“Oh god.” My fingers tighten in his hair. “I’m going to — fuck, I’m —”
He pulls his mouth away. I nearly scream. His finger stays inside me but his tongue is gone and the loss is so acute my vision swims. He looks up at me, his chin wet, his eyes dark through the mask, and slides a second finger in beside the first and starts fucking me with them, slow and deliberate.
“You’re going to come for me again,” he says. Conversational. Like we’re discussing what to have for dinner. “You came on the floor from just my scent and now you’re going to come on my fingers and then I’m going to fuck you. That’s three before I even knot you.” His fingers scissor inside me and the stretch makes me gasp. “Three orgasms before you even get my cock. You know what that makes you?”
I shake my head. I can’t speak.
“Greedy.” He says it like praise. “A greedy, desperate, perfect little omega who’s going to take everything I give him and beg for more. That’s what you are. That’s what you’ve always been and you can fight it all you want but your body—” He curls his fingersand presses into the spot that makes my vision go white. “Your body doesn’t lie.”
His fingers get into a rhythm, hitting that spot every time and making me arch off the wall. My cock is untouched, leaking everywhere, and slick is running down his hand. The sound of it is so wet and loud I know everyone nearby can hear.
“I had a lot of time to plan,” he continues, his voice dropping lower. “Sitting at that bar, watching the door. I’d think about this. About getting my fingers back inside you. About the sounds you made last time when I told you I was going to breed that pretty little hole until you couldn’t walk.” He twists his fingers and my thighs shake so hard my teeth chatter. “About the way you sounded when you saidyes, please, more.”
“I didn’t—” I’m gasping, barely coherent. “I didn’t say—”
“You did. You begged me. You begged me to breed you and fill you up and use you and you came so hard you blacked out and then you ran.” He adds a third finger and the stretch burns and I moan so loud an omega across the floor lifts his head to look. “You ran because you liked being my pretty little omega too much. Because hearing me tell you what you were made for got you off harder than anything ever has and you couldn’t handle it.”
His free hand comes up and wraps around my cock and I sob.
“Tell me I’m wrong,” he says, stroking, pressing, three fingers deep inside me and his fist tight on my cock. “Tell me you haven’t fucked yourself alone in your bed replaying every filthy thing I called you. Tell me you haven’t come with your hand between your legs whisperingbreed meto an empty room.”
I can’t say any of that, because he’s right. I’ve done all of it—face in a pillow, fingers inside myself, whispering the shit he said to me while I came so hard I actually cried. And the fact that he knows, that he can just read it on me, makes me want to scream.
He presses deep inside me and strokes my cock from root to tip and I come apart against the wall. My body convulses, cock pulsing in his fist, slick flooding over his fingers, my hole clenching in rhythmic waves around him. The orgasm is different from the scent one — fuller, more complete, rolling through me in heavy pulses that make my legs give out completely. He catches me with his arm under my thigh and holds me up while I shake apart, stroking me through it, his fingers still buried inside me, and I’m crying out with every wave, loud and wrecked and broken and I don’t care who hears it because I’m past caring about anything except the feeling of his hands on me, in me, holding me together while I fall apart.
It takes a while to come down. The aftershocks fade and I slump against the wall, shaking, cock going soft in his hand, his fingers still inside me. He pulls them out slow and I actually flinch at how empty I feel. My legs are useless. He knows it, because he stands up and just hauls me against his chest, holding me up while I shake, face pressed into his neck, breathing him in like I’m never going to get enough.
“Two,” he says against my hair. Soft, amused, satisfied. “That’s two. You want to know how many I’m going to give you tonight?”
“I hate you,” I say again, for the second time, and this time it sounds like something else entirely.
His hand slides into my hair. His lips press against my temple through the mask. “I know, baby. Come on. We’re not done.”
He crouches down and yanks my jeans off the rest of the way, dumping them and my shoes in a pile on the concrete. He pulls my shirt over my head and I just let him, because I’ve given up pretending I have any control over what happens to me tonight. I’m naked on the floor of Knot Club, he’s still got his jeans on, and somehow that makes my cock twitch again, even though I’m spent.
He grabs my hand and leads me toward the alcoves. I follow, legs shaking, naked and messy and totally wrecked, past alphas, omegas, and beta staff who don’t even blink. I’m just following his scent, the one I’ve been dreaming about for months. And under all the shame and heat and want, something in my chest finally lets go, just a little, for the first time since I left this place.
Finch
The alcove is sort of private, but not really. There’s a low leather bench built into the wall, a curtain pulled halfway over, and just enough shadow that you feel hidden, even though you’re not. Anyone walking by can see everything. The gallery upstairs has a perfect view. The bass is quieter here, kind of muffled, but you can still hear everything from the floor—moans, skin slapping, someone crying out in the middle of the room. My whole body tightens up at the sound.
He sits down on the bench and pulls me into his lap. I don’t even think about it, just straddle him, my knees digging into the leather on either side of his legs. I’m naked. He’s still got his jeans on, and I can feel him, hard and thick under the denim, pressing right up against my ass. I can’t help it—I grind down, chasing that pressure like I need it to breathe.
“Easy.” His hands settle on my hips. Thumbs pressing into the hollows above my hip bones. “We’re going to take our time.”
“I don’t want to take our time.” My voice sounds rough, like I’ve been yelling all night. I can feel the heat building again, like I’m about to get knocked flat by it, and the two orgasms I’vealready had haven’t helped at all. If anything, they’ve just made it worse. My body got a taste and now it wants everything—his cock, his knot, all of him, just like I’ve been remembering for five months.
“I know.” His thumbs stroke my hip bones. “But I’ve been sitting at that bar for seven weeks imagining this and I’m going to enjoy it.”
He slides his hands up my sides, slow as hell. He’s feeling out every inch—my ribs, my waist, then up to my chest. His thumbs drag over my nipples and I jerk in his lap. He does it again, even slower, rubbing in a circle, and it shoots straight to my cock. I’m already hard again, my cock pressed between us, leaking all over his abs. Seeing my precome on his skin does something to me, makes my stomach twist up hot.
“Look at you.” His voice drops, rougher, and his hands spread across my chest possessively. “Five months I’ve been thinking about this body. Whether you’d feel the same. Whether you’d taste the same.” He pinches my nipple, light, and I gasp. “Better. Everything’s better. You’ve been holding out on me.”
“I haven’t been holding out, I’ve been avoiding you,” I say, and it comes out breathless and argumentative, the only register I have left.
He laughs, low, and drops his hands to my ass. He grabs both cheeks and spreads them, and the stretch makes me whine. I’m so wet and open, and the air on my hole feels filthy. His fingers slide through the slick between my cheeks, easy, and he traces my rim with one finger. My hips jerk forward on their own.
“Same thing.” He pushes two fingers inside me and I drop my forehead against his shoulder. He’s still wet from before, from having his mouth on me, and his fingers slide in without resistance. I’m so open for him. So ready. My body has been ready since the car, since the parking lot, since the shower fivemonths ago when I couldn’t scrub him off my skin. “Your body’s been waiting for me whether you were or not.”
