Page 29 of The Last Great Omegaverse

“Silas.” My name in her mouth, breathless, urgent. “Inside. Now, before I change my mind about how angry I’m allowed to still be at you.”

“You can be angry and still want this. It’s not mutually exclusive.”

“Duly noted. Inside anyway.”

We make it up the stairs, further than Coop or Asher managed apparently. There’s nothing delicate left in either of us by the time we reach her bedroom. Clothes fall away in a mess neither of us bothers straightening, her hands mapping the tension I’ve been carrying for weeks like she’s determined to work every knot of it loose with her mouth alone.

“You’ve been so careful with me,” she says, breath catching as I lay her back against the sheets, my mouth trailing lower, deliberate, unhurried despite the urgency singing under my skin. “Every single time. Careful, controlled, checking every motive twice before you let yourself want anything out loud.”

“Yeah.” I look down at her, unwavering despite everything unsteady in my chest. “Not being careful right now. Tell me if that’s a problem.”

“It’s really not.”

The words land like permission and challenge both. I take them.

I kiss the soft skin just below her breasts, then lower, dragging my mouth over the beautiful plane of her stomach while my hands slide up the outsides of her thighs. She smells like rain and the faint residual sweetness of her own slick. The Omega open and wanting me. My Alpha instincts rise hard at the scent, a low growl vibrating in my chest before I can stop it. She answers with a soft sound of her own, hips lifting toward my mouth.

I lower between her spread thighs and look my fill for one long second. She’s already glistening, folds flushed and swollen, clit peeking from its hood. The sight punches the air from my lungs. I’ve imagined this more times than I should admit, late at night when the house was quiet and the weight of everything unsaid sat heavy on my chest. Reality is better. Warmer. Wetter. More hers.

I lean in and lick a slow stripe through her center, tasting salt and slick and the unmistakable sweetness of an Omega ready for her Alpha. Her hips jerk. A broken little cry leaves her throat. I do it again, slower, flattening my tongue so I can feel every fold, every tremor that runs through her when I pass over her clit. Her fingers find my hair and tighten, not pushing, just holding on.

“Silas—fuck—”

I hum against her and the vibration makes her thighs tighten around my head. I slide one hand under her ass to tilt her better, open her more, and then I move in to eat her properly. Long, thorough strokes of my tongue interspersed with focused circles over her clit. I push two fingers into her while I suck gently, and the way her cunt clenches around them is pure heat and pressure and need. She’s tight, soaked, already pulsing around the intrusion like she’s trying to pull me deeper.

I fuck her with my fingers the way I’ve wanted to for weeks, slow, deliberate, curling until I find the spot that makes her voice break. Her back arches off the mattress. The sheets twist under her fists. I keep my mouth on her clit, sucking in time with the thrust of my fingers, and the wet sounds fill the quiet bedroom until there’s nothing else left in the world.

She comes with a sharp, surprised cry, thighs shaking hard around my head, walls fluttering and squeezing my fingers in rhythmic waves. I work her through it, gentling only when the aftershocks turn into oversensitive twitches. When I finally lift my head, her eyes are glassy, cheeks flushed, lips parted around rapid breaths. She looks ruined already and we’ve barely started.

I crawl up her body, leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses along the soft curve of her belly, between her breasts, over the rapid pulse in her throat. My cock is heavy and aching between us, the head already wet against her hip. When I hover over her, she reaches down without hesitation and wraps her hand around me, stroking once from root to tip. The contact is electric. I drop my forehead to hers and breathe through the sudden surge of need.

“Inside,” she says again, quieter this time, more certain. “I want to feel you.”

I line up, the head of my cock nudging against her entrance. Slick coats me immediately. I push in slowly, watching her face the entire time, and the sensation of her gripping me is almost too much. Tight. Perfect. So wet I slide deeper with every thrust until I’m buried to the hilt and the base of my cock presses against her clit. She makes a soft, punched-out sound and her legs come up around my waist, heels braced against the small of my back.

I stay rigid for a moment, letting her adjust, letting myself feel the way her walls quiver and cling. Her scent is everywhere now—sweet and open and claiming the air between us. My own Alpha scent rises to meet it, darker, heavier, wrapping around her like a second skin. The room smells like us. Like the long weeks of wanting that led here.

When I start to move it’s with long, rolling thrusts that drag every inch of my cock along her inner walls. She meets me, hips lifting, taking me deeper. The wet sound of our bodies joining is filthy and perfect. I brace one forearm beside her head and use the other hand to cradle the side of her face, thumb stroking the flushed curve of her cheekbone while I fuck her slow and deep.

“You feel—” My voice comes out rough, almost unrecognizable. “Christ, Wren. You feel like you were made for this. For me.”

She answers by pulling me down into a kiss that is all open mouths and shared breath and the faint taste of her own slick still on my tongue. I can feel the tension coiling tighter in both of us. Every thrust presses the base of my cock against her clit; every withdrawal makes her clench like she’s trying to keep me in. Her nails rake lightly down my back, not hard enough to break skin but enough to leave heat in their wake.

I shift the angle, hiking one of her thighs higher against my hip, and the next thrust hits something that makes her cry out sharply. I do it again. And again. Watching the way her eyes go distant, the way her mouth falls open on every punched-out breath. The control I’ve worn like armor for weeks is gone. There’s only the slick heat of her cunt, the soft sounds she makes, the way her body opens for me like it has been waiting for exactly this.

“Harder,” she whispers against my mouth. “I can take it. I want it. Harder.”

I give her harder.

The headboard starts a loud rhythmic knock against the wall. The mattress dips and springs beneath us. I drive into her with deep, powerful strokes that force soft cries from her throat every time I bottom out. Her boobs bounce with the force of it. I lean down and take one nipple into my mouth, sucking hard enough to make her arch, and the way her cunt squeezes around me in answer nearly undoes me.

I can feel the first warning signs of my knot beginning to swell. The pressure at the base of my cock grows with every thrust, the urge to lock us together rising hard and instinctive. I slow just enough to ask, voice rough against the damp skin of her throat.

“Knot?”

She nods, frantic, already clenching around me like she’s trying to pull it in. “Yes. Please. I want all of it. I need your knot.”

I give her what she asks for.