“Easy,” he says with a chuckle, and he palms the back of my thigh, lifting one leg to rest on his cocked hip, leaving me thoroughly exposed, the short denim skirt wedged around my waist. I’m very thankful for the lacy underwear I threw on at the last minute. “Willa.”
My name is reverent on his lips. The way he says it makes me feel like a goddess. Not very sure what to do with my hands, I fiddle with them awkwardly, then put them behind my back, which makes my breasts jut forward.
“Beautiful.”
His other hand runs along the bottom of my sweater and then over my belly, letting his massive palm roughly make a path to my breast, then to my sternum, and then to cradle my jaw. He pulls me into another bone-melting kiss.
“Give me your hands,” he says, and I do, letting him raise them to just above my head and press them against the hard door behind me. I feel powerless and powerful all at the same time.
I move my hips, desperate for touch, friction, for anything. Then I feel his other hand move up my leg again, finding the edge of my underwear and slipping his thumb underneath, gently stroking.
“Fuck, you’re soaked.”
And as though the evidence of how much I want this, want him, shreds the last bit of gentlemanly behavior he had, he pushes his thumb inside me before running it up over the tiny bud of nerves that pulses with need. I cry out at the contact, at the pleasure of finally being touched. More slick pours from me.
He pulls his hand back with fire in his eyes and, never breaking eye contact, tastes me on his fingers while I watch.
He closes his eyes and groans. Then lowers his lips to mine and kisses me deeply, and I taste myself and all my sweetness on his tongue.
A painful need to be filled, to come, makes me whimper. “Please,” I beg, not afraid of the clawing desire that would have me on all fours if he asked.
“Let me make you come,” he pleads.
“Yes.”
I’m soaked, desperate, and when his hand finds me again, and his finger slips inside me, I arch against him with a sound I quickly muffle against my shoulder.
“Look at me, Omega. Eyes up here.” The dominance in those words sends a wave of pleasure crashing through me, so sharp I almost climax right there.
He works in a second finger, curling them perfectly, and he’s so big I feel the stretch all the way through me. It’s been a long time since I’ve had sex with anyone, and even longer—six years—since I’ve been with an Alpha.
More slick pours out of me as I imagine what his knot would feel like inside me.
“Baby, fuck, you’re so wet.” The utter want in his eyes makes me bare my neck. He moves his fingers in and out, pumping into me with steady, firm pressure, teasing me, stopping when I want him to go faster, edging me until I’m growling.More, more, I fucking need more.
“Beau…” I gasp as he reads my mind and adds a third finger. He barely starts to move again when I shatter. I fall completely apart in his arms while he holds me, murmurs praise against my skin, works me through every wave of pleasure until I’m boneless and trembling.
When I finally come back to myself, he’s watching me with an expression that’s pure heat. He brings his fingers to his mouth and licks them clean, tasting me, and I nearly come apart all over again.
“You’re going to kill me,” I manage faintly.
“Not the plan.” He leans down, kissing me again, letting me taste myself on his tongue. It only fuels my need.
We kiss until we’re both breathless, until I can feel every firm inch of him pressed against me, and I know he’s barely holding on.
“Unless you want to go inside,” he rasps, pulling back just enough to meet my eyes, “I’m going to need a minute.”
He takes my hand and presses it against the hard length straining his jeans. I gasp, feeling the heat of him, the size, and my fingers flex involuntarily.
“I—” Desire and uncertainty war inside me. I want him. God, I want him. But something holds me back.
“Hey.” He presses his forehead to mine, his breathing ragged. “It’s okay. We don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for.”
The understanding in his voice nearly breaks me. Pulling away from him feels impossible.
We stand there for a long moment, sharing the same space, our breaths fogging the air between us. The moment transforms from desperate need into something softer, more intimate. Something that feels dangerously real.
“I should go,” he finally says, even though neither of us moves.
