Chapter Eleven #2
Hyunwoo’s erection presses against my ass through our clothes, hard and insistent and radiating heat, and he grinds forward in a slow, rolling motion that pushes the rigid length along the cleft of my ass.
His breathing is ragged against my neck, his fingers digging into my hips.
I can feel the tremor running through his body—a fine, constant shaking, like he’s holding himself back by a thread that’s fraying fast.
He’s deep into it. Past the early stages, past the point where willpower and self-awareness can keep the reins tight. This is a full rut bearing down on him, and I’m standing in the middle of it with his baby in my belly and his scent soaking into every pore of my skin.
I turn in his arms, pressing my palms flat against his chest, and push. He doesn’t budge. His arms stay locked around me, his face still buried in my neck, and the muscles beneath my hands are coiled tight, trembling with restrained force.
“Hyunwoo.” I try to make my voice firm, but it comes out breathless and thin.
“We shouldn’t—you’re not clearheaded right now.
You’re deep in rut, you’re not thinking straight.
” I push at his chest again, harder. “I’m pregnant.
If you lose control completely you could hurt me, or the baby, and I know you don’t want—”
He cuts me off by kissing me.
He surges forward and seals his mouth over mine, one hand gripping the back of my neck, the other locked around my waist, and he holds me against his burning body with a strength that leaves no room for retreat.
The kiss is hungrier than anything we’ve shared before—messy and desperate, all tongue and teeth, his lips slanting over mine again and again as he makes low, rough sounds against my mouth that I feel in my chest and my stomach and the base of my spine.
He bites my lower lip, not gently, and then soothes it with his tongue, licking into my mouth with a greed that makes my head spin.
I want to pull back. I want to be responsible, to think, to remember all the reasons this is a bad idea—the pregnancy, the rut, the fact that he’s not in his right mind and neither am I with his pheromones turning my brain to static.
But another wave of them rolls over me, so thick and overwhelming that my knees actually buckle, my legs giving out beneath me.
Hyunwoo catches me easily, his arm tightening around my waist, holding me upright against him like I weigh nothing.
I’ve never smelled them this strong before—not even during my heat, when he let them loose and they drove me out of my mind.
These are concentrated rut pheromones, intense and suffocating, designed by millions of years of evolution to make an omega stop fighting and open up and take whatever the alpha gives them.
My head swims. My own arousal pounds through me in answer, my cock aching and leaking against Hyunwoo’s thigh, my hole throbbing with a gnawing emptiness that’s becoming unbearable with every second that passes. I need something inside me. I need it now, right now, or I’m going to lose my mind.
Hyunwoo is already stripping me, like he can hear every desperate thought in my head.
He pulls my shirt over my head and tosses it, his hot mouth immediately finding my collarbone, licking a wet stripe across the bone and then sucking a mark into the hollow of my throat hard enough that I gasp and grab at his shoulders.
His hands roam everywhere—palming the swollen curve of my chest, his thumbs finding my darkened, enlarged nipples and pressing circles against them until I whimper and arch into the touch, the sensitivity so acute it borders on pain.
Then his hands drop to my hips, grip hard, slide around to cup my ass and squeeze, his fingers digging into the flesh and pulling my cheeks apart so the cool air hits my slick hole and makes me shudder.
I’m panting, trying to surface, trying to claw my way back up through the haze of pheromones to somewhere I can think clearly.
But every breath I take pulls more of him into my lungs, and every touch of his hands and mouth drags me deeper under, and I’m drowning in it—drowning in him— it feels so good I’m not sure I want to come up for air.
I don’t know how I end up on the bed.
One second I’m standing in the middle of the room with Hyunwoo’s hands on my body and his mouth on my throat, and the next I’m on my back against the mattress, completely naked, my legs spread wide with my pregnant belly rising between them like a hill.
Hyunwoo is kneeling over me, stripped to the waist, his dress shirt gone and his belt hanging open, and his eyes are dark and feral and locked on my body with a hunger that makes my breath stutter in my chest. The transition between vertical and horizontal is a gap in my memory, a missing reel, like the pheromones ate the footage and left me here with my heart hammering and my skin buzzing and no recollection of how my clothes came off.
Hyunwoo moves down my body. He trails open-mouthed kisses across my chest, and when he reaches one of my swollen nipples he pauses.
His tongue drags flat across the enlarged bud and I jerk hard beneath him, a moan slipping out of my throat.
The sensitivity is insane—pregnancy has turned my chest into a minefield, every nerve ending amplified tenfold, and the wet heat of his tongue against the tender, darkened flesh sends a bolt of sensation straight down through my belly and into my cock.
He sucks at it, his lips closing around the nipple and pulling gently, and I grab at his shoulder with one hand, my fingers digging into the muscle there, not sure if I’m trying to push him away or hold him closer.
He keeps going. His mouth moves lower, pressing kisses down over the taut curve of my belly.
There’s a change in the way he touches me there—his lips lingering, softer, almost careful, pressing against the stretched skin with a tenderness that doesn’t match the wild, rut-glazed look in his eyes.
His palm cups the side of my bump and holds it for a moment, his thumb stroking once across the skin, the gesture makes my chest ache.
Then he’s past it, continuing lower, and his breath ghosts hot over my groin as he kneels between my spread thighs. My cock twitches against my belly, flushed and leaking, and my hole clenches hard, slick dripping from me onto the sheets in a steady trickle.
Hyunwoo grips the backs of my thighs with both hands and pushes them apart, holding me open.
The position is humiliatingly exposed—my slick-drenched hole accessible, my cock small and hard against the underside of my bump, my thighs trembling in his grip.
I can feel his breath between my legs, warm and damp, and I’m about to ask what he’s doing when I feel the broad, wet swipe of his tongue over my hole.
Flat and slow, dragging from my perineum up over my slick-soaked rim in one long, purposeful stroke that makes every nerve ending in my body fire at once. I jump so hard I nearly come off the bed, my hips bucking up, a strangled sound ripping from my throat.
The shock of it breaks through the pheromone haze like a fist through glass.
Clarity pierces through, sharp and sudden, and I can think again for one crystalline moment.
No one has ever licked me there. No one has ever put their mouth on that part of me.
It’s too intimate, too much, a line that feels fundamentally different from everything else we’ve done together, and the fact that I can feel the wetness of his tongue still tingling against my rim makes panic spike through my chest.
I struggle to sit up, my abs straining against the weight of my belly, and reach down to push at Hyunwoo’s head with both hands. “That’s too—you can’t—Hyunwoo, stop, that’s too much, we can’t do that—”
A pulse of his pheromones hits me.
Stronger than the ambient saturation that’s been filling the room since he walked in the door.
This is targeted, concentrated, a blast released from his scent glands with what feels like intent behind it, and it slams into me bodily.
My arms give out. My muscles go slack and boneless all at once, every ounce of resistance draining from my body as I collapse flat against the mattress, my limbs heavy and useless, my head swimming.
The strength of it is so overwhelming, so intoxicating, that my body responds automatically.
I come. Untouched, unprompted, my cock spurting in weak pulses onto my stomach and the underside of my pregnant bump, my hole spasming as an orgasm tears through me triggered by nothing but the force of his scent.
My back arches off the bed and a broken sound falls out of my mouth, I can feel the hot streaks of my own cum sliding down the curve of my belly as my body shakes through it.
My face burns. The humiliation is blazing even through the haze—I just came from pheromones alone, from the smell of him, without a single touch on my cock or inside my hole.
Like a textbook omega in heat, helpless and reactive, my body a puppet on the strings of alpha strength.
Everything I spent my whole life trying not to be.
But Hyunwoo makes a pleased, hungry noise between my thighs, and I feel him surge up over my body.
His tongue drags through the cum pooled on my stomach, lapping it up in broad strokes, and he groans against my skin.
“Sweet,” he mutters, his voice so low and raspy it barely sounds like him.
“So fucking sweet, Yuggie, even sweeter than before.” His tongue chases a streak of cum down the curve of my bump, collecting every drop, and then he lifts his head and looks at me with those blown-black eyes and says in a rough rasp, “I want to taste your slick too.”