I smirk when his fingers fumble at my belt in a clumsy rush. He tugs too hard at the buckle, nearly toppling me off balance before he finally wrestles it loose. My fly’s next, and the zipper sticks halfway, making him curse under his breath.
I chuckle, low. “Need me that bad, huh?” I tilt my head back against the coats, grinning. “Can’t even work a fucking zipper?”
Tadeo pauses, muscles taut, his grip tightening on the fabric as he glares up at me. Those dark brown eyes flash dangerously, and he snarls—showing me teeth. “Shut up,” he growls, rough and sexy, before dragging the zipper down in one savage pull.
My cock is already straining as I eat up the sight of him like this. Tadeo doesn’t lose control often—but when he does? It’s fucking glorious.
The second my jeans are undone, Tadeo growls low in his chest, grabbing my shoulder and spinning me so hard the bar overhead rattles from the force. His teeth nip at my neck and back as my face presses into the coats.
Instinct claws at me the second he shoves me around, agrowl ripping out of my throat before I can stop it. Every nerve bristles, my body screaming to snatch control back, to remind him who the hell I am.
But I stay put as the fight simmers hot under my skin, restless and wild—like my own blood doesn’t want me giving in.
And fuck if that doesn’t make me harder.
Bottoming has always felt wrong to me.
An alpha’s supposed to take, not bend. While plenty of my kind will spread for their pack alpha without a second thought, my instincts revolt every time. Taking a cock always sparks an agitation that prickles through me like fire ants under my skin. Being this exposed and vulnerable feels wrong…and for some reason it makes me fucking throb.
Because no matter how my body resists, some twisted part of me loves the fight—the push and pull, the way surrender tastes like sin.
“Fuck, you smell good,” Tadeo snarls against my neck as his fingers hook into my waistband. Then he jerks my jeans down, rough and uncoordinated, dragging them over my thighs with more strength than finesse.
I don’t help him.
I let him wrestle with the denim, feeding off his frantic energy as he gets closer and closer to breaking. God, I love him like this—wild, clumsy, desperate. Unraveling right in my hands.
His breath comes hot and ragged against my neck, his hands shaking as they drag over my hips. Then the thick heat of his cock grinds against me through his jeans, and my cock twitches hard.
That’s it. Frenzy’s fun, but I don’t want teasing anymore. I want him buried in me.
“Lube,” I gasp, tipping my head toward the shelf.
For a second, the heat of Tadeo’s body disappears. I hear the soft scrape of plastic, the sharp pop of the cap. My stomach tightens, anticipation coiling hot and heavy in my gut.
The first slick touch of his fingers makes me groan low. He’s clumsy at first, too eager, but he slows when I arch back into him, forcing patience into his movements. The lube’s cold, then warming, and he spreads it over me, dipping into my asshole with one, then two fingers.
“Good,” I whisper, widening my stance to steady myself. “Don’t rush. Get me ready.”
But Tad’s patience is hanging by a thread. His breath is hot and ragged against my shoulder, his body shaking. Then his fingers vanish—and his cock replaces them. Thick. Heavy. Unforgiving.
“Fuck!” I groan, my hands clawing at the wall of coats as he slams into me. The bar creaks, rattling above us. My whole body jolts forward, but he doesn’t stop. He drives into me, again and again, raw and desperate, his grip bruising my hips as he drags me back against every thrust.
The bar finally snaps with a crack. Coats and shirts rain down around us, tangling around my arms. I choke out a laugh, but it turns into a guttural groan when he hits that wonderful spot inside me, pounding it over and over until my knees nearly buckle.
“Jesus, Tad,” I snarl as I push my ass back, forcing him deeper. The burn’s too much, too good. My cock drips against the fallen shirts, smearing precum. Every nerve in my body’s screaming, begging for release.
His scent’s everywhere—coconut, lime, grapefruit—sharp and bright and overwhelming until it’s all I taste.
I slam my hand back, clutching at his hip, his ass, anything I can grab. “Harder,” I rasp, and he gives it tome. Rutting deep, reckless, his teeth scraping my shoulder.
The orgasm rips through me like lightning. My cum spills hot across the pile of coats, and I groan so loud it echoes in the tiny closet. My body clenches down around him, desperate to keep him inside.
Tadeo snarls into my neck, raw and feral, and then he’s flooding me with heat. Thick, hot spurts pulse deep inside as he locks me against the wall, rutting shallow thrusts until he’s wrung dry.
We stay tangled like that, panting, my body trembling with aftershocks. His chest presses into my back, heavy, his breath stuttering against my ear. His hands roam my chest like he’s still trying to claim me.
The closet reeks of sex and citrus. My legs shake, clothes ruined around our feet, but I don’t give a shit.
