2. Alric
Alric
Madi rejected me.
A growl sticks in my throat but instead of letting it out, I shove it down and ask how her week was. It’s been nearly a year of dates, late-night conversations over the finest wine, and the best sex I’ve ever had.
Our standing Friday night dates have never been enough.
I’ve been addicted to her since the first evening we met at an art gallery opening and I spotted her admiring a piece all night. I asked her if I should purchase it with the intention of buying it for her but she’d boldly replied, “Yes, for me.”
That was all it took.
Her confidence and the look in her brown eyes had demanded the world, and I was desperate to be the alpha who gave it to her.
I’m not a lovesick idiot. I know she’s a sought-after sugar baby, that I’m not the only alpha in her life, but damn it, I need her in my pack. Maybe not now, but one day. Her lovely voice breaks through my thoughts.
“The new camera you bought me has certainly elevated the quality of my travel photos.”
I wasn’t aware I bought her one, but she has my black card and I’ve never bothered to check the statements, nor do I often check the social media app she posts her photography on. I only follow her account, so when I do open it, all of the photos I see are of her work.
Beautifully captured snapshots of the many places she has traveled to over the years. Madi, smiling at the camera as she shops for vintage designer purses in Tokyo and swimming in hot springs surrounded by snow in Alberta.
“Whatever you capture is always beautiful.”
She swirls a piece of her perfectly cooked steak into the creamy potatoes, humming a happy little noise when she takes a bite.
The sound makes my cock twitch.
Madeline looks up at me and smiles, but it’s not the one I know. It’s soft and polite. One that says she’s going to try to keep our conversation light and ignore my offer.
I’ll indulge her desire to brush off the topic of our relationship status—for now.
We discuss the vintage wine I open, my time at college in New York—which reminds her of her favorite store on Fifth Avenue and getting lost in it as a child.
Once dinner has been cleared, only a single covered silver tray remains.
I stand, coming over to her side of the table to uncover a thick piece of chocolate cake, decadent chocolate frosting between each layer.
I place the dessert in front of her before moving her chair backwards, just enough for me to get on my knees before her.
“What are you doing?” she asks, her eyes heating.
“Enjoying my dessert while you enjoy yours.” I gently tap the inside of her thigh, a silent command for her to open her legs and allow me access to that sweet cunt I can scent.
She pauses for a moment and I give her time to deny me, but slowly, her legs part and my mouth waters when her divine hips slide towards me.
Her fingers slip into my hair as my arms wrap around her thighs, tightening my hold on her.
I place her knees over my shoulders, her legs pressed against my ears, muffling the sound of silverware on ceramic as I lick the length of her pussy.
We moan at the same time, but I suspect part of her moan was for the chocolate cake.
Each lick and suck has her hips lifting towards me, and I savor the slick I’ve brought forth.
I’m not gentle or sweet—I eat like a man starved, rough and raw.
The taste of her drives me wild. It’s so deliciously her.
I wake up craving this, angry she’s not in my bed when the sun lights my penthouse each morning.
My tongue pumps into her over and over again before swirling around her clit, starting slow and speeding up with each circle until she’s rocking, begging.
Silverware clangs against her plate, her other hand joining my gray strands as I devour the decadence of her desire.
Madi’s legs shake, her orgasm nearing, my mouth full of her, until I pull away and leave her gasping. The sound leaves a wicked grin on my face.
“Be my girlfriend, omega, meet my pack,” I say, my arms holding her in place when she squirms.
I loathe repeating myself. It’s too close to begging, but I’ll make an exception for her. She’s going to be mine. I want my bondmark on her neck and I want hers on the top of my hand, so I can see it every moment of the day.
My wedding ring on her finger, her books in my library, her favorite dinner set in my dining room, her expensive clothes hanging in my closet. I need her lipstick to stain my cheeks each morning before I leave for work, while she spends my money lavishly and turns my lifeless penthouse into a home.
Her eyes flash open, burning with an annoyance that only makes my smile widen. I love toying with her like this, taking her close to the edge, but not giving her what she wants yet.
Her pleasure is mine to play with.
My future bonded gives as fiercely as she gets. Her fingers tangle in my hair, twisting to the point of pain, and I laugh at her tenacity. She holds my head steady, gazing up at her, and says one word.
“No.”
Before I can say anything, she shoves my head between her legs, commanding me to let her finish. I let out the growl I’ve been holding back all night against her core, the vibrations of it sending her hips upwards.
If I were a lesser man, I’d pull away, deny her like she has denied me, but I’m a greedy son of a bitch. I want my name on her lips when she comes on my tongue. My mouth returns to her flushed center and I give her the pleasure she demands from me, sucking her clit.
It only takes a moment before her orgasm rushes into her and she arches skyward.
The rush of slick drenching my face and soaking my five o’clock shadow as I lick every drop I can, prolonging her bliss with each pass of my tongue.
She slumps in her chair, caressing my check affectionately when I raise my head.
I lean into that touch.
Her scent soothes something deep within me—she is the only omega I could ever want. Being one of her clients proves she deems me worthy of her, and I’ve always felt like a fucking lucky bastard for it. I just need more.
“You are quite a persistent alpha,” she says, barely above a whisper.
I turn to kiss the inside of her palm. “Because I know what I want.”
I love her like this, boneless, her orgasm still clouding her golden brown eyes, a pink blush over her creamy cheeks, and her pussy dripping from my devotion.
I’m desperate to know her scent, another reason to make her mine.
She wouldn’t need to be on scent blockers.
I’d bet a fair amount of money she smells delicious, like those fruit tarts she loves.
My pack will love her.
When my phone buzzes in my pocket, I kiss the inside of her thigh one last time before pulling it out. The message is something about a problem in the kitchen. Fuck. Opening night is never without its issues but damn it, the timing is bullshit.
“Stay here.” I wipe my face with her napkin and finish her glass of wine. I smell like slick, but the variety of food cooked in the kitchen will hide it for long enough to see whatever fuckup demands my attention when I specifically asked not to be disturbed.
“Alright.” Her smile is forced, the kind that doesn’t reach her eyes, and my stomach twists. Perhaps I was too intense in my plans.
I lean down to kiss her, utterly entranced by her beauty, and she nips at my bottom lip, another punishment for delaying her satisfaction. She’s perfection, and when I return, we can have a greater discussion about our future together.
A beautiful, bonded future.