Page 17 of The Last Great Omegaverse

He does it again, slower, pulling almost all the way out before sliding back in, and the drag of him against my inner walls is devastating. I can feel every ridge, every pulse of his cock as he fucks into me with controlled, shattering strokes. The wall is hard at my back. His chest is solid and hot against my boobs. Every thrust presses my clit against the base of him, sending bright sparks cascading up my spine.

The mudroom disappears. There is only the wet sound of him moving inside me, the slap of skin on skin, the low broken noises we’re both making. My Omega body opens for him greedily, slick and hungry, and the scent of us together—mine sweet and open, his dark and possessive—fills every corner of the small space until I can taste it on every breath.

He shifts his angle and finds a place inside me that makes my thighs shake. A broken cry rips from my throat. He growls in answer and drives deeper, harder, the control starting to fray at the edges. One hand slides under my ass to tilt me, the other braces beside my head again, and he fucks me like he’s been starving for this exact moment, like every distance we’ve kept was only ever preparation for the way we fit together now.

So this is how it feels to be thoroughly fucked by an Alpha. Even with my old pack, it never felt like this. It was never this much about my pleasure, it was always only Alphas using me to get what they wanted.

“You feel—” His voice cracks. “Fuck, Wren, you feel perfect. So tight. So wet for me. You’re what I’ve been dreaming of.”

I answer with my mouth on his, messy and open, tasting the rain still clinging to his lips. My legs tighten around his waist, heels digging into the small of his back, urging him deeper. The pleasure builds in thick, rolling waves, each thrust winding me tighter. I can feel the first edge of an orgasm gathering low in my belly, bright and inevitable.

He seems to sense it. His rhythm changes, shorter, sharper thrusts that keep him buried deep, grinding against that perfect spot inside me until I’m shaking apart in his arms. My nails rake down his back. A high, helpless sound spills from my throat.

“That’s it,” he murmurs against my ear, voice wrecked. “Let go. I’ve got you. Come on my cock, sweetheart.”

The endearment undoes me more than the friction. Pleasure crashes through me in a blinding rush, my pussy clenching hard around him as I come with a broken cry of his name. He fucks me through it, relentless and perfect, drawing the climax out until I’m trembling and oversensitive and still somehow hungry for more.

Only when the last aftershocks fade does he let himself follow. His thrusts turn erratic, deeper, and then he’s coming with a low, guttural sound, burying himself to the hilt as his cock pulses hot inside me. The flood of his release is overwhelming—thick and endless—and my Omega body milks him greedily, fluttering around the knot that begins to swell at the base of his cock.

He doesn’t force it. Just holds me close as the knot expands, locking us together in a deep, intimate pressure that borders on too much and somehow still isn’t enough. We stay like that, breathing hard, forehead to forehead, while the rain softens outside and the last of the storm drips from the eaves.

His hand comes up to cup my face, thumb stroking the damp curve of my cheekbone. There’s something almost reverent in the touch.

“Okay?” he asks, quieter now.

I laugh, soft and shaky, and turn my face to press a kiss to his palm. “Yeah.”

He shifts us tenderly, still locked together, until he can sink down onto the old wooden bench that runs along one wall of the mudroom. I end up straddling his lap, chest to chest, his knot still pulsing gently inside me. His arms wrap around my back, solid and tender, and I tuck my face into the curve of his neck, breathing him in.

The floorboards are wet beneath our feet. Our clothes are scattered in damp heaps. Outside, the world is washed clean. Inside, there is only the slow rock of our bodies as we wait for the knot to ease, the steady thump of his heart under my ear, and the bone-deep knowledge that something has shifted between us.

His fingers trace idle patterns along my spine. I feel the faint tremor still running through his muscles, the way he keeps checking—small shifts of his hips, soft sounds of satisfaction when I clench around him just to feel him twitch.

“First time,” I murmur against his skin, “and you already know how to ruin me.”

He huffs a laugh that vibrates through both of us. “Been thinking about it longer than I should admit.” His hand slides up into my hair, cradling the back of my head. “You?”

“Since the first time you looked at me like I wasn’t broken.” The honesty costs me something, but in this moment it feels right. “Since you made me believe I could want something just for myself.”

He tilts my face up and kisses me again while his knot gradually softens. When he finally slips free the gush of combined release is messy and filthy and somehow beautiful. He doesn’t let me go far—just reaches for a clean towel from the stack near the door and cleans us both with the same attention he gave every button and every check-in.

Then he draws me back into his lap, naked and radiant, and holds me while the rain finishes its work outside. My head rests on his shoulder. The scent of us—sex and rain and the first real claim of belonging—dissolves into the wood of the mudroom like it has always belonged here.

I shut my eyes and permit myself to crave this. Just this. Just him.

Later, tangled together against a wall that was never built for this, both of us laughing softer now, wrung out and glowing, he presses his mouth to my temple and doesn’t say anything clever, just holds on. I let him. Some old, careful part of me notes, distantly, that letting him is the most dangerous thing I’ve done since I got here.

“We should probably find a bed next time,” I say, into his shoulder.

“Next time.” He sounds pleased by the phrase in a way that does something to my Omega I’m not ready to examine too closely. “I like the sound of that.”

The other thoughts creep in later, once the adrenaline’s burned off and the rain’s gone to a soft patter against the window instead of a roar, and once they arrive they doesn’t leave quietly.

That wasn’t me.

Or it was, but only the least reliable bit of my being, the bit I’ve spent years training to keep its mouth shut around anyone wearing an Alpha’s particular brand of easy confidence. My Omega took one look at a big, hot, willing Alpha and made a decision my head never signed off on. The same decision it would’ve made for any of them probably, given the right storm and the right excuse. There’s nothing special about Coop. Nothing special about me choosing him. Just biology doing what biology does when you leave it unsupervised next door to a house full of unbonded Alphas.

I believe that for about as long as it takes to get dressed.