Every shift grinds his shaft against my clit, sparking jolts of pleasure, while his musky Alpha scent floods my senses, thick and intoxicating, until it’s all I can inhale.
A desperate whimper spills from my throat—high-pitched, raw, pure Omega need.
My hips buck instinctively, rolling against him in search of more friction, more pressure on my pulsing clit, craving the knot that my body instinctively knows he can swell inside me.
I grind slowly, chasing the building wave of my climax, utterly lost in the sensation of him—mine, all mine.
He stirs beneath me, a low rumble vibrating through his chest like a possessive purr. His large hands rise automatically, clamping onto my hips and grinding my dripping core harder against him.
He takes control, guiding my movements, his massive cock now sliding through my soaked folds with each thrust of his hips.
His thumbs dig into the soft flesh just above my hip bones, and I gasp sharply at the pressure, the sound melting into a deep, throaty moan as fire ignites low in my belly.
Yes. Touch. Need touch. Need Alpha. Need knot.
I kiss higher, driven by compulsion I can’t name and don’t want to fight. His collarbone, feeling his pulse jump beneath my lips. The hollow of his throat where his scent is strongest—I press my nose there and breathe, letting him fill my lungs. The sharp line of his jaw, rough with stubble that scrapes deliciously against my oversensitive skin.
My hips won’t stop moving, sliding along his shaft. His breathing changes. Deeper. Faster.
Until his eyes open suddenly.
For a second, we just stare at each other. Him, still sleep-hazy, pupils blown wide as my heat-scent hits him full force, so thick in the air I can taste it on my tongue. My hips start moving, still seeking, unable to stop.
Then understanding dawns in those ice-blue eyes—and they go pure fire. Predatory. Possessive. Hungry.
“Willa,” he growls, his voice gravel and smoke. “Fuck, woman, what a way to wake up.”
His hands clamp down on my hips, holding me completely still. The need to grind, to run toward release, becomes painful—a physical ache that makes me want to claw my way out of my own skin.
I whine long and high, keening—a sound of pure Omega distress. I start panting, shallow gasps that don’t bring enough air. I try to move my hips, but he has a vise-like grip on me, his fingers digging into my flesh hard enough to bruise. My Omega whimpers at the restraint even as she craves it.
“Give me a… minute…” His voice is strained, rough. “I want to savor this. Savor you.”
He holds me still and closes his eyes, jaw clenched, struggling to maintain control. His scent swells around me, rich and intoxicating, even more than normal. The scent of an Alpha edging toward rut.
But I don’t want slow. I want him breaking, losing control, I want to be filled and fucked. And if he doesn’t fucking move right now, I might die.
A growl rips from my throat—feral and demanding and completely un-Omega-like. My heat makes me brave, makes me bold. I bend down and bite him on the shoulder. Hard. Not enough to break the skin, but enough to get his attention.
The effect is immediate.
I’m met with an answering growl that vibrates through my entire body and a sudden, violent movement that flips our positions—him above me, me pinned under a massive Alpha with a dangerously hot look in his eyes. His pupils are so huge, there’s barely any blue left. Just black and want.
“That was naughty, little Omega,” he growls, his voice dropping an octave. That makes my pussy clench around nothing. The power in his tone bypasses my rational thought entirely and speaks directly to my Omega hindbrain.
My Omega immediately goes limp and submissive beneath him, neck tilting automatically to expose my throat. Slick floods between my thighs, my body surrendering even as my mind catches up. Yes. This. Alpha dominant. Omega submissive.
He grabs my hands and pins them above my head in one of his. The display of strength, of easy dominance, makes my Omega purr even as I whimper. My body arches into his—seeking contact, seeking to appease, seeking Alpha approval.
“You want this?” he asks, his free hand gripping my jaw, forcing me to meet his eyes. The gentle grind of his hips against mine makes stars burst behind my eyelids. “Then you’d better start being a good little Omega for your Alpha.”
The possessive in his voice—yourAlpha—makes something in my chest crack wide open.
I nod frantically, unable to form words, completely overwhelmed by his scent, his size, his dominance pressing down on every part of me.
He collars my throat so softly, but the weight of it makes a rush of adrenaline and pleasure vibrate through me.
“That’s my girl,” he rumbles, and the praise sends a fresh wave of slick trickling out. My Omega preens, desperate for more approval, more praise, more Alpha.
