The words came out of his mouth and his face went nuclear. He’d learned it on a bathroom floor, repeated it in wonder, and now he’d just said it, his voice low and it didn’t sound like him at all. But saying it amplified everything; the tickling ache surged, a fresh wave crashing through him, making his body clench tighter, the heat pooling lower and spreading like molten liquid through his limbs.
Riot stared down at him. “Say that again.”
“I—” Cass’s face was on fire. “I didn’t mean to say—”
“Say it again.”
“Make me…make me cum?”
Riot kissed him, holding Cass’s face, and the kiss was slow and deep and shaking, and Cass felt something wet hit his cheek that wasn’t his own tears. Then the gentleness broke again, and Riot’s hips drove forward with a force that shoved Cass across the sleeping bag, and his hand found Cass’s throat.
Not holding. Gripping. Thumb against his pulse. He squeezed.
“Mine.” The word came from somewhere in Riot’s chest, like someone who was starving declaring a feast he found his own. His free hand found Cass’s and pinned it against his belly and Cass could feel it. The push from inside.
“Oh, that’s not—mmhm—” Cass let out something between a moan and a scream. The pressure on his throat added an edge, heightening every sensation, each thrust sending jolts that made his vision blur and his body arch higher, chasing more.
Riot squeezed harder and his hips found something brutal. Deep, punishing strokes that hit the spot every time, each one shoving Cass across the sleeping bag, and the sounds coming out of him were muffled against Riot’s lips again, but they were loud, they were desperate, they were responding to how good it felt. The build intensified, relentlessly: each stroke stacked kindling on a bonfire. Cass felt it gathering in his core, spreading to his thighs, his chest, his fingertips—a full-body hum that grew louder, tighter, making him tremble as the edge approached, tantalizingly close but not yet tipping over.
Cass sobbed into Riot’s mouth as he felt himself climbing higher and higher, like he would snap at any moment. His nails raked down Riot’s back hard enough to draw blood.
The sound Riot made was inhuman. Pleased. Like the Berserker was purring.
“That’s it, princess. Mark me up—” He bit Cass’s lower lip and slammed into him. “You hear how wet you are? Hear that? That’s you—that’s your greedy little cunt dripping all over my cock—”
His hand slammed back over Cass’s mouth when the next scream started.
“Shut up. Shut up or I’ll find something else to put in your mouth—” He drove in hard enough that Cass’s body slid across the sleeping bag and his vision went white. “Gonna fuck you until you can’t remember your own name—gonna fill you up until it’s leaking out of you—until you smell like me for days, until every Alpha in that fucking compound takes one sniff and knows you’re owned.”
Cass yanked Riot’s hand off his mouth and gasped between the thrust, “I can—I can remember my—it’s Cassiopeia and you’re—oh fuck—Riot, you’re being so—”
“So what?” Riot’s teeth found his ear, bit down. “Mean? Filthy?” His hips ground in deep—not thrusting, just pressing, his cock buried to the root, and he rolled his hips in a slow, devastating circle that made Cass’s eyes roll back. “You love it. Your body’s telling me you love it. Every time I say something nasty you clench so hard I see fucking stars, princess—”
Cass bit off a whine behind closed lips, because it was true. It was true and he didn’t understand why but every crude thing out of Riot’s mouth sent a pulse straight through him—each one ratcheting the pleasure higher, turning the storm into a hurricane, winds whipping inside him, pulling everything toward that inevitable peak.
The rhythm went ragged. Riot’s mouth pressed against Cass’s ear, “Mine, you’re mine, this is mine, nobody else gets this—nobody else gets to hear you scream like that—I’ll kill anyone who—fuck—anyone who touches what’s mine—”
His body everywhere: gripping Cass’s thigh, his hip, hauling him closer, and Cass was—
Cass was meeting him.
Not just receiving. His hips rolling, finding the angle, his legs tightening around Riot’s waist to pull him deeper. His handson Riot’s back, his shoulders, his face. His mouth finding Riot’s jaw, his neck, pressing messy, desperate kisses against sweat-salt skin. His body had figured out the language and now it was speaking—answering every thrust with a counter-rhythm that was getting better, bolder, his back arching to change the angle, chasing the spot with a focus that was entirely his own. The pleasure was cresting, wave after wave building to a tsunami, every movement amplifying it— from his core to his extremities, a pressure so intense it felt like his skin might split, his heart pounding as if it would burst.
“That’s—oh, fuck—” He rolled his hips in a circle instead of up. “Oh heavens,oh fuck,oh heavens—”
“Doing that on purpose—Christ—milking my cock with that tight little—you figured that out fast, princess, you’re a quick fucking study when you want to be—” Riot’s voice cracked as he shuddered. His face buried against Cass’s neck, breath ragged, and the words that came out were stripped of everything but truth. “So fucking—cum on my cock, Cass—I need to feel you, I need—”
“Close,” Cass gasped. “I’m—fuck—”
The sensation climbed past anything he’d felt before. Past the bathroom. Past the entryway floor. Past every peak and crest, climbing higher, gathering from every place they were connected, pouring into his entire body, each thrust adding fuel, the heat coiling tighter, tighter, until it was unbearable, a glowing core on the verge of detonation. His body trembled with the strain, every muscle taut, the world narrowing to this singular build-up, so profound it bordered on pain, demanding release.
Closer.
Not a thought. A need. His body reaching.
Closer. Closer. CLOSER.
His mouth found Riot’s neck, some desire for closeness deeper than a kiss, deeper than decision or thought. It lived in a place he didn’t have a name for, like it was older than language, older than corporations, older than anything he’d been taught. His teeth found the juncture of neck and shoulder and he didn’t decide to bite.
