“You,” I rasp, dragging a hand through my hair. “You’re so fucking sexy I can’t think straight.”
Color blooms on her cheeks. She takes a slow step closer, and I feel my control unravel strand by strand.
“You really think so?” she asks softly.
“Wren,” I growl, “I can barely breathe looking at you. How are you feeling now?”
“Horny.”
Fuck me!All my blood rushes south. “I’m serious.”
Her lips part. “The shower helped. I mean, I’m still horny, but I think we can figure out a way around me not overexerting myself.”
“A demanding Omega. So fucking sexy.”
“You think so?” She closes the distance, eyes flicking to my mouth.
“Uh-huh.”
“Then kiss me.”
I do. Hard, hungry, like I’ve been holding back for weeks.
Her towel loosens under my grip, sliding off her shoulders, and I don’t even try to stop it. My palms skim her damp skin, every curve, every dip.
She gasps, arching into me, and the sound makes my cock throb.
“You take your pill?” I murmur against her mouth.
She nods, breathless.
“Good.”
I lift her, legs instinctively wrapping around me, and carry her to the bed, every step an exercise in restraint. She straddles me, slick and trembling, eyes blazing with a mixture of daring and need.
My hands settle on her hips, firm, possessive, guiding her, but letting her take control. She grinds against me, a rhythm all her own, desperate, wild, testing boundaries we’ve only ever skirted.
“Ride me… sweetheart,” I rasp, voice strained from want.
Her eyes flash, fierce and hungry, and she leans forward, pressing her chest to mine as she sinks. A gasp escapes her lips, high and raw, and I can feel the slick heat enveloping me.
Every movement is cautious, testing, teasing, each roll of her hips sending jolts straight through me.
I wrap my hands around her waist, gripping tight as she starts to move, slow at first, savoring. Her hair brushes my jaw, damp from the shower, the scent of soap and her natural warmth driving me wild.
She bites her lower lip, eyes locked on mine, and the way she leans into me, presses, rocks—it’s like she’s claiming me as much as I’ve claimed her.
Her nails dig into my shoulders with every grind, leaving trails of heat, and the soft, wet sounds she makes—the gasps, the sighs, the little moans that escape when she shifts—are intoxicating. I tilt my head back, groaning, my fingers splayed across her skin.
She quickens, bouncing against me, the friction unbearable, delicious. My hands slide up her sides, under her damp hair, over the smooth plane of her back, clenching her closer.
“God, Wren…” I growl, my teeth scraping her shoulder, feeling the shiver that runs down her spine at the sound of my voice.
She leans down, lips brushing my collarbone, nipping softly, and I arch into her. Her every movement drives me crazier, my cock straining, my pulse hammering in my ears.
She’s entirely in control, yet every instinct of mine screams to dominate, to pull her closer, to claim her fully.
“Harder,” I breathe against her neck, and she obeys, bouncing with more urgency, grinding her hips, digging deeper.
