"Yes," I whimpered, my hands scrabbling at his jeans, fumbling with the button, the zipper. "Yes, please, Alpha—" He reared back, kneeling between my spread thighs, and shoved his jeans down with none of the finesse Oliver had shown. And then I got my first real look at him.
My breath caught in my throat. He was big. Bigger than Oliver, bigger than anyone I'd ever seen outside of fever dreams and half-remembered fantasies. His cock stood thick and hard, curving slightly upward, flushed dark red and angry-looking, veins standing out in relief along the shaft. The head was almost purple, slick with precum that beaded at the tip and dripped down in a thin strand. And at the base—even soft, even not yet forming, I could see where his knot would swell, the fleshalready thicker there, promising a stretch that made me shiver with equal parts anticipation and fear.
"Scared?" he asked, his voice rough but not unkind. He stroked himself slowly, spreading the precum down his length, and I watched the motion with hungry eyes.
"No." I spread my legs wider, tilted my hips up in invitation. "Want all of you. Every inch." He positioned himself at my entrance, the blunt head pressing against my slick folds, and for a moment we both just breathed. The heat of him against my most sensitive flesh made me whimper, made me try to push forward, to take him inside, but his hands on my hips held me still.
His eyes met mine—dark, desperate, full of a love so fierce it almost hurt to look at.
"Tell me if it's too much," he said. "I don't want to hurt you."
"You won't," I promised. "I trust you." Then he pushed inside.
The stretch left me breathless. I felt every inch of him as he sank into me, my body straining to accommodate his girth, the burn of it teetering on the edge between pleasure and pain. He was so thick, splitting me open, filling me so completely that I couldn't breathe, couldn't think, could only feel the impossible fullness of him claiming me from the inside.
He went slow—agonizingly slow—sinking in inch by inch, giving my body time to adjust. I could see the strain on his face, the way his jaw clenched, the way the muscles in his arms trembled with the effort of holding back. He wanted to slam into me, I knew. Wanted to bury himself to the hilt in one brutal thrust. But he was being careful, being gentle, and somehow that made it even more overwhelming.
Finally—finally—his hips pressed flush against mine, and he was fully seated inside me.
"Fuck," he groaned, his whole body trembling with the effort of holding still. "Daphne—Christ—you're so tight. So fucking tight and hot and wet. Feels like you're trying to strangle my cock." I couldn't respond. My voice had abandoned me, lost somewhere in the overwhelming sensation of being stretched open, being filled, being possessed. All I could do was cling to his shoulders, my nails digging crescents into his skin hard enough to draw blood, and try to remember how to breathe.
He gave me a moment—just one—his forehead pressing against mine, his breath hot on my face, his hips twitching with the effort of staying still.
Then he started to move. His first thrust punched the air from my lungs. The drag of his cock against my inner walls, the way he pulled out almost all the way before driving back in—it was too much, too intense, too perfect. The second thrust made me see stars, his pelvis grinding against my clit, the angle driving him impossibly deep. By the third, I was crying out with every snap of his hips, my body rocking with the force of his movements, the headboard cracking against the wall with each impact.
He fucked like he did everything else, with raw, unbridled power, no finesse but plenty of intensity. His hips pistoned, driving into me with a relentless rhythm that left me breathless, mindless, reduced to nothing but sensation and need. The sound of our bodies meeting filled the room—wet, obscene slaps of skin on skin, punctuated by his grunts and my keening cries.
"That's it," he grunted, his pace brutal and unrelenting. "Take it. Take all of me. Such a good omega, letting me use this tight little cunt. Letting me fuck you like you were made for it."
"Harder," I begged, my voice unrecognizable—broken, desperate, hoarse from screaming. "Garrett, please, harder?—"
He obliged.
His hips slammed into mine with a force that shook the entire nest, blankets and pillows tumbling, the wooden frame groaning in protest. Each thrust drove him impossibly deep, hitting spots inside me I hadn't known existed, sending bolts of pleasure ricocheting through my body. I wrapped my legs around his waist, locking my ankles at the small of his back, using the leverage to meet his thrusts, to pull him deeper, to take everything he was giving me and beg for more.
"Fuck, look at you," he panted, his eyes roaming over my body—my flushed skin, my bouncing breasts, the place where we were joined. "Taking my cock so well. You love this, don't you? Love being fucked hard, love being filled."
"Yes," I sobbed, because it was true, because I did, because I'd never felt anything like this before. "Yes, yes, yes?—"
His hand slid between us, finding my clit, rubbing in tight circles that matched the brutal pace of his thrusts. The dual stimulation was overwhelming—his cock filling me, stretching me, his fingers on my clit driving me higher—and I could feel another orgasm building, bigger than the ones before, threatening to consume me entirely.
Then I felt it.
The knot.
It was forming at the base of his cock, swelling with each thrust, catching at my entrance. The pressure was intense, almost unbearable, stretching my rim with each drive of his hips. I gasped as it tugged at me, too big to slip in, not yet, but getting bigger with every passing second.
"Garrett—" I choked out. "Your knot—I can feel it?—"
"Yeah," he panted, his rhythm growing erratic, his control clearly fraying. "Yeah, baby, you feel that? Feel how big it's getting? Feel how much I want to lock inside you, to fill you up. Such a good omega.”
The words sent a bolt of heat straight to my core, and I clenched around him involuntarily. He cursed, his hips stuttering, and I felt the knot swell even more, pressing insistently against my entrance with each thrust, demanding entry.
"Please," I sobbed, my nails raking down his back hard enough to leave welts. "Please, Alpha, I need it—need your knot—need you."
He drove into me harder, faster, the knot catching and releasing with each thrust, stretching me a little more each time. The pressure built, a coiling tension in my lower stomach, and I knew I was close—so close?—
"Daphne," he growled, his voice barely human. "Sucha. Good girl. Good Omega.”
