Page 35 of The Last Great Omegaverse

Then I’m on her.

My mouth finds hers in the half-light of the mudroom, deeper and hungrier than the first time. She meets me with equal force, hands already under my shirt, palms sliding up the sweat-damp plane of my back. I back her against the wall beside the coats, one thigh pressing between hers, and the soft sound she makes when I roll my hips against her is pure need.

“Coop—”

“I know.” I mouth the words against her throat, tasting salt and the faint residual ash still clinging to her skin. “I’ve been thinking about this all afternoon. Watching you work. Watching the way you move. I needed my hands on you again.”

I strip her shirt off first, then my own. The air is cool against bare skin, but the heat between us is already rising. Her bra follows. I cup her breasts, thumbs brushing over the peaked nipples, and when I lower my head to take one into my mouth she arches hard, fingers threading into my hair. I suck, tongue circling, teeth grazing just enough to make her gasp. The other breast gets the same attention until both nipples are dark and wet and sensitive.

Her hands go to my belt. The buckle clinks. Denim shoves down. My cock springs free, already thick and heavy, the head flushed and glistening. She wraps her fingers around me without hesitation, stroking slowly, the contact makes my hips jerk forward.

“Fuck,” I breathe against her collarbone. “Your hand feels too good.”

I return the favor, jeans and underwear shoved down her thighs until they pool at her ankles. She kicks them free. I slide two fingers between her legs and find her already slick, folds swollen and ready. The first push of those fingers into her makes her head tip back against the wall with a soft, broken sound. I curl them, seeking the spot that made her shake last time, and when I find it her thighs tremble around my wrist.

“Already so wet for me,” I murmur, working her open with slow, thorough strokes. “Been thinking about my cock again, haven’t you?”

“Yes.” The word is raw. “All day. Every time you looked at me across the yard I could feel it.”

I add a third finger, stretching her, and the wet sound of it fills the quiet mudroom. Her scent spikes, sweet, open, claiming the air between us. My own rises to meet it, darker, heavier. The combination is intoxicating. I drop to my knees on the worn floorboards, still working her with my hand, and put my mouth on her clit.

She cries out. One hand fists in my hair; the other braces against the wall. I lick and suck in time with the thrust of my fingers, tasting the clean salt of her slick, feeling every flutter of her pussy around the intrusion. Her hips rock against my face. I let her use me, let her chase the friction she needs, and when she comes it’s with a sharp, high sound that echoes off the plaster. Her walls clamp down hard around my fingers. I work her through it until the tremors ease and she’s panting, knees weak.

I get to my feet, brush my mouth with the back of my hand, and lift her. Her legs go around my waist on instinct. The head of my cock notches against her entrance, slick coating me instantly. I don’t tease. I push in with one long, unhurried penetration until I’m all the way in and the shaft of my cock presses against her.

We both stop for a heartbeat.

The stretch of her around me is perfect—hot, tight, still quivering from the orgasm. I can feel every pulse of her heartbeat through the thin walls of her cunt. My forehead rests against hers. Her breath is gentle against my mouth.

“Good?” I ask, even now.

“So good.” She rolls her hips, testing the depth. “Fuck me, Coop. Don’t hold back this time.”

I don’t.

I brace one arm under her ass and the other against the wall beside her head, and I fuck her hard and deep. Every thrust drives her higher against the plaster. The wet slap of our bodies meeting fills the mudroom, mixed with the soft creak of old wood and the low continuous sounds we’re both making. Her nails dig into my shoulders. Her heels press into the small of my back, urging me deeper. I give her everything—long, powerful strokes that drag the full length of my cock along her inner walls, then shorter, sharper ones that keep the head grinding over the spot that makes her gasp.

“You feel—” My voice is wrecked already. “Christ, Wren. So tight. So fucking perfect around my cock.”

She answers by kissing me, messy and open, tasting herself on my tongue. I can feel the first edge of my knot beginning to swell. The pressure builds at the base with every thrust. This time I don’t slow to ask. I simply drive harder, forcing the thickening knot against her entrance until it pushes inside with a deep, stretching burn that makes her cry out and clench hard around me.

The lock catches.

Instant. Complete. The impossibility of pulling away sends a surge of pure Alpha satisfaction through me. I move against her, the knot tugging at her edges, and the sensation is so intense my vision sparks. She comes first—violently, walls milking the knot in rhythmic waves that rip the ecstasy from me in long, heavy pulses. Heavy streams of cum flood her, pulse after pulse, until I can feel it forced back around the seal and leaking down the insides of her thighs.

I keep her pinned to the wall through it, breathing hard against her throat, feeling every aftershock that ripples through her body and into mine. My knot pulses in time with my heartbeat. Her pussy continues to flicker and squeeze, drawing another small spurt of release from me every time she clenches.

“Fuck,” I murmur against her skin. “You take my knot so well, sweetheart. Like you were made to lock around me and keep me.”

She turns her face and kisses me again, slower now, the urgency banked into something deeper. I carry her like that—still locked together—across the mudroom and into the living room, lowering us onto the wide couch. She ends up astride my lap, chest to chest, the knot still holding us in that deep, intimate pressure. My hands stroke up and down her bare back. Her fingers trace the lines of muscle along my shoulders.

We stay like that for long minutes, just breathing, just feeling. Every tiny shift of her hips tugs the lock and sends new thrills of delight through both of us. I rock up into her in small, instinctive movements, pounding the knot against her clit until she shivers and clenches again.

“Second time,” I say against her temple, “and it already feels like I can’t get enough of you.”

She laughs softly, the sound tickles against my neck. “Good. Because I’m not done with you either.”

When the knot finally begins to ease I don’t pull free right away. I keep her close, hands roaming over the soft fullness of her chest, down the moist expanse of her belly, around to hold the rounded shape of her hips. Only when the swelling has gone down enough do I lift her gently off my cock. The gush of combined release is messy and abundant, soaking my thighs and the cushion beneath us.