My eyes go to the look of sheer self-satisfaction on her face—then drop quickly to her tits.
Her top is little more than a corset frame held together with bands of fabric, two of which form an X over her nipples, but the rest leaves nothing to the imagination.
I don’t know what exactly is so captivating about under-boob, but the only reason I can pull my eyes away is to note the incredibly low cut of Morgan’s sapphire blue sweatpants, which hang right off the edge of her hips, teasing me with the slope of her skin over her hip bones.
She pulls on a matching sweat jacket cut like a blazer, and I think this is her version of leisure wear.
I’m glad my flowing top hides how tight my cock is getting, because I don’t want to rush this. I want to savor every moment with Morgan.
“C’mon,” she says, stepping out of the closet, and I follow—staring shamelessly at her lower back and ass all the way.
#
Lunch is takeout, but it arrives in metal cloches and ceramic dishes, so I’m pretty sure this place only does takeout for Morgan.
She sets the dishes on the countertop, and as soon as the cloches pull back, I’m hit with a savory mix of spices and herbs. There’s steak, lamb simmered with fresh cherries, sliced squash with pumpkin seeds, and more.
Morgan hands me a plate from the cabinet, and of course I stop and stare for a moment. It’s another work of art—hand-thrown ceramic with a crackling green and black glaze. It almost feels wrong to pile food on it, but I do anyway, then join Morgan at the polished wood table.
Her cutlery is heavy, solid—simple curves in matte gold. It makes the flimsy silverware in my drawer back home seem like toothpicks.
For a few minutes, all I can do is savor the food and let my eyes drift out the massive windows to the rolling greenery beyond.
“So, is this what a normal afternoon for you is like?” I ask.
“No. Usually I have a private chef in.”
“I should have guessed.”
“But I don’t want to share you right now,” Morgan purrs, eyes going hungry. “I’ll rip out the throat of anyone who so much as breathes in the same room as you.”
My spine tingles. “That sounds like some possessive alpha-hole shit.”
Morgan’s grin shows off her canines. “I don’t hear you complaining.”
Fuck, it’s taking all my focus to not arch my back at that.
Morgan pushes away from her empty plate and stands, coming over to me. She grips my chin and points my face up at her, towering over me.
“You said you wanted tounleash.” Her grip tightens. “That means giving in to all of yourpatheticlittle omega instincts, do you understand?”
I swallow hard. “I-I think so—”
“Thinkingis for alphas. There’s no use for thoughts in your sweet little brain unless they’re about my cock. Got it?”
“Yes…”
“What’s that?”
“Yes,” I whine. “Yes, Mor. Yes, alpha.”
“Good boy,” she purrs, leaning down to lick my ear, presenting her tits in front of my face. “You’re a fast learner. Now, can you do what I ask?”
“Yes. Anything.” I’m dizzy, trembling with my need forher. My cock is throbbing, begging.
“Finish your fucking dinner,” she snaps, dropping my chin and straightening.
I quickly grab the fork, but my attention is slow to return to the food in front of me. My mouth waters for a very different reason. Morgan returns to lounge in her chair, watching me.
