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Perhaps, in another life, I wouldn’t have been proud of the way I flung her to the ground. But she wasn’t a lover, or a mate. This was merely an interrogation, and her huff of pain shouldn’t deter me from my purpose.
She still needed to be punished, confession or not. I had come too close to death to let this slide.
I covered her body with my own, capturing her flailing hands when she attempted to push me away. Pinning them over her head was an easy task, accomplished with nothing more than a flick of my wrist. The difficulty lay in bracing myself against the arch of her back and the punch of her scent.
There was no mirth in my laughter.
“You’re aroused,” I taunted, pinning her with a smirk. “So much for your loyalty.”
“Iamloyal,” she insisted, muscles straining against my hold. “I’ve never even looked at anyone else—touched anyone else.”
“Fucked anyone else?” I questioned cruelly, leaning forward until the bulge in my leathers rubbed against hers.
Her lips parted, although no words emerged. She shook her head frantically, and I took it as a sign to continue the delicious torment.
Later, I would grudgingly admit that the line between interrogation and seduction dissolved into a hazy blur. But I would also acknowledge that it was hardly my fault. It was Olympia—the writhe of her limbs and the sweet pants of her breath.
The moment her lips sought my own, the plan lost all merit.
Where logic had ruled over pleasure only moments before, instinct took over.
I had never professed to be a saint. I’d known many pleasures—the beauty of an omega’s submission, and the softness of a beta’s devotion. But nothing could have prepared me for the rough gasp of Olly’s pleasure into my mouth, the allure of her scent rushing over me like a tide in the ocean, sucking me into a treacherous whirlpool.
When I let her loose, the rasp of her palm was rough against my back—that only spurred me on. I needed to fill her, fuck her,ownher.
But most importantly, I needed to hear the noises she made when I sank into her exquisite heat.
“What would your Cryssa think if she saw you now?” I questioned, unable to resist taunting her. I flicked my tongue along the seam of her lips and tasted the apprehension on her breath—the fear, thelonging.
“Would she be disgusted to see her Alpha splayed on the floor, waiting to be fucked?” I taunted.
Olly’s cheeks flushed with color that had nothing to do with desire. Shame creased her skin and she glanced away, breaking our connection.
I latched onto her neck, hating how much I loved the shudder that shot through the wiry body below me.
“Because I’m going to fuck you, Olly,” I whispered against her skin, marking her with my scent. Her cock strained against the front of her trousers, and I pressed myself against her, cradling her hardness with my own.
“You’re already hard,” I teased when she kept her face turned away. “Tell me—is your pussy slick as well?”
A muffled whimper tore from her lips.
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
I tugged at her tunic, pulling it up over her chest. The soft skin along her belly quivered, the sea of freckles a welcoming sight.
Her breaths ceased altogether as my fingers found the waistband of her trousers, tugging lower, lower, lower still.
“Zoei.”
Was my name a plea or a protest? I couldn’t quite fathom. I only knew that it made me harder than I’d ever been before. A kind of wild desperation gripped my limbs, pushing me to taste, to take, to fill.
My leathers parted under the coaxing of my fingertips, and the slap of my cock against her abdomen resounded wetly in the tower. She glanced down the very moment I did, marveling at the sight of our sexes pressed together in a slickened, obscene display.
She was girthier than I was, but a couple inches shorter. Perfectly pink and flushed. She was leaking fiercely, her trousers and belly covered with her own juices. The urge to lean over and lick it off was unbearable, but I distracted myself by a cupping hand around both our shafts, slicking us together.
“Oh, Goddess.” A moan fell from her lips, masking my growl of pleasure.
“I thought you didn’t want this?” I leered, moving my hips in a deliberately slow rhythm. It was selfish—not fast enough for any true traction. Each tight muscle in my body sang a song of praise for every controlled, blissful thrust. My ego was fed to gluttony with every rough mewl of needy protest from Olly’s lips.
