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My knot pulses, tapping out curses in Morse code and begging to join my cock in the lushness of her sheathe.
Always knew she’d unravel me.
I can’t stop the inevitable—wouldn’t if I could—but I have to be a stubborn, controlling fuck until the bitter end.
It’s the Barrington way.
Her honeyed lemon cunt nibbles at my shaft until I’m dragging my heels on dingy hospital tile, keeping one last measure of control.
Sol wraps hot hands around my throat. “It’s me. You don’t have to pretend.”
“I know.” I’d never undress for her, never let her near my boys if she weren’t the one. The exception to every one of my rules. “But Marisol.”
“Hmm?”
Her stroking hum coaxes out my roughest purr. “I can’t be the only one who’s ruined.”
I pin her thighs and slow-drag my cock.
“Enh~”
She makes inarticulate noises, bucking her hips to urge me faster, but I want to savor our first joining. Ignoring my scalding throat and the numbness in my toes, I tease her, hitting every surface on the way out until my swollen crown nestles between her quivering lips.
“Bish,” she groans.
“Watch.” I stroke into her slickness, slow and hard. Her walls stimulate my shaft, coating me in sultry lemon cream. I strain to control the pace, near popping a blood vessel, deliberately thrusting until my knot knocks her entrance.
Her hips bounce, and pressure pinches from my balls to the base of my spine. I pull out again.
Long and slow as a stretched Cadillac.
“I’m watching. I see you, Bishop.”
“I know.”
No one looks at me like her.
Like I’m human.
Not an accessory. Not a chip to be played, or a tool to be tossed at the first sign of failure.
Those brown eyes make me fucking weak.
That’s why I’m taking my time.
Three alphas deep and my mate’s still speaking words.
Unacceptable.
My queen deserves the best.
“I won’t ever leave you wanting.” I kiss her flushed forehead. Her trembling sighs soften.
“The—enh!”
I thrust.
In.
