She cackles, low and mean, then lurches forward to bite my shoulder through the shirt.
Not hard enough to hurt, just enough to mark.
My cock jumps again. If I don’t get inside her, fast, I might actually lose my mind.
She feels it, too. Her hands drop, scramble for my belt.
"You gonna make me beg, Theodore Wright, or do you just like hearing yourself talk?"
Full name, in that bratty, too-smart tone.
I see you, Omega.
It almost breaks me.
I want to just—fuck…I don't know, hoist her fully off the counter and slam her against a wall.
Instead, I grab her wrists, pin them above her head for a beat, let her feel my control. She shudders, core clenching, slick running free over my cock through my jeans.
Then I let go, just as quick, because I like her wild.
I want to see what she does next.
She claws at my shirt instead, pulls me down until our foreheads touch.
She’s panting now, a little wrecked and a lot glorious.
“If you wanted someone gentle…” I start, but she cuts me off.
“I wouldn’t have suggested we fuck in a closet, Theo, if I was yearning a gentle Alpha who doesn’t scream ‘territorial obsession with a pinch of mania attached,” she whispers knowingly against my lips and tugs on my bottom lip, pulling as our eyes are locked. “I want this. Need you. The one who can’t keep his hands off me, who talks mean but tastes sweet, who’s about to make me forget every name but yours.”
Her breath is sugar and lightning and pure, giddy war.
I nuzzle her, lips grazing the pulse at her throat.
“I’ll do it. I’ll fuck you so good you’ll forget your own address.”
Her laugh is shredded at the edges.
“Great. I hate my address anyway, but it is a cozy little apartment that has a decent rent price so I really can’t complain.”
She hits me with a look—hungry, desperate, all-in.
“Last warning, soldier. I’m not fragile. I’m not glass. Just fuck me already—stop treating me like a possession and show me what you really want, Theodore Wright.”
Full name again. Like a challenge coin, thrown at my feet.
That’s it.
I snap.
Her legs are around me, locked tight at my hips. My hands roam everywhere—up her thighs, over her waist, cupping her tits through velvet and lace and sweat-wet skin. She moans, leans into every rough touch, and I’m pretty sure the shelves rattle with it.
Everything is blue-white light, bar shadows, and the thunder of my own blood.
I kiss her again, crushing, brutal, just to make sure she knows it’s not pretend.
She claws back.
