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“No, you can’t.”
“Then how’d I know you knew already that there were trolls under that bridge?”
I frown. “Why did you walk directly into the trap then?”
“Thought I could negotiate, like with Trash City. Didn’t expect the Alphas, or the darts.”
“What did you trade Trash City?”
He huffs in my ear and the sound is one of pleasure, even if it’s slightly strained. He whispers, “Who knew my Omega’d be such a fuckin’ chatterbox. Go to bed, Echo.”
His Omega.His. I hate how much I like the sound of that. I’ve never been claimed by anyone. I wonder…I had to have had a family, once. Did they claim me at some point? Did they even try? Or did they toss me into the Grasslands orphanage the first chance they got? I guess it doesn’t matter. This is where I ended up. In a sleeping bag with a Berserker in Paradise Hole. Just my luck.
Adam sinks down beside me, the tension flowing from his heavy bones. The space blanket crinkles beneath him with each breath he takes. I can feel each one on my shoulder. He’s rumbling a little, loud enough to drown out the sound of my own strange purr, and my eyes are closed but I’m nowhere near asleep. My fingers — my good fingers and my bad ones — have minds of their own. While my bad hand fights to stay rooted to the pack in an elevated position, the fingers of my right hand are wandering.
I hope he’s asleep and that he doesn’t notice, but I also hope he’s awake and responds. Because I’m terrible. Because I’m horny as fuck. Because I never felt as good as I felt last night and I want more and I want him to want more, too, even if we hate each other. You can fuck and hate each other, can’t you?
Lying on my back while he’s on his side facing me, I stroke the back of my knuckles across his abdomen. Like it’s an accident. I brush the button of his pants, wishing that there was some world in which it would be sane for me to free it. But I’ll never have that kind of power over him. He doesn’t want me. He wants only my gifts. And he’s the Berserker. It’s up to him. Everything is. He’s already said no to me once tonight.
I pull my hand away from the dangerous button on the front of his pants, but he catches my wrist. I freeze and tip my head to the right. His eyes are closed, but his nostrils are flared and he’s breathing harder than he was when we had the brilliant idea to share one sleeping bag.
He doesn’t move forward or retreat, but remains perfectly still.
Goosebumps break out over my body and, in a voice that’s soft and wobbly and sounds like it belongs to a weepy teenager and not to the Omega who survived six weeks on her own in Paradise Hole, I whisper, “Adam?” My voice breaks and so does he.
The rumbling in his chest vibrates against my outer arm. He grabs my right hand — that treacherous hand — and pushes it away from his belly onto mine where he traps it beneath his heavy palm. I clench, suck in a breath, and then suck in another. He starts to move our intertwined hands down, down, hitting my pubic hair and continuing. My eyelids are already fluttering, my heels digging into the ground. I whisper his name repeatedly.
He says nothing but his firm touch keeps my shaky fingers still as we near my clit and softly brush over my too soft skin. I start to arch, but his other hand sweeps under my hair and applies deadly pressure to the back of my neck. “Still. No bruises.” He kisses my temple so, so gently.
I nod and squeeze my eyelids together as I try to obey his commands. It’s difficult. My legs strain the edges of the sleeping bag, wanting but unable to spread further apart, while his fingers shove between my legs, guiding my own fingertips into my body. He inserts two, and just into my entrance, before the tips of his fingers join mine in my own heat.
“Warm,” he rumbles against my jaw. He nips at my skin with his teeth, but doesn’t break it.
I turn my face towards his and search for lips, but slam my teeth into his bearded jaw instead. He redirects me with his hand on my neck, tilting me up and slightly more to the right so he can deepen the penetration of his tongue. I open for him, wanting him in, wanting it with a hunger I’ve never felt in all my life.
“Warm,” he says roughly, breaking the kiss only long enough to say it before searing his lips over mine once more.
His fingers are pushing in and out of me, deeper and deeper, holding mine inside, forcing my own hand to move with him. The angle is wrong though, and I won’t come like this. I feel it ebbing, the shore is too far.
“Adam,” I grunt.
His rumbling intensifies and I drown in it. He wrenches away from my mouth and lifts up the blanket. “Fuck you, Echo. Stay still for me and I’ll give you what you need.”
He’s on top of me a second later, his hand working the button I had earlier tried to free. His head drops forward and he kisses me again, mouth on mine, heat blistering. He rakes his teeth across my cheek, devouring the space behind my ear.
At the same time, he slides a hand underneath my ass and pops my hip up at the exact angle his cock will need to find my G spot. And suddenly it’sthere. Right there. There’s almost no space at all for his knees between my legs. We’re all smashed in the sleeping bag together. I’m surprised it doesn’t rip.
“Echo,” he breathes and his cock presses against my swollen, sensitive heat.
“Adam…”
He meets my gaze and it frightens me, the connection between us. He opens his mouth, like he’ll say something profound, but he chokes instead and pushes inside, filling me with a dizzying pressure my whole soul is starting to recognize.And lust for.I want this. I want this even though I hate him and I’m pretty sure he hates me.
But you don’t have to like someone to do this. Right? Unsure about so very many things, I’m slow to respond when his mouth comes for mine again. I let him pull kisses out of me. I’m not really…doing anything. Just letting him make me feel good, and I feel a little bad. I don’t know what to do with my hands, really — well, my hand. The other one he’s holding down against the pack, straying only occasionally to massage my tits through my shirt. I don’t have a bra — not an Alpha gang necessity, apparently — and I know he can feel how hard my nipples are.
His cock makes slippery, sloppy sounds as it pushes in and out of me in sweeping, gliding strokes. Its fullness creates a pressure I can’t escape and I moan on every thrust and gasp on each retreat. He doesn’t move in the figure-eight motion, which I miss, but in thrusts and circles. He knows to keep our pelvises close, though, because the pressure on my clit…the pressure on my clit isinsane.
I lift my head as much as I can and bite his shoulder. He hisses and shoves me back down. I lift up again and sweep the flat of my tongue over the place I bit, licking deer blood off of his skin in the process.
