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Dutch groans and arches his spine, popping that thick ass high.
Biggest alpha you’ve ever seen and my boy acts like an omega, so fucking desperate to be railed.
Fuuuuuuck he’s good.
Soft mouth taking me like a champ while his rough hands roam my thighs, clamp my knot, and stroke my balls.
The rougher I yank, using his fucking face to get myself off, the sweeter he moans around my cock.
Dutch gives full-service head, throwing in a deep, rumbling purr that vibrates until I’m clawing his throat, knot heavy with the tingling pressure about to explode.
Thighs shaking, I clamp him where I want him.
Fuck me. “Swallow good.”
I spill down his waiting throat.
Dutch drinks me until my toes curl, draining my balls and purging the last of the bullshit omega pheromones.
I sink back in my chair, stroking Dutch’s head while he gives my still-twitching shaft the ice cream cone treatment, licking it clean.
So. Good. “That’s my boy.”
When he releases my head with a pop and a sex-glazed smile, a shining thread stretches from the corner of his thick lips.
Sexy as hell until it dribbles on my pants.
I hiss and knock Dutch away, duck-walking to grab soda water from the bar of thousand-dollar bottles refilled with water and food coloring.
Dabbing the stain with a damp cocktail napkin, I glare. “These are bespoke.”
He climbs to his feet, wobbly around his strained bulge. Dragging his thumb around his mouth to capture the stray jizz, he gives the finger a hard suck. “Pants don’t talk.”
I make a disgusted noise.
You can tell he never got whipped with a riding crop for wearing sweats in public. “My image is all I have.”
“Your image and your sweet personality.” Dutch steals the soda water, looming to grind his bulge into my hip. “Can you stop with the housekeeping? So hard I’m gonna die.”
I cup the front of his slacks, stroking his thick length through the stretched-out fabric. He’s hard and so fucking warm, all maple and musky with lust underneath the lingering stain of my peaches and champagne.
“Yes.” Dutch’s forehead drops to my shoulder. He breathes against my neck, trembling like a hummingbird. Fully under my control. “Please, Bish. Need it.”
Fucking putty. “Omega got you all stirred up?”
“No. Yes. Shit. Pheromones aren’t fair. Unfair-amones. Huh. Ha.”
My ball-squeeze flips his laugh to a sucked-in wheeze.
“Maybe it’s time we find our own.” Some loaded socialite who checks all the boxes.
A pedigree, a fortune, and just enough power to keep Jin’s father from taking out a hit. Now is our best mate-finding window.
With his favorite son comatose and—fingers crossed—permanently damaged, Kairo Moon is fatally distracted. “If Jericho gifts us a funeral, then Jin inherits the Triad and we become the Moon pack. We’ll probably have to mate some yakuza omega to seal the deal.”
“Never.” Dutch’s thick fingers bite hard enough to snap my collarbone. “Won’t cheat. I’ll wait until we find him.”
“How long?” I grip his cock until he’s forced onto his toes, panting and twitching. “How long are we supposed to wait for someone who doesn’t exist?”
