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“Mate.” I suck his neck, kissing the mark that joins our souls as I work my hips, rocking, rocking so deep inside him, all I can feel is his heat.
“Atlas, Atlas… Unh~” he chants my name, fingers digging into my forearms as he’s rocked helplessly to my rhythm, sun-kissed eyelashes fluttering.
I stroke his shaft hard and slow until he’s keening.
The first orgasm sends him shuddering, coming apart in my hand. When his insides tighten, fluttering around my cock, I drive up into him with a roar.
He comes again as I do.
Then again, and again, and again, every time, my hot seed searing him, branding him deep inside.
Mine.
He writhes on me, insatiable, milking my cock back to hardness again and again, both of us swept away.
“Mine.” I bite his mate mark as my balls tighten again, another wave of come shooting inside him.
Orion cries, his cock spouting off, arms gripping me, leaning into my bite.
Perfect.
Hours later, a shaking orgasm rocks Orion so hard that he passes out. I come one last time, so spent that my knot finally deflates.
As my mate falls asleep in my arms, I remind myself how lucky I am.
I don’t deserve this or him, but I’ll never let him go.
And fuck the part of my brain even now, even after that, strays to the girl in our basement, wishing she could’ve joined.
***
Twenty-Eight
LILAH
I’d have to be dead and cremated with my ashes spread in the Arctic to not hear the panty-wetting moans and groans of the acrobatic, honestly aspirational monkey sex happening upstairs.
I juggle the dishes into the washer while my temperature rises so high I might need to call a firetruck.
But the only men I want putting out this blaze are the ones who threw the match, rutting like they’re filming their reel for the sex Olympics.
Goddess, I hope they’re filming.
I dash downstairs, lock myself in the bathroom, and splash with water that doesn’t do shit for this heat.
The face in the mirror is unrecognizable, my pupils blown out, grey eyes wide and dark. A flush pinkens my pale cheeks and my lips part as I pant, my pulse moving too fast, my breaths coming too fast, everything too fast, too hot, too much.
I catch a hint of something sweet on the air.
Vanilla sugar, rich and longing.
A scent that shouldn’t exist, can’t exist.
Mother-fucking-shit-on-a-biscuit.
Fully clothed, I jump in the shower, then strip off the soggy, scent-stained clothes and toss them in a heap. With half a bottle of soap, I scrub my flesh raw, keeping the water so molten I’m more lava monster than omega.
I wish I could swirl down the drain.
