Page 128 of Specter Bred

"What else do you want Farm Boy to do with his tongue?"

"Make me come," she moaned, gripping Hayes by the jaw and guiding him lower.

I couldn’t tell if she was answering me or commanding him. Probably both.

Hayes fell back against the cot, staring up at her with wide, pleading eyes, waiting. The second she gave him the slightest nod, he obeyed.

He gripped her hips and slid Maeve forward with surprising ease, reminding me that Farm Boy was a hell of a lot stronger than his easy-going demeanor made him look. With one smooth movement, he positioned her directly over his face.

Maeve’s breath hitched as he buried himself between her thighs, tongue spearing her entrance, mouth working with a focus that bordered on devotion while she ground her hips down, chasing the release she wanted.

I leaned back and watched for a moment, taking in the sight of her strong thighs framing his head, the hard lines of her body shifting in a steady rhythm above him.

It was impossible to look away.

"Have you fucked him yet?" I asked, watching the way she controlled Hayes.

"No," she said, breathless.

"Why not?"

Her hand slid into Hayes’s hair, holding him there as she rode out the edge of her pleasure.

"I have to prepare him for my anchor." Her voice softened when she looked down at him, a rare care in her expression. "Betas don’t respond the way omegas do. If he tenses or fights it, my body will lock down harder. It could hurt him."

I scoffed and moved closer.

"You’re more likely to hurt me than him."

Her eyes snapped to mine. They dropped lower, widening as they tracked the obvious strain of my knot already beginning to swell beneath my fatigues.

"What are you saying?" she asked, her voice thinner now. "You’re serious?"

"About knotting you?" I asked. "Absolutely."

Hayes shifted beneath her, but neither of us looked at him. Maeve’s breathing stuttered.

"A dual-lock?" she said, though her words came out barely above a whisper.

Her anchor and my knot were two opposing lock systems trying to claim the same space. It was dangerous, rare, and painful if done wrong.

"Yes."

"But that could tear—"

"Not if it’s done right."

“Your anchor pulls inward by design. My knot’s built to hold. If they trigger against each other too soon, it turns into a fight."

Her body shivered.

"But if I take my time..." My eyes dragged over her. "If I open you up first, stretch you, let your muscles relax instead of tensing..."

Her breath caught.

"Then Farm Boy keeps you coming, softens the anchor, and helps your body not to clamp too early."

A strangled sound left her throat.