and grind. “What’s happening?” I whisper.
“You’re shifting,” she replies softly. Her finger brushes over my ear.
My breath catches. “No—” I reach upwards, but she grips my wrist and firmly places my hand back in my lap.
Her thumb presses between my lips and slides over my teeth—then catches on a pointed canine.
“Why?” I plead, more tears spilling over my cheeks. She brushes each one away, erasing that burning trail.