Something wild, desperate, and absolutely fucking feral.
I start riding him in earnest now—lifting my hips faster, grinding down harder, chasing the building pressure that's coiling tight in my belly. My hands brace on his chest for leverage, nails digging into his skin, and I throw my head back as pleasure crashes through me in waves.
This is what I've been missing.
This connection, this intensity, this feeling of being seen and wanted and claimed by someone who knows exactly what kind of monster I am and wants me anyway.
"Fuck," I gasp between thrusts. "Fuck, Sage, you feel so good. So fucking good."
His answering groan is pure satisfaction.
"That's my girl," he praises, and the words make me clench around him. "Use me and you will. I'm yours, at your complete disposal."
The rhythm I've established turns frantic, desperate, my thighs burning with the effort of lifting and dropping my weight on his cock over and over.
Sweat slides down my spine, pools between my breasts, makes my pink hair stick to my neck and shoulders in damp tangles.I don't care.Can't care about anything except the pressure building inside me—coiling tighter with every thrust, every grind, every fucking second he's inside me filling spaces I didn't know were empty.
I throw my head back, exposing the long line of my throat.
The movement is instinctive—prey behavior, submission, the kind of vulnerability that should terrify me, but instead feels like power because I'm choosing it.Choosing him.Choosing this moment of surrender even though surrender has always meant death before.
Sage makes a sound that's barely human.
A growl that starts deep in his chest and rumbles up through his throat, vibrating against my inner thighs where they bracket his hips. His hands tighten on my waist—bruising, possessive, fingernails digging crescents into flesh that will mark me as his long after this night ends.
"Fuck, Seraphine." His voice is gravel and want. "The way you look right now—head back, tits bouncing, taking my cock like you were made for it?—"
"Maybe I was," I gasp out, grinding down harder. "The universe spent years breaking me just so I'd fit you perfectly."
The words are insane.
Romantic in the most fucked-up way possible.
But they feel true.
His hips thrust up to meet my downward motion, driving him impossibly deeper, and I scream—a high, broken sound that echoes off the walls and probably alerts the entire residential block to exactly what's happening in townhome number thirteen.
Let all the neighborhood hear for all I care.
Assume that the packless, crazy Omega is getting fucked by someone who actually wants her.
She’s not some lonely bag of damaged goods not savored by anyone…
"That's it," Sage encourages, his grip guiding my movements now, faster and harder than I was moving before. "C’mon, Sweets. Use me. Fucking wreck me."
I do.
I ride him like I'm trying to merge our bodies into one entity, like if I move fast enough and hard enough, we'll become inseparable. My slick coats his shaft, his thighs, probably the sheets beneath us—obscene and excessive and proof that my body wants this even more than my broken brain does.
The sounds we're making fill the room.
Wet, filthy sounds of flesh meeting flesh.
My moans, his groans, the breathless laughter that keeps bubbling up from my chest because this is insane, this is perfect, this is everything I never knew I needed.
"You know what I think?" I manage between gasping breaths, still moving, still chasing the building pleasure that's threatening to consume me. "I think you might be a killer, Sage Wilder. I think you might have bodies buried somewhere, blood on your hands, darkness in your soul that matches mine."
His eyes flash—something predatory and pleased.
