"I'm going to—" I try to warn him, but he just doubles down, sucking harder.
The orgasm slams into me. My entire body locks up, muscles tensing as I snarl Whiskey's name. I might be cursing in three different languages. Maybe four. I have no fucking idea because my higher brain functions have completely abandoned ship.
When I finally come back to myself, Whiskey's wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and looking insufferably pleased with himself.
"So," he says, voice rough. "How's that for no technique?"
For once, I don't have a witty comeback. I don't have a cutting and clever remark that puts him back in his place. Instead, all I can do is stare at the ceiling and try to remember how breathing works.
"Cat got your tongue?" He's definitely laughing at me now.
"Shut up and give me a minute," I manage to rasp.
"Take your time. I like looking at you all fucked out."
That gets me moving. I prop myself up on my elbows, glowering at him from under my hair that's somehow come loose from its ponytail and fallen into my face. "I am not 'fucked out,' whatever that means."
"Uh huh." He's still kneeling awkwardly between my legs in the limited space of the loveseat, his own arousal obvious through his jeans. He's hugeeverywhere. "That's why you were moaning my name."
I was not moaning his name. I was... vocalizing. There's a difference.
"Pretty sure the entire floor heard you," Whiskey continues, that insufferable grin stretching wider. "Should we check if hotel security is on their way?"
"Fuck off." I struggle to sit up properly, trying to regain some semblance of dignity while my softening cock is still exposed. My hands shake slightly as I reach for my pants, but Whiskey catches my wrist.
"Where do you think you're going?" His grip is firm but not painful. "We're not done here."
My pulse kicks up again despite having just come harder than I have in years. "What?"
"Fair's fair. You got yours. Now it's my turn." He releases my wrist and straightens up, hands moving to his jeans. My mouth goes dry as he pops the button, the zipper following with agonizing slowness. "Unless you're too delicate after that?" He raises an eyebrow, challenge clear in his tone.
"I'm not delicate," I snap, even as my spent cock gives a valiant twitch of interest.
"Good." He shoves his jeans and boxers down in one motion, and I have to bite back a sound at the sight of him.
I've seen Whiskey naked before. Locker rooms don't leave much to the imagination. But seeing andseeingare two different things. He's thick everywhere, his cock heavy and flushed dark with arousal. Precome beads at the tip, and I find myself tracking a drop as it slides down the impressive length.
"Like what you see?" His voice is rougher now, that cocky bravado slipping just enough to reveal the need underneath.
"It's adequate," I lie, because admitting the truth—that looking at him makes my mouth water despite having just come—would give him far too much ammunition.
"Adequate?" He laughs, the sound low and dangerous. "Let's see if you still think that when it's buried in your throat."
I wince at his crudeness, but there's no denying the way my body responds to his words. My hands clench against the loveseat cushions as he moves closer, positioning himself at the edge of the loveseat.
"Come here," he says, and it's not quite an order but close enough to make my hackles rise.
"I don't take commands from you."
"No?" He reaches out, fingers threading through my disheveled hair with surprising gentleness before tightening just enough to make me gasp. "Because from where I'm sitting, you've been taking them pretty well so far."
Instead of biting back and reasserting control, I find myself moving forward, drawn by the heat in his eyes and the insistent pressure of his hand in my hair. His thumb slips into my mouth, and I taste salt.
"Fuck," he breathes, watching me with an intensity that makes me feel exposed despite still being fully clothed from the waist up.
From the bed, I hear Ivy shift, a soft intake of breath that reminds me we have an audience. As if I could ever forget our scent-matched omega is watching this.Orchestratingthis. My gaze flicks to her automatically, finding her watching us with dilated pupils and flushed cheeks. Her scent has grown thicker, sweeter, the honeysuckle mixing with arousal in a way that makes my spent cock twitch with renewed interest.
"She's watching," I say unnecessarily.
