Adrian’s hands move over me with careful precision, as if following some mental checklist of how to soothe an Omega in heat. So very him. Even now, with my pheromones saturating the air, he maintains that need for structure, for order. It should irritate me. Instead, I find it endearing—this struggle between his Alpha instincts and his carefully cultivated control.
His palm slides up my side, leaving goosebumps in its wake. I press closer, seeking more contact, more pressure, more anything to ease the ache building inside me. My thin tank top feels like sandpaper against my oversensitive skin, and I tug at it with clumsy fingers.
“Off,” I plead. “Everything off. I can’t—it hurts?—”
Adrian helps me, his movements efficient despite the tremor in his hands. The cool air hits my overheated skin, and I gasp at the momentary relief before a new wave of heat crashes through me, more intense than before. My back arches, a whimper escaping my throat.
“Why aren’t you—” I bite off the words, embarrassed even through my delirium.
Adrian’s gray eyes find mine, darkened with desire but still sharp with that infuriating self-control. “Why aren’t I what, Elle? Tell me.”
A frustrated sound tears from my throat. “Why aren’t you filling me? Taking away this ache? I need—I need you inside me, your cum, your knot?—”
The words flow unfiltered, my heat stripping away years of professional reserve, of careful boundaries. Adrian’s pupils dilate, a muscle jumping in his jaw as he fights for control.
“Soon,” he promises, his voice strained. “Not yet. You’re not ready.”
I want to argue—I’ve never been more ready for anything in my life—but then his mouth is on my neck, tasting the sweat-slick skin there, and coherent thought vanishes. His tongue traces the racing pulse at my throat, teeth grazing just enough to make me shiver with anticipation.
“You taste incredible,” he murmurs against my collarbone. “Like vanilla and citrus and something uniquely you.”
He continues his downward path, tasting every inch of me with deliberate thoroughness. When his mouth closes around my nipple, I cry out, my hands flying to his hair, holding him there. The wet heat of his tongue sends electricity racing through my system, connecting directly to the ache between my thighs.
“Adrian,” I gasp, his name a plea and a prayer.
He switches to my other breast, giving it the same meticulous attention, and I’m writhing beneath him, desperate for more. My legs part instinctively, seeking friction, seeking him. Whenhis hand slides down my stomach and lower, finding the soaked mess between my thighs, I nearly sob with relief.
“So wet,” he breathes, sounding almost reverent. “For me? Or for all of us?”
“For you,” I say automatically, then amend, “For all of you. Please, Adrian?—”
He moves down my body, positioning himself between my spread thighs. His eyes meet mine one last time, seeking final confirmation, and I nod frantically, beyond words now. The first touch of his tongue against my center makes me scream, my body jerking like I’ve been electrocuted.
My toes curl when he goes in again, ravenous, this time insatiable, French-kissing my cunt and sucking on my juices as his tongue slithers into my hole, so deep. I’m seeing stars and I thrash and I’m crying out as though in pain. But it’s so good, so fucking good. I’m losing the threads of my thoughts and I’m terrified I’ll soon forget my name.
Through the haze of pleasure, I’m vaguely aware of movement around me—Caleb adjusting a pillow beneath my head, Miles pressing a cool cloth to my forehead. Their care, their attention, only heightens my pleasure, making me feel impossibly safe even as I come apart.
Adrian’s tongue finds my clit, circling it with the same precision he brings to quarterly reports, and I’m gone—flying apart, pleasure crashing through me in waves that leave me gasping and sobbing his name. Before I can fully recover, he’s there again, two fingers pressing inside me as his mouth continues its relentless assault on my oversensitive flesh.
“That’s it,” he murmurs against me, his breath hot against my soaked skin. “Let go, Elle. Let me take care of you.”
The second orgasm builds faster than the first, cresting over me with brutal intensity. I scream, back arching off the bed, hands fisted in the sheets. It’s too much and not enough all at once, my body simultaneously satisfied and desperate for more.
“Adrian,” I sob when I can speak again. “Please—I need you inside me. Now.”
He rises above me, his perfect composure in tatters—hair mussed from my fingers, mouth wet with my arousal, eyes wild with a need that matches my own. He strips off his shirt, revealing a body kept rigidly in check beneath tailored suits—lean muscle, pale skin, a light dusting of hair leading down to where he’s unbuttoning his pants with shaking fingers.
When he’s finally, gloriously naked, I reach for him, unable to wait another second. His cock is thick and hard, the head already glistening with evidence of his arousal. He positions himself between my thighs, the blunt pressure of him against my entrance making me whimper with anticipation.
“Look at me,” he commands, and I force my eyes open, meeting his gaze as he begins to push inside. “I want to see your face when I fill you.”
The stretch burns in the best possible way, my body yielding to accommodate his size. I feel every inch as he presses deeper, my hands clutching at his shoulders, nails digging into his skin. When he’s fully seated, we both freeze, adjusting to the overwhelming sensation of being joined.
“Okay?” he asks, the word strained as he fights for control.
“Move,” I beg in response. “Please, Adrian, I need?—”
He begins to thrust, each stroke hitting something deep inside me that makes my vision blur. I wrap my legs around his waist, urging him deeper, harder, more. His controlled rhythm falters as my inner muscles clench around him, his composure finally shattering completely.
