15. ~Vex~
~Vex~
The knot had held us locked for what felt like an eternity of exquisite torment, his swollen base pulsing deep inside me, stretching me to the brink of delirium while wave after wave of aftershocks rippled through my core.
I had blacked out somewhere in the middle of it—consciousness fracturing under the relentless pressure of fullness, the heat of his release flooding me, the way his chest rumbled against my back like distant thunder promising more storms to come.
When awareness returned, his mouth was already on mine again, devouring the remnants of my cries even as the knot began its slow, reluctant deflation.
Strawberries and scorched sugar clung to the air between us, tangled with the heavy smoke-and-iron of him, a perfume so potent it should have been classified as a controlled substance.
Now, minutes or hours later—I have lost all reliable measure of time in this sun-drenched fever dream—he has me perched on the edge of the ornate dresser, legs draped over his broad shoulders, his face buried between my thighs like a man starved for sacrament.
His tongue moves with devastating precision, lapping at the mingled evidence of our joining, and the wet, obscene sounds fill the room alongside my fractured gasps.
I stare down at him through half-lidded eyes, one hand fisted in that dark hair, the other braced against the mirror behind me, and marvel at the sight: Riot Vale, the man who turned a prison into a slaughterhouse, lips and chin glistening with my slick, eyes half-closed in reverent hunger.
I have never encountered an Alpha capable of matching the furnace that lives beneath my skin.
Most falter after one round, spent and smug, as if biology itself owed them rest. This one shows no sign of slowing.
His scent surges with every stroke of his tongue—woodsmoke curling thicker, leather warmed by friction, the bright metallic bite of bloodlust transmuted into something far more intimate.
It wraps around my senses like chains forged in velvet, possessive and unrelenting.
“Riot,” I manage, voice husky and edged with that manic lilt the orderlies once tried to medicate out of me. “If you keep that up, I’ll start believing you actually enjoy dessert for breakfast.”
He pulls back just enough to flash a wicked, slick-smeared grin, pale grey eyes gleaming with predatory amusement.
“Enjoy? Darling, I’m fucking worshiping. This cunt’s been hiding treasures. Tight enough to make a man question every rumor about Omegas getting passed around like communal property.”
I laugh, the sound bright and unhinged even to my own ears.
“Careful. That almost sounded like a compliment wrapped in misogyny. My previous Alpha assumed the same—until I proved the only thing loose in that penthouse was his grasp on reality.”
His chuckle vibrates against my inner thigh before he dives back in, sucking my clit between his lips with just the right pressure to make my spine arch.
The mirror behind me fogs with the heat of my breath.
I watch our reflection—my pink-and-violet hair wild, the ridiculous white dress long discarded, his massive frame folded in devotion—and feel the mastermind in me stir beneath the lunacy. He thinks he’s unraveling me.
Part of me lets him believe it. The rest catalogs every tell: the way his shoulders tense when my scent spikes, the subtle hitch in his breathing when I clench around his tongue. Useful data. Dangerous data.
The kind that could topple empires if weaponized correctly.
But fucking heavens, the pleasure.
It drowns calculation for blessed stretches. He lifts me effortlessly then, hands cupping my ass as he rises, my thighs clamped around his head while he walks us across the room.
The casual display of strength sends fresh slick dripping down his chin.
He sets me against the tall window overlooking the valley arches, cool glass kissing my heated skin, and resumes feasting as if the world outside—stone arches draped in moss, distant market bustle, the illusion of freedom—does not exist.
“Fuck—Riot—” My fingers scrape through his hair, hips grinding shamelessly against his mouth. Suspense coils low in my belly, the edge approaching like a blade on a wire.
One wrong breath and I’ll shatter again. He knows it.
The bastard growls into my folds, the vibration pushing me over. I come with a sharp cry that echoes off the high ceilings, thighs trembling around his ears, vision fracturing into mismatched stars of lavender and emerald.
He doesn’t let me descend fully.
Instead he spins me, pressing my front to the mirror now, my ass arched back as he rises behind me. The chill of the glass against my breasts draws a hiss; the heat of his cock nudging my entrance pulls a moan.
“Look at yourself,” he rumbles, voice gravel dragged through smoke. “Look how perfectly you take me. This pretty pussy saved itself for someone who knows its worth.”
I meet his gaze in the reflection, lips curving into a smirk that feels half-deranged.
“Flattery and fucking. You’re spoiling me, criminal. Most Alphas would have tapped out by now. Rent due on that stamina?”
He thrusts in with one powerful stroke, bottoming out so deep my toes leave the floor. The stretch reignites every nerve still singing from the knot.
“Rent’s paid in full when you scream my name again.
” His hand snakes around to circle my clit while the other braces my hip, setting a punishing rhythm that rattles the mirror in its frame.
Skin slaps against skin. Our scents merge into something heady and profane—burnt sugar and gun-oil, chocolate ganache and warm iron, a confection baked in violence.
I push back to meet him, bickering even as pleasure spirals higher.
“Cocky. What if I decide you’re still not worthy? I burned the last one for lesser sins than premature ego.”
He laughs, dark and breathless, leaning down to bite the juncture of my neck and shoulder. Not a claiming bite—yet—but close enough to send possessive fire racing down my spine.
“Then I’ll just have to fuck the doubt out of you, Violet. Again. And again. Until the only name you remember is mine.”
The angle is devastating.
Every thrust grinds against that perfect spot inside, his knot threatening at the base once more.
I am dripping down my thighs, the evidence of how thoroughly he undoes me impossible to deny.
Mastermind and madwoman war within: one plotting contingencies, the other surrendering to the bliss of being truly matched.
For once, the madwoman wins.
He spins me again without warning, bending me over the foot of the bed this time.
“Hands on the ledge. Don’t you dare let go.”
I obey—barely—gripping carved wood as he drives into me from behind. Dominance rolls off him in waves, yet there’s reverence beneath it, the obsessive fixation of a man who has found the one puzzle worth solving with his body.
I love it. Crave it.
The way he takes charge without erasing me. My moans fill the room, loud and shameless, mingling with his grunts. Silas and Lucien must hear every second.
Pressure builds again, sharper this time.
I shatter around him with a keening wail, walls fluttering wildly. He follows moments later, flooding me once more, hips stuttering as he catches me when my legs finally buckle. Strong arms scoop me up before I can collapse, cradling me against his sweat-slick chest as if I weigh nothing.
I expect the bed. A dismissive toss.
The transactional end most Alphas offer. Instead he carries me toward the adjoining bathroom, somehow managing to start the tub with one hand while holding me secure. Water rushes, steam rising with the faint herbal scent of whatever salts he’s added. Confusion cuts through the post-orgasm haze.
“What are you doing?” I murmur against his neck, tasting salt and smoke.
“Cleaning up my pretty darling.” His voice is rough but gentle, a contradiction that fascinates the strategist in me. “Such a performance, and I’d leave you filled and dirty? I’m a killer, sure, but I was raised with some standards on women’s hygiene.”
I smirk, nuzzling closer despite myself.
The water smells of lavender and something earthier, grounding.
“Standards. From the man who just fucked me on every available surface like the world was ending.”
He lowers us both into the filling tub, arranging me between his legs, my back to his chest.
The warm water laps at oversensitive skin, soothing and arousing in equal measure. His hands begin a slow, possessive exploration—washing away sweat and slick with surprising tenderness while his scent cocoons us.
I blink slowly, realizing the spiral that gripped me upon waking has quieted.
No impending doom pressing at my temples. No frantic cataloguing of exits.
Just the steady thrum of his heartbeat and the glide of callused palms.
“No,” I confess softly, almost wonderingly. “Doesn’t feel like impending doom.”
He smirks against my hair, arms tightening around me.
“Then let’s soak in the bath and get to know each other, my pretty darling.”