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“Why are you all just standing there?” I whimper. The fabric of my clothes suddenly becomes unbearable against my skin. It’s too hot, too constricting, simply too much. The cupcakes, now forgotten, become a distant memory as I impulsively strip off my shirt.
The men stand frozen, staring as though they can’t quite believe the proximity of my heat, but as Ashton’s shirt falls to the floor, and I stand before them, nipples pebbling in the cool air and a sheen of sweat coating my skin, their stunned expressions transform into ones of raw desire.
Finally.
“Fuck,” Devlin mutters, turning to Max, his eyes wide with a mix of urgency and anticipation. “I need an hour.”
For what?I wonder briefly.
“I’ve got her,” Max declares, abandoning his laptop on the table as he rises. My attention instantly locks onto him.
“Avery, with me, now,” Devlin commands, his voice brooking no argument.
“Oh, man,” Avery groans, pushing off from the countertop with a reluctant pout on his face.
Their movements become background noise as my focus narrows to the alpha advancing toward me from across the kitchen. Max is an imposing figure, tall and broad and built like a bear. Just the sight of him sends a shiver of excitement down my spine, and I find myself wanting to climb him, to feel every inch of his strength.
How have I never truly seen him before?
Max is a masterpiece, as if he stepped right out of the pages of a romance novel or materialized from the most tantalizing of fantasies. He towers well over six feet, and his broad shoulders and muscular build epitomize every omega’s deepest desires. In this moment, he is entirely mine, a thought that sends waves of heat coursing through my body.
A rumble starts deep within my chest, halting Max in his advance. “Are you purring?” he asks, a hint of amusement in his voice.
“I have no idea,” I reply, though I suspect I might also be drooling at this point.
Reduced to basic need, my thoughts are rapidly unraveling, becoming more primal with each passing second. My heart pounds erratically, and my vision narrows until Max is my entire world. I inhale his scent deeply, as if it’s the only sustenance I’ll ever need. A touch of sweetness and a hint of whiskey laces his dark amber aroma, intoxicating my senses.
I lick my lips again, tasting the air and savoring his presence.
In less than two steps, Max lifts me effortlessly, his hands trembling slightly, a silent confession of the significance this moment holds for him. That thought slips away as he sets me atop the counter, sending a cupcake pan clattering to the floor. Neither of us cares about the noise or the mess.
Max leans in, and I eagerly rise to meet his kiss. His mouth claims mine with a hunger that obliterates any lingering thought, and his tongue explores every inch of my mouth, but the kitchen feels too cold, too sterile, not like the nest I crave.
A whimper escapes me as I pull back, a wave of distress fraying the edges of my sanity.
“I’ve got you,” Max assures me, and his words are all I need to hear.
He lifts me into his arms, and I wrap my legs around him, craving the feel of his skin against mine. The fabric of his shirt is a barrier, intolerable and wrong. Growling in frustration, I nip the material, my canines tearing a hole. In a frenzy, I rip it open, needing direct contact with his skin.
“Sugarplum,” Max groans, his footing unsteady on the staircase.
I barely register our movement, but he suddenly sets me down on the wooden steps, the hard surface pressing against my back. He quickly sheds the remnants of his shirt, tossing it aside. My core pulses at the sight of his bare chest, the muscles and contours of his body sending waves of need through me, but it’sstill not enough. I yearn for more, for a fulfillment that only he can provide.
Relief washes over me as I realize I only wore Ashton’s shirt, and it’s now gone, leaving me bare on these steps. My fingers instinctively find my clit, rubbing desperately for release. My need for him far outweighs my need for comfort.
Max, taking control, smacks my hands away. Right there on the staircase, he buries his face between my thighs, and a scream of pure pleasure escapes me as I instinctively clamp my thighs around his head, his tongue delving deep inside me.
My logical mind momentarily surfaces, cautioning me not to suffocate him. Heeding its advice, I relax my grip slightly, balancing my legs on the steps for support.
Max pauses, his eyes glazing over, clearly affected by my pheromones. “Suffocate me, sugarplum. Tighten those thighs around my head like you own me, because I own this,” he declares with a possessive intensity.
Well then, yes. Encouraged, I wrap my thighs back around his head, and his skilled tongue continues its exploration, sending waves of pleasure through me, intensifying my craving for all of him.
Uninhibited, my hips grind against his face as I chase that elusive peak of pleasure, but just as I’m about to crest, the sensation slips away, leaving me whimpering and arching for something just out of reach.
“I’ve got you,” Max whispers, his voice a balm to my frustration. He slides a finger inside me, pressing against that sensitive bundle of nerves and massaging it in a way that makes me twitch with renewed need.
He adds another finger, then another, stretching and filling me, unlocking something deep within. As if all the locks inside me fall away at once, I sigh out in pleasure, my orgasm rolling through me in a blissful wave.
