Page 177 of Beautifully Scarred Omega

This is what mornings are supposed to feel like. This is what I’ve been missing my whole life.

He picks up another forkful of pancake and holds it to my lips, and I take it, and he watches me chew with dark, hungry eyes while his thumb traces lazy circles on my bare hip.

“Eat your breakfast, sweetheart,” he says, his voice rough and tender at the same time. “You’re going to need the energy.”

“I don’t want pancakes,” I say, and my lower lip pushes out before I can stop it. An actual pout. I have never pouted in my life.

Finn stares at my mouth. His eyes go dark.

“No?” His voice drops. “What are you hungry for then?”

I shift on his lap until I’m straddling him, my knees on either side of his thighs. I reach for the hem of his t-shirt and pull it over his head, and my hands find his skin—his shoulders first, the broad, solid curve of them, then his arms, the hard swell of his biceps, the corded muscle of his forearms. Goosebumps rise everywhere I touch, and his breath hitches when my fingertips drag down his chest.

“For you,” I say.

I kiss him. His mouth opens under mine immediately, and the kiss intensifies so fast it’s like falling—his tongue over mine, my hips grinding on the rigid length of him straining through his sweatpants. He groans into my mouth and his hands slide down my back and grip my ass, hard, possessive, his fingers digging into the flesh.

“Let’s get rid of these,” he murmurs against my mouth, his thumbs hooking into the waistband of my underwear.

I climb off his lap and he stands with me. I push my underwear down and he shoves his sweatpants and boxers off in one motion and then there’s nothing between us.

He lifts me like I weigh nothing. My legs lock around his waist, my arms around his neck, and he presses my back against the nearest wall. The impact knocks the air from my lungs and his mouth is on my throat, teeth grazing, sucking, his hips pinning me in place while his cock grinds against my pussy.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Sophie,” he growls against my neck, rolling his hips into me, the friction making me cry out. I can feel his cock between my legs, hard against me, the length of him making my stomach clench. He shifts my weight into one arm like it’s nothing and positions himself at my entrance.

He pauses and looks down between us.

“I can see your pussy pulsing, sweetheart,” he breathes, his voice wrecked. “Clenching around nothing, begging for my cock. Dripping for me.” His eyes come back up to mine, feral and blue. “You want it?”

“Finn, please⁠—”

He grips my ass with both hands and slams into me.

The sound that tears out of me bounces off the walls. He buries himself to the hilt in one thrust, and the depth of it steals my breath and wipes every thought from my head.

“Fuck, Sophie—fuck, fuck, fuck—” He says it against my throat, his voice breaking, his hips already driving into me again, pinning me to the wall with every thrust. His cock is so deep I can feel him in my stomach, the textured shaft dragging over every nerve inside me, and his hands are gripping my ass and I never want him to let go.

“You’re ours, sweetheart,” he says, pulling almost all the way out and slamming back in. “And we’re yours.”

“Yes—Finn, yes, right there, don’t stop⁠—”

“I’m not stopping, sweetheart. I’m never fucking stopping.”

He drives into me harder, faster, his hips snapping into mine, and the wet sounds of his cock inside me fill the room. His mouth finds my breast and he sucks my nipple between his teeth and bites and the combination of the pain and the pleasure and the depth of him sends me over the edge so fast I don’t even feel it building.

I come in seconds. My whole body seizes, my walls clenching around his cock so hard he shouts, my nails raking down his back as the orgasm tears through me in violent, pulsing waves.

Finn holds me through it. His hips slow but don’t stop, rocking into me while I shake apart in his arms, his breath hot and ragged on my lips.

“We’re not done yet, sweetheart,” he whispers.

MAX

The house smells like sex and maple syrup.

I know before I even set the grocery bags down. Ethan knows too—he’s right behind me, and I hear his breath catch. We look at each other. Neither of us says a word.

I leave the bags by the door and follow the sounds down the hall.