Then her fingers reach my waistband and pause. Her eyes flash, and a soft tremble works through her before she pushes her hand inside my pants.
Fingertips find the swollen head of my cock, and a low, broken sound pushes from my chest. Her soft hand wraps around my shaft, squeezing hard, and the pleasure is so sharp, so unexpected, it whites out my vision.
“Please, don’t—” I pant when she begins to jerk me off, grinding her hips against me in time with her hand. The pressure is everything. “That feels…Oh, fuck…,” I stammer, but my words quickly slip into a moan. “Don’t stop,” I grunt when she squeezes the tip.
Thankfully, she doesn't stop.
And I stop pretending I want her to.
A Storage Tent
Elowen
Somewhere in theback of my mind, behind the fog of my heat, I know that I’m not touching an alpha.
The man in front of me is clearly a beta—averysexy beta—but he’s soaked in the most delicious dominant scent. Chocolate and sunflowers with something primal underneath.
Something that makes my blood hum, my teeth ache, and my body clench with a need so raw it hurts.
“That—that feels so good,” the beta moans loudly. His heart is slamming against his ribs so hard I can feel it through his shirt. He says something else, but I can’t really hear him.
My hand is wrapped around a cock, hard and velvety and hot against my palm, and the sound the beta makes when I stroke him sends a shudder through me, because the sound means he’ll stay. It means he's not pulling away and I can keep touching the skin that carries the scent that I need.
Yes.
More.
Mine.
Unable to hold back a second longer, I slide down the beta’s body.
My knees hit the ground, but I barely feel it.
The dirt floor of the storage tent is cold through the thin fabric of my scrubs, but the sensation is distant. Something happening to a body I'm no longer fully living in.
My hands find the beta’s waistband and pull. The metal button of his jeans gives way with a sharp pop, and the rasp of the zipper is loud in the quiet space. Then I hook my fingers into the material and yank, dragging his jeans and his boxers down over his hips, freeing his cock.
The scent is stronger here. Sweet and musky at the same time, layered with the alpha pheromones soaked into every inch of him. His cock is hard, jutting out from a thatch of dark blond curls. It’s a perfect size, and to my heat-fogged brain, it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
Opening my mouth, I lean forward and swallow him down.
The beta gasps, a choked, helpless sound. His hand flies to the shelf behind him, gripping it hard enough to rattle the frame, and his other hand hovers near my head, his fingers trembling.
The fact that he’s not forcing me deeper feels…sweet?
The few men I’ve been with have always been so rough with me. Like their pleasure matters more than my comfort, but not this man.
It’s almost like he cares about me.
I know that’s stupid. I’m a stranger to him, but my body doesn’t know that.
He feels so familiar. So safe and good.
And, right now, I’ve never felt anything more wonderful.
A fresh gush of slick soaks through my drenched underwear, and I can feel it dripping down the inside of my thighs, clinging to the rough fabric of my scrubs.
I hum and bob my head, feeling the weight of the beta’s shaft on my tongue, the salty taste, the way his hips jerk forward and then stop, like he's fighting himself. It's all secondary.
