“See? Eyes dilating. Christmas lights all over your skin. You’re going to break, aren’t you, Sugar?”
I want to tell him he’s got no effect.
Yet, every word from Nash drags a new pulse of slick from me, makes my entire body clench and seize around him, heightening everything until I can’t even remember why I was pretending to argue.
Pressure hammers between my legs, so tight it almost hurts.
I’m so fucking close.
Trying to prolong the inevitable is simply a losing game, and the reality is, we both know it.
“Say it. Say you want to hear me tell you how hot you look. How perfect you feel. Say you want to be my Omega, right here, where anyone could walk in and see you dripping for me.”
I could die. Right now.
Just melt on the spot and be immortalized in the museum of “Omegas who got absolutely destroyed by compliments and Alpha cock and the holiday spirit at the same time.”
But most humiliating? Most damning?
I want it. All of this sensual madness with this Alpha that drives me wild, inside and out.
My bones turn to gingerbread, femurs soft and crumbly, whole body gooey with the struggle between pride and need.
I look down, try to focus on the snowflake-glitter stuck to my skin, try to recall why it was so important to keep up the snarky persona, and all I get is a view of my own wrecked, ruined body reflecting back in the chrome. Nash’s handprints and my wild hair.
I look like all the best and worst ideas I ever had.
Tell me how I’m supposed to fight that.
He slows his pace, not out of mercy, but to make me listen.
Each drag of his cock is deliberate, the dirty talk never stopping.
“Fucking exquisite, that’s what you are. Every inch. Every sound. Every mess you make on me. Sweetest thing I’ve ever tasted, and you’re only getting sweeter the more you try to resist.”
The air is so cold in the garage I can see our breath, little clouds of lust and shame and want rising every time I gasp for air. The window glass is half-frozen, but inside, my skin is a heat map of pink and red and sheer, helpless lust.
“Should I take you out in the snow, Princess? Let everyone see who you belong to, see how sweet you sound when you’re getting what you need? Or should I keep you here, safe in my garage, fucking yourself dumb on my cock where it’s warm and dripping and all lit up?”
I whimper.
Nash takes that as a win.
“You say you don’t want my compliments, but your body tells a different story.” He leans over me, the scent of pine and bourbon so thick it makes me dizzy, stubble scraping over my ear. “You love when I call you beautiful. Love it when I say you’re the only one in the world who could ever get me like this. Can you feel it, how wet you are for me?”
I can. I really, really can.
“You’re gonna come undone just for me. The Alpha that you love and hate.”
My entire existence collapses into sensation. Lights, color, the velvety cold under my hands and the inferno between my legs, the sound of Nash’s possessive, confident voice in my ear as I lose the will to pretend, even for another second.
Nash pounds into me harder, punishing and flawless, and each filthy compliment leaves me clenching down on his cock, making everything wetter, louder, and even more humiliatingly intense.
“You don’t want to hear you’re pretty? Fine. Strongest, smartest, most unhinged Omega I’ve ever met. The way you always look at me when you want something? Fuck, that’s a drug, babe. The way you sound when you moan for me? Perfect. Fucking perfect. Tell me you don’t love that.”
My hips rock back on instinct.
I feel my body clamp and flex and seize, and Nash is no longer even pretending to hold back.
